Bert, sousing peroxide on a corner of a towel and dabbing his friend’s face, considered a moment. “Well,” he said finally, “you could, but I wouldn’t advise it, Duke. Some of the faculty are horribly suspicious.”
“That’s what I thought.” Hugh sighed. “Well, I’m not awfully hungry.”
“I’ll fetch you something from downstairs,” said Bert cheerfully. “And I’d better get word to Crowley, I guess. I’ll say you’ve got a headache. That isn’t very far wrong, is it?”
Hugh smiled until it hurt his swollen lip. “It’s right as rain,” he mumbled. “You don’t need to bring me any chow, though. It hurts to move my mouth.”
“I’m not going to bring you chow, as you call it,” replied the other, stepping back to view the result of his administrations. “I’ll fetch you up a cup of cocoa and some toast. You can get that down. There now! Got any plaster?”
“Yes, in the top drawer there. I’ll get it.”
“Hello, what have you done with your silver brushes? And where the dickens did you get those awful things?”
“Put them away a week ago. Here it is. Use the flesh-colored. It won’t show so much. I say, what about classes tomorrow?”
Bert shrugged. “You ought to have thought of that,” he answered severely, “before you went and did such a fool trick. Look here, what was it all about, anyway? Didn’t you know that Longley could beat you to a pulp? What did I tell you the other day? Didn’t I say——”