“Glad he’s studying something,” murmured Ned. “Speaking of study—”
“Oh, let’s not,” groaned Spud. “Let’s speak of supper. It’s most time for it. Come on up, Sandy, and wash your dirty face.”
“Everybody wash his dirty face,” cried Hoop, jumping up. “Last man upstairs gives me his preserves!”
There was a wild exodus from the porch and a frenzied rush up the stairway, followed by a stiff argument between Hoop and Dutch, the latter, who had been the last to reach the top, declaring that he had not subscribed to the terms of the contest, and that if he had he could easily have beaten Hoop.
After supper—and never, Cal thought, had he been so hungry—there was almost an hour of leisure. There was a doubles in tennis on the court at the side of the house between Sandy and Hoop and Ned and The Fungus, and the others watched from the porch. At eight o’clock study hour began and lasted until nine. Cal spread his books out on his side of the table and Ned closed the door. It was a rule that during study hour doors must be closed and no visiting was allowed. Then Ned drew his chair up to his side of the table, fixed the drop-light with mathematical precision in the center of the left end of the green cloth and—took up a story-book! Cal viewed him in surprise.
“Aren’t you going to study?” he asked.
“No. What’s the use? I looked lessons over this afternoon. Besides, no one is really expected to know much the second day. Want a good book? Ever read this?”
Cal hadn’t, but he resisted the temptation to examine the picture which Ned held forth for his inspection. “I cal’late I’d better study this French a little. I never had much luck with French.”
“Me either,” said Ned with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s a foolish language and oughtn’t to be encouraged.” He leaned his elbows on the table-top and was soon absorbed in his book. Cal studied religiously until Sandy put his head out of his door and cried: