“T-t-try, try again,” assisted Gordon. Fudge muttered something both unintelligible and uncomplimentary, and Gordon turned to Dick: “How did you get on with Mrs. Thingamabob at the Point, Dick?” he asked. “What’s the kid like?” “All right. The name is Townsend. They’re at the hotel. The boy is thirteen and he’s—he’s a bit spoiled, I guess. There’s an older brother, too, a fellow about seventeen. He confided to me that I’d have a beast of a time with the youngster. His name—the brother’s—is Loring Townsend. Anybody know him?” There was no response, and Dick continued: “He seemed rather a nice chap, big brother did. As for the kid—his name is Harold, by the way——” “Fancy names, what?” said Gordon. “Loring and Harold.” “No fancier than your own,” commented Fudge, still a trifle disgruntled. “Gordon! Gee, that’s a sweet name for a grown-up fellow!” “Not as sweet as Fudge, though,” answered Gordon. “That’s not my n-n-name!” “There, you’re getting him excited again,” said Lanny soothingly. “Move out of the moonlight, Fudge. It’s affecting your disposition. What about the kid, Dick? Is he the one you’re going to tutor?” “Yes; he’s entered for Rifle Point in the Autumn, and he’s way behind on two or three things. The worst of it is that he doesn’t seem very enthusiastic about catching up. I guess I’ll have my work cut out for me. The big brother told me that I was to take no nonsense from young Harold, and that he’d back me up, but—I don’t know. I guess Mrs. Townsend wouldn’t approve of harsh measures. She’s trying her best to spoil the kid, I’d say. I’m to go over five mornings a week, beginning Monday.” “I’m glad I don’t have to do it,” commented Gordon. “I’ll bet the kid is a young terror, Dick.” Dick smiled. “He is—something of the sort. But I guess he and I will get on all right after a while. And if he’s got it in him to learn, he will learn,” Dick added grimly. “That is, unless his mother——” “She’s bound to,” said Lanny. “They all do. Inside of a week she’ll be telling you that you’re working her darling too hard.” “How do you know so much about it?” challenged Fudge. “Anyone would think you were a hundred years old!” Lanny laughed. “I’ve kept my eyes open, Fudge, sweet child. Mothers are pretty fine institutions; no fellow should be without one; but they are most of them much too easy on us. And you know that as well as I do.” “Mine isn’t,” murmured Fudge regretfully. “She’s worse than my father at making me do things!” “Oh, well, you’re an exceptional case,” said Gordon gently. “When a fellow shows criminal tendencies like yours, Fudge——” “Yes, writing stories at your age! You ought to be ashamed!” Lanny spoke with deep severity. Fudge only chuckled. “Some day,” he announced gleefully, “I’m going to write a story and put you fellows all into it. Then you’ll wish you hadn’t been so fresh. The only thing is”—and his voice fell disconsolately—“I don’t suppose, if I told what I know about you, I could get it published!”