“Gee,” growled Hike, “I wonder if they’re going to keep it up all year!”
There was a modest tapping at the door.
“Come in!”
Mousey Tincom, a small wisp of a Sophomore, who played chess and studied hard and worshiped Hike as he did Napoleon (whom Mousey thought he himself resembled, and whom he sure didn’t resemble), came ambling in, sat carefully on the front edge of a large chair, and bleated:
“Hello, fellows. I’m awful’ sorry about to-night.”
“The class going to keep it up?” asked Poodle.
“I’m afraid so. Left Ear was ’lowing we haven’t had so good an opening for jollying any one since the Flood. Say, I’ve got some news for you.”
“All right. We can stand it.” (Hike was impolite. You had to be impolite to Mousey Tincom, or he would have stood about worshiping all the while.)
“Well, you know Captain Thurbey got off’n the job as military instructor last spring, and they hadn’t appointed any one till just now. Now, I hear that Lieutenant Adeler of the Signal Corps—”
“HurRAY!” shouted Poodle and Hike. “Go on.”