tomatoes. What did he want with those, Chub?”
Chub chuckled.
“I asked him, and he said they were fine to set up on the fence-posts and shoot at with revolvers. Said every time you hit one the blood came. He’s a good chap, fellows. We must look him up when we get back to college.”
“We sure must!” said Roy, vehemently. “Come on and let’s get these things washed up. It’s ’most time for bed.”
“I wonder,” remarked the doctor, as he pushed Snip off his lap and arose—“I wonder if you boys know what the date is.”
“Yes, sir, the fifth,” replied Chub, promptly.
“Sixth, isn’t it?” asked Roy, doubtfully.
“Seventh,” said Dick, as though he really knew.
“The seventh it is,” replied the doctor, “the seventh of August. Does that suggest anything to any one?” He looked around the circle smilingly. But every one looked utterly blank, every one save Harry; she looked uneasy, as though she would have liked to change the subject of conversation.
“Somebody’s birthday?” asked Roy, vaguely.
