“I’m sorry to hear that, my boy. What is the trouble? Grass stains on your new white tennis flannels?”
Peter shook his head in reply to the smiling question.
“It is a real trouble this time,” he answered.
Silently he drew from his pocket the crumpled envelope which he handed to his father. As Mr. Coddington took out the card and scanned it rapidly the quizzical expression that had lighted his face gave way to a frown of displeasure.
“Well?” he questioned.
“I’m mighty sorry, Father,” began Peter. “You see I kept thinking I would make up my work before the exams came; but somehow I have been hustling more for the baseball championship than——”
A curt question cut short further apologies:
“Your studies have not been too difficult for you, then?”
“Oh, no. I can easily make them up with a tutor,” was the eager response. “I guess if you ask Mr. Christopher he will let me take the examinations over again before school closes and the next time——”
“There is to be no next time,” put in his father quietly.