[CHAPTER II]
WEST HOUSE SITS IN JUDGMENT
“Dutch, you’re fatter than ever,” declared The Fungus, digging his fingers affectionately if painfully into the other’s neck as he joined the group on the steps of West House and lowered himself to a seat between Dutch and Spud Halladay. Otto Zoller turned upon him with indignation faintly visible on his round, good-natured face.
“I’m not; I’m three pounds lighter than last Spring.”
“Dutch is training down for quarter,” said Fred Sanderson gravely. “How much do you weigh now, Dutch?”
“Hundred and thirty-one and a half.”
“Dutch!”
“Honest, Sandy!”
“We’ll have to get that half-pound off you,” said Spud. “Fat is fatal.”
“That’s cheek,” said Hooper Ross, a tall youth of fifteen with amazingly black eyes and hair. “You look like a little fat cherub yourself, Spud.”
“Little fat rascal!” grunted The Fungus, whose real name as entered in the school catalogue was Fergus Worthington White. The title of The Fungus suited him very well, for he had the lightest of tow-colored hair and eyes of a pale, washed-out blue. Spud aimed a kick at his insulter, but it fell short and the effort landed him on the next step below with a thud that the other four boys found amusing.