"A continuous performance," supplemented Hackett.
"And of course such an awful example had to be made an example of," chuckled Benny Wilkins. "Anywhere within a five-mile zone his name is 'Crackers.' When he gets beyond, some people call him Dan and others Brown. He's been done up brown, too; haven't you, Brown?"
"Some greenies may think so."
"Well, it's a good thing talk like that doesn't mean a black eye for some one. What were you saying, Nat?"
"I'm trying to put Owen straight on who we are and what we are," answered Nat. "You see, John Hackett, Kirk Talbot and myself left school at the end of last term, and have already begun our struggle in life."
"So far, it's been something fierce, too," confided Hackett. "I'm working for my father, and the howl he raises when I want a day or two off would almost make you run out of the store."
"John's the meanest apology for a dry-goods clerk that ever skimped on a yard of cloth," announced Benny Wilkins.
Nat turned toward Lawrence. "Ted Pollock, an old chum of ours, is still making the professors at the school throw up their hands in despair. So are most of the other chaps around here."
"I've seen Benny Wilkins at the school," said Owen.
"We must whisper that he's seen too often everywhere. He totes around a note-book—must fill one every week. What did you put down to-day, Benny?"