“Well, Peg, Andrews is a nice old thing if you approach him right,” replied Reddy, dryly. “You wouldn't believe me, would you, if I said I had my heart in my throat when we went in?”
“No, I wouldn't,” replied Ken, bluntly.
“I thought not,” said Reddy. Then the gravity that had suddenly perplexed Ken cleared from the sprinter's face. “Peg, let's have some fun with Worry and the boys.”
“I'm in for anything now.”
“We'll go back to the training-house with long faces. When we get in you run up-stairs as if you couldn't face any one, but be sure to sneak back to the head of the stairs to see and hear the fun. I'll fix Worry all right. Now, don't flunk. It's a chance.”
Ken could not manage to keep a straight face as they went in, so he hid it and rushed up-stairs. He bumped into Raymond, knocking him flat.
“Running to a fire again?” growled Raymond. “Got a fire-medal, haven't you? Always falling over people.”
Ken tried to simulate ungovernable rage and impotent distress at once. He waved one fist and tore his hair with the other hand.
“Get out of my way!” roared Ken. “What'll you say when I tell you I'm barred from the varsity!”
“Oh! Ken! No, no—don't say it,” faltered Raymond, all sympathy in an instant.