"There's that 'Oh ho' fellow," he muttered; "always reading and reciting poetry when he isn't asleep." He put his hand to his mouth and shouted, "Oh ho!" several times. Then his smile deepened, as he saw the two turn.
"Oh ho! Birdie," he continued, putting all the sarcastic emphasis of which he was capable into the call: "Oh ho, oh ho." If he sought to vex the good-natured Dave Brandon, his effort was in vain.
"Hello, Nat Wingate," greeted the latter, cheerily; "I suppose you wish you were back in school?"
Nat slowly climbed down from his elevated perch, and sauntered forward. "Where have you been?" he asked, rather bluntly. Then, as his eye fell upon a book in Brandon's pocket, he added: "Over by the creek, I'll wager, reading poetry."
"Quite correct," laughed Dave.
"And I'd like to know what good it does you," observed the other. "Laziness is a frightful thing to encourage. Where are you going now?"
"To a meeting."
Nat showed signs of becoming interested, and did not hesitate to declare that he would like to know all about it.
"A club is going to be organized," said Sam Randall, with some hesitation.
Nat Wingate stuffed his hands in his pockets, leaned against an electric light pole and put on a quizzical expression.