Wattles pushed the chair on toward East Hall, and Clif, swinging the paper ostentatiously, picked his way up the steps, nodding here and there, certain that as soon as he was beyond hearing the group would join in an effort to find an explanation of that ceremonious hand shake. Going to his room Clif wished impatiently that Deane hadn’t staged that silly scene out there. There’d be all sorts of crazy stories around the Hall as a result. School was a gossipy hole, anyway. But by the time he had triumphantly tossed the paper into Walter’s lap he had become more lenient. After all, he had helped Deane out of a pretty awkward situation, even if he hadn’t actually saved the chap’s life, as the silly ass insisted he had, and it was only natural that Deane should have wanted to show some gratitude. And the beggar had kept pretty steady, too, with that car bearing down on him like a—a Jug—a Jug—
“Say, Walt, what’s that thing the Indian guys used to haul around so’s folks could throw themselves under the wheels? You know; Jug o’ nuts, or something.”
“Juggernaut? That what you mean?”
“Yes, Juggernaut. I couldn’t think of it. Throw me the football section, will you?”
CHAPTER XI
TOM IS BORED
Clif didn’t include his part in the action when telling Tom of the automobile accident. He had merely encountered Loring Deane in the village and returned to the school with him. Tom was inclined to be hurt because Clif hadn’t asked him to go to the village, too. “Best accident of the season, and I miss it,” he mourned, returning from church. “Just my luck!” After dinner he suggested a walk, but when Clif explained that he had borrowed Deane’s paper, and must return it to him soon, he consented to sit on the steps in the sunshine, and peruse the comic section while Clif dug into the football news. It was after half-past three when the latter had exhausted the paper and, folding it neatly, declared his intention of restoring it to its owner. But when he bade Tom go with him, Tom refused.
“I’ll wait here,” said Tom. “I’m not feeling up to meeting your swell friends just now.”
“But I can’t just shove the paper at him and run,” protested Clif. “I’ll have to stay a few minutes, anyway.”
“Why?” demanded Tom.