"Hang it all, don't you suppose I want to?" Bob retorted. "What do
you think I'm made of, anyway?"
"I don't know, Bobbie. Sometimes you're so resigned I begin to fear
you are a mummy," was Van's laughing retort. "Now, I'm not like
that. It is one big grind for me to study. The minute spring comes
it seems as if I never could translate another line of Cicero as
long as I lived, and I don't care a hurray what X equals. What will
it matter a hundred years hence whether we plug away here at this
stuff, or get out and play ball?"
"I guess you'd find it would matter to you right now without waiting
for the end of a century," was the laconic answer. "But speaking of
ball, what wouldn't you give to see the first League game of the
season in town, Saturday? That will be some playing!"
"I clean forgot the season opened this week," exclaimed Van. "Since
I got back here I've been all mixed up on dates. I thought it was
next week. Are you sure it's Saturday?"
Bob nodded.
"Positive."
"It'll be a cracker-jack game," mused Van. "I'd give something to be
there. You don't suppose we could get off at noon and go, do you?"
"Not on your life! Right now, after vacation? What do you take this
school faculty for--an entertainment committee? You seem to forget
we'd have to cut algebra, and English, and gym."
"I shouldn't care."
"I should. I'm working this trip, and can't afford to miss
recitations," was Bob's sharp reply. "As for you, you can afford to
miss them even less than I can--you know that.
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