"I do not approve of doing it at all," Bob observed, still searching for the place in the much worn brown text-book. "I've done about all your studying this term."
"I own it, oh Benefactor. Are you not my brain—my intellectual machinery? Could I live a day without you?"
Leaning across the table Van affectionately rumpled up Bob's tidy locks until every individual hair stood on end.
"If it weren't for me you'd be dropped back into the next class—that's what would happen to you; and you deserve it, too."
Van was silent.
"I know it. I haven't put in an hour of solid work for a month, Bob I ought to be ashamed, and I am." He paused. "But there's no use jumping all over myself if I haven't," he resumed, shifting to a more sprightly tone. "I've said I was going to take a spurt soon and I mean it. I'll begin next week."
"Why not start to-day?"
There was a rap at the door.
"Why not?" echoed Van, moving toward the door with evident relief. "Don't you see I can't? Somebody's always breaking in on my work. Here's somebody this very minute."
He flung open the door.