“Say, but you fellows are the greasy grinds!” objected Harry. “Why don’t you take a day off once in a while?”
“It’s easy enough for you, Swipes; Latin comes natural to you!” exclaimed Tom. “But I have to plug away at it, and when I get through I know less than when I started.”
“And as for me,” broke in Chet, “I can read a page all right in the original, but when I come to translate I can make two pages of it in English, and have enough Latin words left over to do half another one. No, Swipes, it won’t do; I’ve got to do some boning.”
“Aw, forget it. Come on to a show. There’s a good movie in town this week. I’ll blow you fellows. Some vaudeville, too, take it from me. There’s a pair who roll hoops until the stage looks like a barrel factory having a tango dance. Come on. It’s great!”
“Well, a movie wouldn’t be so bad,” admitted Tom. “It doesn’t last until midnight. What do you say, fellows?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” came from Andy, uncertainly.
“I’ll go if you fellows will,” remarked Frank.
“Oh, well, then let’s do it!” cried Tom. “I guess we won’t flunk to-morrow. We can burn a little midnight electricity. Let ’er go!”
And so they went to the moving picture show. It was like others of its kind, neither better nor worse, with vaudeville acts and songs interspersed between the reels. There was a good attendance, scores of the Milton lads being there, as well as many persons from the town and surrounding hamlets.
Our friends found seats about the middle of the house. It was a sort of continuous performance, and as they entered a girl was singing a song on a well-lighted stage. Andy glanced about as he took his seat, and met the gaze of Link Bardon. He nodded at him, and the young farmer nodded back.