What was algebra, English, or a little wall-scaling compared to such
an opportunity?
And, anyway, who would be the wiser?
There must be ways of getting off so nobody, not even Bob, would
know.
If only Bob could be persuaded to cut school!
But it was never any use to urge Bob when he spoke in that horribly
positive tone. You might just as well try to move a lighthouse.
Van glanced furtively at his chum who, unconscious of his scrutiny,
was writing steadily down a long page of foolscap. The sight had a
steadying effect. Van again took up his book and scowled once more
at that same old line at the top of the page. But all the time
between his eyes and his Latin lesson swayed that alluring throng of
pleasure seekers. Impatiently he tried to banish them, but stern as
was his attempt their laughter still sounded in his ears. Against
his will he was back at the ball game, and this time he was on his
feet shouting wildly with the other fans as Carruth, the star
batter, made a soaring hit and stole two bases on it. In that
instant of unreined enthusiasm Van Blake decided that come what
might he would go to the game on Saturday--go even though his whole
term's work went for naught.
The resolve made he tried to stifle his conscience by falling upon
his Latin with unwonted zeal, and so ardently did he wrestle with it
that when, an hour later, Bob pushed aside his papers and offered to
help him with the lesson he was able to greet his chum with a
translation so far beyond his customary efforts that Bob patted him
on the head with paternal pride, exclaiming:
"Bully for you, old man! That's about the best work I ever knew of
your doing.
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