At this there was a laugh in which Fleet joined. Noticing Fleet’s good humor, they tried again to get him to recite, but he shook his head.
“No; the next time you fellows hear from me you won’t be inclined to jolly quite so much,” he said.
“Eh? What do you mean by that?” asked Tom.
“Never mind; let’s change the subject.”
The boys were silent. Could this be their chum who, formerly, had hardly waited to be asked to recite—who would spring eagerly up on the slightest provocation and reel off rhymes by the dozen? They wondered what had come over him, but decided to let the matter drop for the moment.
“Fleet’s got something up his sleeve,” said Chot, a little later when the boys were preparing for bed and Fleet was, for the moment, out of earshot.
“I suppose we hurt his feelings the other night,” said Bert. “We were a little severe.”
“But we needed to be,” said Tom. “Those were the worst verses he has ever recited. I want to see his work improve, not get worse.”
“But you must remember,” said Pod, always ready to stick up for Fleet, in spite of their many disagreements, “that no one can recite verses on a minute’s notice and keep the standard up all the time. I’ll admit that Tom is right about the quality, but we ought to ease up on him now. I believe we have taught him his lesson, so let’s give him a chance to forget it, and I don’t believe he’ll try to run in any more fake rhymes on us.”
“Sh! don’t let him hear you,” said Bert.