Joe stifled a triumphant chuckle. “Say,” he substituted, “did you tell Charley Nagel about――about the housewarming?”
“Kind of,” answered Philip. “I told him we were going to ask some of the fellows out to the camp Saturday.”
“Gee! Didn’t you know he’d go and tell Bull and that bunch?”
“Sure! I wanted him to,” replied the other stoutly. “After the way those fellows acted――”
“Well, you went and made a mess of it,” said Joe sternly. “Bull and his crowd are going out there to-night. They’re going to bust the door in and use our things and have a feed!”
Joe told him. “Bull said they’d ‘warm the house’ for us,” he added bitterly. “They’re going to take a steak and some onions and some ginger ale and――”
“Who’s going?” demanded Philip frowningly.
“The whole bunch: Bull and Harper and Pete and Dill Treadway and all those. Charley Nagel, too, I suppose. Six or seven, probably.”
Joe shrugged. “Guess they’re on the way now. They went to get Dill and some others about half an hour ago. Then they had to buy the steak and things.” Joe looked at his nickel watch. “Probably they’re just about starting. I thought you’d want to know.”
Philip nodded thoughtfully. “Of course,” he muttered. “But I guess it’s too late to do anything. That’s a tough crowd, Joe, and they love a scrap. Even if we could get some of our crowd to go out there we couldn’t drive those fellows away. Gee, I wish I hadn’t said anything to Charley!”
“So do I,” said Joe morosely. “They’ll just about wreck the camp! And use up all our things too.”
Philip agreed gloomily. “Potatoes and coffee and everything! If we could only get out there ahead of them――”
Silence fell. Presently Philip arose and quietly returned the violin to its case and relegated the music stand to the closet. Joe watched him anxiously. He had firm faith in Philip’s wit and wisdom, but it seemed that here was a problem too difficult for the chum’s solving, and Joe’s hope languished. Outside, the evening shadows were lengthening fast. The strident whistling of the carroty-haired youth who delivered the evening paper grew near and there was a gentle thud as the damp copy of the _Evening Star_ landed against the front door below.
“There’s the paper,” murmured Joe dejectedly.