“Debate.”
“Of course!” cried the other. “I remember now! I couldn’t think where I’d heard your name. Why, you’re the president of the Lyceum, aren’t you? and the crack debater? The fellow who won for Erskine last year when every one expected to be beaten?”
“Well, something of that sort,” replied the junior. “Anyhow, I’ve got to go to Robinson next week. If we’re defeated after I’ve gone and paid five dollars and eighty cents in railroad fares——!”
Words failed him and he finished the last of the sausages with a woful shake of his head.
“What are our chances?” asked Jack.
“About the same as last year, I guess. We may and we mayn’t. Robinson’s got a fellow, named Heath, this year that’s a wonder, they say. We’ve lost Browning and Soule, and that leaves us sort of weak.”
“I’d like to go,” said Jack, “but I don’t believe I could afford it.”
“Wish you could,” Anthony responded heartily. “We need all the support we can get. If it was a football game, now, I guess the whole college would go along. As it is, I suppose we’ll have about two dozen beside the speakers. Did you ever try condensed milk with raspberry jam?”
Jack had to acknowledge that he never had.
“It’s right good,” said Anthony, spreading a generous spoonful of the mixture on a slice of bread. “If you kind of shut your eyes and don’t think about it the condensed milk tastes like thick cream.”