Dick scowled, shrugged, thrust his hands into his pockets and subsided on the window-seat. “Go ahead then,” he muttered. “But if you laugh I’ll kill you!” So Stanley put the paper between them and made no sound, although certain twitchings of his hands aroused the other’s suspicions. When he was through Stanley lowered the paper from in front of a very serious countenance. “Well?” said Dick morosely. “Say it, you chump!” “Why, I--well, of course, Dickie, it’s a bit--a bit fulsome, you know, but I can’t see anything in it to be mad about.” “You can’t, eh? Well, I can! What do you suppose dad thinks when he reads that sort of piffle? No wonder he wasn’t more--more cordial in his letter!” “But the paper says a lot of very nice things about you, Dick,” protested Stanley. “That about the exclusive Banjo and Mando----” “Oh, shut up!” growled Dick. “They make me sick.” “And I’m sure,” pursued the other gravely, “any fellow would be flattered at having his friends come all the way from Pennsylvania to see him play in the big game.” “Huh! That’s only guff, thank goodness! Gee, if that happened----” “But this paper says it’s likely to happen,” Stanley objected. “If it was me, I’d be pleased purple!” “Yes, you would!” jeered Dick. “Someone’s been filling that newspaper chap with a lot of hot air. That’s the sort of stuff they print about anyone that--that does anything; like moving away or dying or--or getting married. It doesn’t mean anything, but the trouble is that dad has seen it and I’ll bet he believed it.” “Why not? Besides, it says here ‘In his classes Richard stands high.’ That ought to please him, anyway!” “I’d like to know what they know about my classes. The whole thing’s sickening.” “Oh, I don’t know,” murmured Stanley judicially, casting his eyes down the column again. “Say, you never told me that ‘a number of schools and colleges’ were after you, old man. That’s hot stuff! You’ve been hiding your bush under a lightning.” “Well, they really were, Stan, but I didn’t brag of it. Not here, anyway. I did show the letters to Blash one time when he was here, just as a sort of joke. But I don’t see how the paper got hold of it. I suppose Sumner White blabbed.” “Well, cheer up, Dickie. Folks may not think you wrote that yourself. There’s always that chance. Even if they do----” “Stan! Does it--does it sound as if I’d--I’d done it?” “N-no, only the election to the Banjo----” “The High School _Argus_ got that from _The Leader_, you idiot! I suppose the guy that wrote all this drivel found it in the _Argus_ and just--just dilated on it.” “Dilated is good,” chuckled Stanley. “Whoever he is, I’d say he delights to dilate. Well, cut it out and paste it in your scrap-book, Dick. It’ll interest your grandchildren some day.” “Yes, I will!” declared Dick venomously. He seized the paper and tore it into shreds and then cast it from him into the general direction of the waste-basket. “Like fun!”