Sam disdained to make reply. Lon pursed his lips.
“Sonny, this won’t do. It’s bad medicine. Say, where’ll you be at if you behave like this when you go to St. Mark’s?”
“I’ll get along all right.”
Lon brushed furiously for a little. “I—I dunno’s there’s but—but one way—for some folks to learn things,” he said jerkily. “When you’re there—jest one among two-three hundred boys—it’ll be different, now I tell you! We put up with you; they won’t.”
“Huh! Who’s afraid?”
“I’d be—if I was you.”
“Bah!”
Lon shook his head. “Sam,” he said, “if I thought this was a real in-growin’ attack, I’d be worried a heap wuss than I am. But I’m worried enough as it is. Now, I’ll give you a good tip. If you don’t want to see the other boys, go for a good, long tramp. Walk it off! That’s jest what the real hedgehog can’t do—his legs ain’t long enough.”
“No fun walking—day like this.”
Lon was a patient soul. “Wal, why don’t you go huntin’, then?”