“Never mind her, Bar,” said Val, when she was out of hearing.
“I don’t,” said Bar; “but I’ll kill some of her ghosts for her if she isn’t good to me.”
“It’s clearing up a little,” replied Val. “The ghosts may be heard from sooner than people think.”
By the time the boys came out again the usually deserted green began to put on a somewhat lively appearance.
The two friends had hardly supposed Ogleport could turn out so many “young men” of all ages, from twenty years down, and Val declared that several of the older ones were “boarders,” like themselves, while others had come in from the surrounding farms and were there by accident.
Bar noticed, however, that the one “pervading spirit,” busiest and most controlling, but without being either talkative or meddlesome, was that odd chap, Zeb Fuller.
“Has something on his mind to-day, or I’m mistaken,” he remarked to Val. “I never saw just such another. Was he the fellow that thrashed you last term?”
“Yes,” said Val; “he once and that big fellow there another time. That’s Hy Allen, and he’s a sort of bully of the Academy.”
“Then, Val, my boy,” said Bar, “I’m afraid those two have made up their minds to try it again.”
“Had we better keep away?”