“I feel—I feel just a tiny bit ‘bored,’” answered Tad. “I also feel as if it will be quite unnecessary for Mother Westcott to prepare any supper this evening for me.”
Rodney agreed as to that, and for a few minutes the conversation dealt desultorily with all sorts of subjects, from the chill in the air to the outbreak of mumps in Beecher Hall, where several of the First Form youngsters were confined to their rooms. Tad chuckled.
“Yesterday Tommy Sands went over in front of Beecher and yelled ‘Heads out!’ And when about eight or ten kids came to the windows with their faces tied up, Tommy pulled a nice big lemon from his pocket and held it for them to see. They say you could hear the groans ’way over at East Hall!”
“That was a mean trick,” laughed Rodney. “Mumps are—is—which should you say? Mumps are no fun, or mumps is no fun?”
“I think mumps are singular,” hazarded May. “I mean, is singular.”
“Plural,” said Tad. “Mumps is a disease of the parrot glands——”
“Of the what glands?” demanded Rodney.
“Parrot, I think. These glands here, anyway.”
“Parotid, I think. Well, anyway, as I started to say, mumps is no fun, and——”