“That’s the best reason in the world for keeping away from Cullum, then,” laughed Dick.

“But I mean it seriously,” protested Anstey.

“So do I,” replied Dick

“I’m really a committee of one, sent here by some of tonight’s draggers,” protested the Virginian.

“Tell them of your non-success, then, do,” urged Dick.  “For I’m not going to Cullum tonight.  Are you, Greg?”

“Ye-es,” returned Holmes promptly.  Then, suddenly, he paused in his moving about the room.

He now stood looking at his left hand, on which appeared a small smear of black.

“No!” suddenly uttered Greg.  “I’m not going.  I’ve changed my mind—–­and for the best reasons possible.”

“Now, what on earth has made you so excited?” demanded Anstey wonderingly.

CHAPTER XXII

GREG’S SECRET AND ANOTHER’S

“Are you going to the hop tonight?” asked Holmes, looking up with gleaming eyes from the smear on the back of his hand.

“No,” admitted Anstey.

“Can you keep a secret?

“Yes, suh; suhtinly.”

“Then come here at 8.15 to-night.”

“What are you talking-----”

“I’m not talking, now,” retorted Greg with a resolute tone in his voice.  “Like a wise man, I’m going to do some thinking first.  But you call around this evening.  It’ll be worth your while.”

Anstey looked and felt highly mystified.  It must be something both sudden and important to make Greg change his mind so swiftly.  For Cadet Holmes, who, in his home town, had not been exactly noted for gallantries to the other sex, had, in the yearling class, acquired the reputation of being a good deal of a “spoonoid.”  This is the term applied to a cadet who displays a decided liking for feminine company.

“I can see that it isn’t any use to ask you anything now,” went on Anstey.

“It isn’t,” Greg returned promptly.  “I’m never secretive against you, Anstey, old man and the only reason I don’t talk at once is that I don’t know just what I want to say.  But remember—–­8.15.  By that time I think I shall have solved myself into a highly talkative goat yearling.”

Rap-tap! at the door, and Furlong and Dunstan dropped in.

“Want to tell you what I think about your pitching, old ramrod,” announced Furlong.

“It’s rotten!” glowed Dunstan cheerfully “And your shortstop work,
Holmesy-----”

“What kindergarten nine did you play with last?” insisted Furlong.

“I was just making up my mind not to pitch again this season,” grinned Cadet Prescott.

“Why not?” Furlong demanded.

“Milesy,” laughed Dick, “you should never go out on a kidding expedition until you’re sure you’re josh-proof yourself.  Do you think anything less than the coaches and the team captain could stop me from pitching?  But I sorry for Ken, if I’m to supplant him.”