“Said no, he guessed it was ‘a constitutional repugnance!’”
“Lovely!” laughed Roy. “Was Cobb peeved?”
“No, he just sort of grinned and told Dick he’d better amend his constitution. Let’s go over and see if he’s there.”
So they got into sweaters and gloves again and battled their way across to School Hall. At first glance their search looked to be fruitless, for none of the half-dozen boys about the big table in the library proved to be Dick. But Roy stepped inside the door and spied their quarry down in a corner of the room by the magazine shelves. He was seated on the top of the little step-ladder with a magazine spread open on his knees and his head bent closely above it. Roy and Chub tiptoed softly toward him, but he heard them coming, and smiled placidly as they drew near. Roy thought he turned the pages of the magazine, but was not sure; at all events when Roy snatched it out of his hands it was opened at an article entitled “The Art of Fly-Casting.”
“What are you reading that silly rot for?” he whispered. “Come on over to the study-room and talk to us.”
But Dick shook his head calmly.
“I’m very comfortable here,” he answered. “I’m improving my mind.”
“Well, I don’t say that isn’t possible,” whispered Chub scathingly; “but you’d better be studying other things than fly-casting. Come on, Dick.”
But Dick was obdurate and as the rules forbade noise or scuffling in the library they were forced to let him have his way. But they had the satisfaction of telling him softly but earnestly what they thought of him, and Chub even managed dexterously to get a grip on his neck and force him to rub his nose against the magazine before leaving him. When they reached the door and looked back Dick was once more intently reading.