It was an invitation to him to join the Fussers Club. Reed Hathaway begged the honor of presenting Mr. Ball’s name, and hoped for prompt permission to do so.
Max read it twice and handed it to Sydney with no comment.
“Well, wouldn’t that flitter you!” he exclaimed, holding the big sheet out far and up near, as if thus shifting it might cause some hidden meaning to leap from the few words.
“I’ve been in school only a few weeks; isn’t it pretty early to invite me into that club of exclusives?”
“No. They want to be styled good dressers and successful haughties. You could wear rags better than some of them can wear the glad goods; and your face, manner, and violin have done the rest.”
“Yet—Reed Hathaway—he’s Buckman’s best friend; he must know of that street-car incident. What does it mean?”
“I pass it up. What do you think?”
“It’s the riddle of the Sphinx to me.”
“Sleep on it,” Sydney sagely advised; and they separated.