“Glad to,” replied Rodney gravely. “I say, do you mind if I tell the fellows about it?”
Kitty stared across in mild surprise. “About me? No.” The tone implied that Kitty didn’t see why he should mind! “Tell ’em if you want to. Not important though, is it?”
“Oh, well, I only thought that—that they’d like to know.”
“Suppose they would. What time is it? Half past five! I’m late this evening!” And Kitty gravely threw aside his jacket, pulled his faded brown sweater over his head, attached his pedometer to his belt, and set forth on his final stunt of the day, which was a little jaunt down to the river and back up the hill at top speed.
Rodney left the room close on the heels of Kitty and burst into Jack Billings’s room. Only Tom Trainor was there, Tom bending over a book with both hands clutching desperately at his hair.
“Busy,” grunted Tom, without looking around.
“Don’t care if you are,” answered Rodney. “You aren’t too busy to hear some news.”
“Yes, I am. Don’t want to hear any news. Get out, Rod!”
“It’s about Kitty.”
“Nothing is news about Kitty,” scoffed Tom. But he stopped tearing his hair and looked around. “What is it?”