Sam snatched the weapon from the jester. “Oh, cut the comedy!” he snapped. “There’s nothing funny about it. I’ll bet you fifty men and boys are out for deer to-day, and I’ve just as good a chance as any of them can have of running into a herd. And if I want to take a chance——Come, now! what’s ridiculous in that?”
Step was disposed to side with Sam. “There’s sense, Poke. Stop your kidding. I want to ask Sam something.”
“Well, what is it?” queried Master Parker guardedly.
“It’s about St. Mark’s. Are you sure you’re going there?”
“Why—why——” Sam hesitated. “Why, I’m practically sure, I guess. Father and I were talking it over last week; and I gathered that if I passed the mid-year examinations here he’d let me transfer.”
Step was rubbing his chin. “Well, that’s what I wanted to know. I’ve been campaigning to get my folks to send me, but they’re hanging off till they learn what your father will do with you.”
Sam’s petulance had vanished. “Great Scott, Step, but it would be cracking if we could go together!” he cried. “Say, Poke, get after your family! We three have been pals ever since we can remember. It’d be bully to take the gang to St. Mark’s.”
Poke shook his head. “Too bad, but there’s no hope for me. Little old High School has got to be good enough for Yours Truly.”
“Oh, the school’s all right,” said Sam. “Only—as my father puts it—it’s case of general versus special. We can fit for college here, but the preparatory course is but one of several, while at St. Mark’s it’s the whole thing. That ought to mean a better ‘fit.’ And you know the fun the fellows have there, and the athletics, and all the rest of it.”
Poke’s expression was uncommonly serious. “You’ve set your heart on going, Sam, haven’t you?”