"Help! Aid! Succor! Relief! Assistance!" shrieked Hicks, leaning his
beloved banjo against the wall and throwing himself into what he
fatuously believed was an intensely pugilistic pose. "I am a believer in
preparedness. You have me cornered, so beware! I am a follower of Henry
Ford, but even I will fight--at bay!"
"Well, you are at
sea now!" growled Beef, tucking the splinter youth
under one arm and striding down the corridor, followed by Butch with the
banjo, and Monty with Deacon. "You desperado, you destroyer of peace and
quietude, you one-cylinder gadabout! You're off again! We'll instruct you
to annoy real students, you faint shadow of something human!"
"Them's harsh sentences, Beef!" chuckled T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., as that
behemoth kicked open Hicks' door, bore the futilely squirming, kicking
youth into the room, and hurled him on the davenport. "Watch my banjo,
there, Butch; have a couple of cares! Say, what'smatter wid youse guys,
anyhow? This is my first saengerfest for eons. Old Bannister has a clear
track ahead at last, the Championship is won for
sure, and Thor, that
mighty engine of destruction to Ham's and Ballard's hopes, after much
tinkering, is hitting on all twelve cylinders. Why, I prithee, deny me the
pleasure of a little joyous song?"
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., since the memorable Latham game, when Thor had
awakened between halves, and the Prodigious Prodigy had shown himself
worthy of his title by winning the game after defeat leered at old
Bannister, had suffered a relapse, and was again his old sunny, heedless,
happy-go-lucky self.
Pages:
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140