“Silly chump!” growled Chub as they reached the hall. “What’s he want to study fly-casting for, especially at this time of year?”
“I don’t believe he was reading that at all,” answered Roy. “I think he turned the pages before we got to him.”
“He did? Let’s go over after supper and look through that magazine. Did you notice what it was?”
“Yes, but not what number; and as there’s a whole row of them I guess we’d have a long hunt. We’ll make him tell us the truth when we get hold of him.”
“All right. I’ll bet he’s up to something, though.”
But when supper was over and they looked around for Dick that person had again disappeared. They searched the two dormitories and then traveled across to the library again. There sat the missing one, perched once more on the top of the step-ladder with a magazine before him. This time they didn’t enter, for Mr. Buckman was on the other side of the room and they knew he would not allow any conversation. For a while they huddled about the radiator in the corridor and waited for Dick to appear. But he didn’t come, and as each had studying to do, presently they were forced to depart without him. But Dick couldn’t hope to elude vengeance forever, and when bedtime came he found himself in the hands of his enemies.
“How’s your mind coming on?” asked Chub very sweetly, as he pulled Dick over backward on his bed and sat on him. “Improving, is it?”
“Know all about fly-casting by this time, I suppose,” remarked Roy, as he rubbed the captive’s nose the wrong way. “It’s a fine thing to know about, fly-casting, Dick.”
“Oh, great!” Chub agreed, jumping himself up and down to an accompaniment of groans from Dick. “When I consider, Roy, how little I know about fly-casting I’m utterly appalled at my ignorance. And think of the time we’re wasting, too! Why, we might be out on the river all day long, Roy, casting the merry little fly across the ice. Think of that, will you?”