“Once more, please, and give me something easier,” begged Dan. “Very well; set me lee. I suppose you know that you had choast ricken for dinner?” “Roast chicken! But how the dickens do you do it so quickly? I’d have to think an hour.” “Hink a thour, you mean,” Ned corrected. “It’s serfectly pimple. It pomes with cractice.” “For goodness’ sake, shut up!” laughed Dan. “You’ll have me crazy. It’s a wonderful language, though. I shall study it. Have you written a book about it yet?” “Yot net,” replied Ned, shaking his head, “but I’m toing go. When I do I shall dedicate it to Van Dinton.” Dan put his hands to his ears and jumped up. “Come on,” he cried, “and let me take you home before you get any worse!” “You mean,” began Ned gravely. “_No, I don’t!_ Shut up! Have we paid for dinner yet? I’ve eaten so much I’ve forgotten what has happened.” “We have not. Let’s find mine host and settle up.” “Now I know why you worked so hard for that tip. You’re going to help pay for your dinner with it.” “That quarter? Never! Do you realize, sir, that that is absolutely the first money I ever earned? Is not that a beautiful thought? I shall always keep that quarter, always treasure it.” He slipped it into his vest pocket and patted it fondly. “You never realize the value of money, Vinton, until you earn it by the sweat of your brow.” “Your brow hasn’t sweated ten cents’ worth,” laughed Dan. “Come on and let’s hunt up Mr. Washington.” “I wish,” murmured Ned regretfully when they had each enriched the hotel exchequer with a dollar bill, “I wish I had eaten that fourth fritter!” They walked back rather more leisurely through the late sunlight, reaching school just as twilight descended. “I never thought,” Ned confided as they parted in front of Clarke, “that I’d have any appetite for supper, but, to quote our English cousins again, I feel a bit peckish, don’t you know.” “I’m hungry again myself,” Dan answered. “I say, we had an awfully good time, didn’t we? Let’s try it again some day, eh? Much obliged to you, Tooker, for coming along. I suppose you thought I was sort of crazy, but it was Payson’s idea; he thought I needed a tramp, and so I asked you――” “Thank you,” said Ned gravely. “I may be a tramp, but you needn’t throw it in my face.” “I’m sorry; hope I didn’t hurt your feelings. Come and see me, will you? Come over to-night for a while.” “Not to-night, for I told Burtis I’d drop in on him. But I’ll be around soon. Lo song.” “Eh? Oh, so long. I’m crazy about your Tookeritis――” “Tookeranto, please,” Ned corrected. “Whatever it is; and I’m going to study it so I can understand what you’re saying now and then.” “Unkind, unkind!” murmured Ned sorrowfully. “I fid you barewell, Van Dinton.”