“No, I rather like that music,” Bob said. “It is so soothing.”
“Soothing!” howled Jerry. “I’d rather live next to a boiler factory! But if it isn’t that, Bob, what is it? Tell us, Mr. Endman, what am gwine t’ happen?” and Jerry imitated a negro minstrel.
“Let’s have another feed happen,” suggested the stout lad. “It’s been a long while since we’ve done anything but play ball. Let’s have a spread.”
“And get caught again?” asked Ned. “Not for mine!”
“We won’t get caught,” said Bob. “We’ve been so noble and upright lately that the proc won’t suspect us. And I don’t believe any one will squeal now. We haven’t done anything worth mentioning since the picture racket. By the way, Ned, have you found out who wrote the card that gave us away?”
“No, but I’m on the track. I’ve eliminated all but two typewriters now. It was written on either one of them. I’ve had specimens of writing from every machine in the building but two.”
“Frank Watson’s and Proxy’s--or the one his clerk uses.”
“Great fish-cakes!” cried Bob. “You don’t suspect Proxy; do you?”
“Of course not. It may have been his clerk, but I don’t guess so. The only other one is Frank, and I’ll get the goods on him yet!”
“Well, about the feed,” resumed Bob, “shall we have it?”
“Sure! Go ahead!” assented Jerry. “Things have been a bit dull of late.”
Word was quietly passed around that another feast was to be given by the three chums, and invitations to it were eagerly looked for.
“That Chunky sure does know how to get up an eat-fest,” said Gene Flarity. “Too bad the last one was spoiled.”
“Oh, it wasn’t exactly spoiled,” observed George Fitch. “We had most of the stuff put away inside us when the proc came in. But I don’t think any one will squeal this time.”
“If they do, and it proves to be Frank, he ought to be run out of college,” declared Gene. “It’s a shame the way he snubs those fellows.”
“So it is,” agreed George. “Well, we’ll hope for the best.”
“And we’ll get it, if Chunky has the ordering of the eats,” chuckled Gene. “He was telling me he was going to make a chicken pie in that electric chafing dish.”
“Good!” exclaimed George. “Chunky is sure some little cook!”
To the surprise of Ned, Bob and Jerry, who quietly passed word around about the prospective surreptitious lunch, members of the varsity nine whom they asked, refused.