“Loring’s being there will make things easier for you,” said Dick. “I fancy he’s pretty well liked and the fellows will be nice to you on his account. But I’ll tell you one thing plainly, Harold: You won’t get to Rifle Point this Fall.”
Harold opened his eyes widely. “I won’t?” he exclaimed.
“Certainly not. And you won’t get there next Fall unless you buckle down and learn something.”
“Loring said I could!”
“Loring probably thought you were more advanced than you are, then,” replied Dick. “I’m sorry, Harold; but facts are facts.”
“Then what’ll I do this Winter?” asked the boy lugubriously.
“How about another year where you were?”
“I won’t! I hate that place! I won’t go back there, no matter what anyone says!”
“Then you might have a tutor.”
That suggestion didn’t seem to make much of a hit. Harold scowled for a minute in silence. Then: “Don’t you think I could get in this Fall, Lovering, if—if I studied hard?”