Читать книгу Dick Merriwell's Fighting Chance; Or, The Split in the Varsity онлайн

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“You’re wrong there, Bob,” Dick put in quietly. “Some of the profs are daffy about the game. The dean wouldn’t miss one for any amount of money.”

“Yes, and old Piercy is the worst of the lot,” chimed in Fitzgerald. “You ought to have seen him Saturday—standing up on the bench, his hat off, hair rumpled, and eyes popping out of his head, waving his arms like a windmill, and yelling like a fiend. He’s a good old sport, even if he does like to catch a fellow napping in the classroom.”

The clock struck ten, and the sound had scarcely died away when Buckhart threw out his arms and yawned, loudly and ostentatiously.

“Humph!” remarked Fitzgerald tartly. “Why don’t you tell us plainly that it’s time to go home?”

“I was waiting to see if you wouldn’t wake up to the fact yourselves,” the Texan returned tranquilly.

The slim chap eyed him mischievously.

“I’ve a good mind to stay here just to spite you,” he said presently.

Buckhart yawned again.

“Stay right along, if you like, little one,” he drawled. “That wouldn’t bother me a whole lot. In about ten minutes I’m going to hit the pillow; but if you gents want to sit here for the rest of the night chinning, you’ve sure got my permission.”