Laurie found Ned in rather a low frame of mind when he got back to Number 16 a half-hour before supper-time. Ned was hunched over a Latin book and each hand held a firm grip on his hair. At Laurie’s arrival he merely grunted.
“Where does it pain you most?” asked Laurie, solicitously, subsiding into a chair with a weary sigh. Ned’s mood was far from flippant. He rewarded the other with a scowl, and bent his gaze on the book again. “Want to hear the latest news from the front?” persisted Laurie.
“No, I don’t!” his brother growled. “I’ve had all the news I can stand. Smug says that if I don’t get this rotten stuff by nine to-night, and make a perfect showing to-morrow, he will can me!”
“Mr. Cornish said that?” gasped Laurie. “What do you know about that? Why, I thought he was a gentleman!”
“He’s a—a brute! I can’t learn the old stuff! And I have a hunch that Mulford means to give me a try in the Loring game Saturday. And if I don’t get this, Cornish will fix it so I can’t play. He as good as said so.”
“Didn’t you tell him you’d been busy with the fête and everything?”
“Of course I did. Much he cared! Just made a rotten pun. Said I’d better keep my own fate in mind. Puns are fearfully low and vulgar!”
“Aren’t they? How much of that have you got?”
“Six pages. I—I’ve sort of neglected it the last two days. Some fellows can fake through, but I don’t have any luck. He’s always picking on me.”
Laurie whistled expressively. “Six pages! Well, never say die, partner. We’ll get down to supper early, and that’ll give us two hours before nine.”