But what do you
suppose Remsen was going to tell?"
Joel shook his head. They found Sproule in the room, and to him West
spoke as follows:
"Hello, Dickey! You're not studying? It's not good for you; these sudden
changes should be avoided." Sproule laughed, but looked annoyed at the
banter. "Joel and I have come up for a chat, Dickey," continued West.
"Now, you take your Robinson Crusoe and read somewhere else for a while,
like a nice boy."
Sproule grew red-faced, and turned to West angrily.
"Don't you see I'm studying? If you and March want to talk, why, either
go somewhere else, or talk here."
"But our talk is private, Dickey, and not intended for little boys'
ears. You know the saying about little pitchers, Dickey?"
"Well, I'm not going out, so you can talk or not as you like."
"Oh, yes, you are going out, Dickey. Politeness requires it, and I shall
see that you maintain that delightful courteousness for which you are
noted. Now, Dickey!" West indicated the door with a nod and a smile.
Sproule bent his head over his book and growled a response that sounded
anything but polite. Then West, still smiling, seized the unobliging
youth by the shoulders, pinioning his arms to his sides, and pushed him
away from the table and toward the door. Joel rescued the lamp at a
critical moment, the chairs went over on to the floor, and a minute
later Sproule was on the farther side of the bolted door, and West was
adjusting his rumpled attire.
"I'll report you for this, Outfield West!" howled Sproule through the
door, in a passion of resentment.
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