“I see,” said Laurie, thoughtfully. “Well, I’m mighty glad. To tell the truth, Hop, Ned hasn’t had an awful lot of experience. He’s had to bluff a good deal.”
“I suspected something of the sort from seeing him work the first week or so. And then Kewpie said something that sort of lined up with the idea. Well, he’s working hard and he’s making good. Much obliged for these, Nod. I’ll fetch them back in ten minutes.”
When Kendrick had taken his departure Laurie stared thoughtfully for a minute into space. Finally he shook his head and smiled. “Good old Ned!” he murmured. “I’m sorry I ragged him so. Gee, I’ll have to buckle down to my own job or he’ll leave me at the post!”
After practice that afternoon, Laurie and Lee picked up George and Bob Starling at the tennis-courts, and, after changing into “cits,” went around to the doctor’s porch and joined a dozen other lads who were engaged in drinking Miss Tabitha’s weak tea and eating her soul-satisfying layer-cake. After a half-hour of batting and fielding practice and a five-inning game between the first team and the scrubs, Laurie was in a most receptive mood as far as refreshments were concerned. Miss Tabitha made an ideal hostess, for she left conversation to the guests and occupied herself in seeing that cups and plates were kept filled. No one had yet discovered the number of helpings of cake that constituted Miss Tabitha’s limit of hospitality, and there was a story of a junior so depressed by homesickness that he had absent-mindedly consumed six wedges of it and was being urged to a seventh when some inner voice uttered a saving warning. In spite of very healthy appetites, none of the quartette sought to compete with that record, but Laurie and George did allow themselves to be persuaded to third helpings, declining most politely until they feared to decline any more. Before they had finished, the doctor joined the group and made himself very agreeable, telling several funny stories that set every one laughing and caused a small junior—it was the cherub-faced youth who sat at Laurie’s table in the dining-hall and whose career thus far had proved anything but that of a cherub—to swallow a mouthful of mocha cake the wrong way, with disastrous results. During the ensuing confusion the quartette took their departure. At the gate Bob Starling said:
“By the way, fellows, I spoke to Dad about that tennis-court, and he’s written to the agent for permission. He says there won’t be any trouble; and if there is, he’ll agree to put the garden back the way we found it and erect a new arbor.”
“What will it be?” asked George. “Sod or gravel?”
“Oh, gravel. You couldn’t get a sod court in shape under a year, and I want to use it this fall. I’m going to look around to-morrow for some one to do the job. Know who does that sort of work here—Lee?”
“No, but I suppose you get a contractor; one of those fellows who build roads and stone walls and things.”
“I’d ask at the court-house,” said Laurie.
“At the court—oh, that’s a punk one!” jeered Bob. “See you later, fellows!”