“Ah-ha! Now comes it oudt!” exclaimed young Dill to himself. “Dot is der feller vot dinks he get funny midt me and laughs midt der wrong side of his face yet.”
“Is he a friend of that High Towers bunch?”
The voice that was unfamiliar to the German youth put the question.
“Aber am I ein friendt or not?” muttered young Dill. “I vould like to know dot.”
“No, he’s no friend,” it was Hank speaking, “in fact, from what I hear, he got into a row of some sort up there to-day.”
“Aber dot’s right, budt idt vos in der lake vot I gedt,” said young Dill to himself.
“So he is not one of the crowd at all?”
“No. He’s just a butter-in of some sort. I hear they get a lot of cranks up there.”
“Oh, ho! So I’m a ker-ank, am I?” muttered the German boy, shaking his fist at the unconscious pair in the next room. “You vatch me! I bedt you my life some day I ker-ank you der wrong vay, mein freindt.”
“Well, crank or no crank, he certainly put it over on you before dinner to-day, Hank. I’d advise you to leave him alone in future.”