Part 87

Jasper, who had never seen Pickering cry, had wild thoughts of rushing for Mrs. Cabot; the uncle was not at home. But remembering how little good this could possibly do, he bent all his energies to stop this unlooked-for flood.

But he was helpless. Having never given way in this manner before, Pickering seemed determined to make a thorough job of it. And it was not till he was quite exhausted that he rolled over, wiped his eyes, and looked at Jasper.

"I'm through," he announced.

"I should think you might well be," retorted Jasper; "what with scaring me almost to death, you've made yourself a fright, Pick, and you've just upset all your chances to study to-day."

Pickering flung himself off the bed as summarily as he had gone on.

"That's likely, isn't it?" he cried mockingly, and shamefacedly scrabbling up the books from the floor. "Now, then," and he was across the room, pouring out a basinful of water, to thrust his swollen face within it.

"Whew! I never knew it used a chap up so to cry," he spluttered. "Goodness me!" He withdrew his countenance from the towel to regard Jasper.

"How you look!" cried Jasper, considering it better to rail at him.

Whereupon Pickering found his way to the long mirror. "I never was a beauty," he said.

"And now you are less," laughed Jasper.

"But I'm good," said Pickering solemnly, and flinging himself down to his books.

"You can't study with such eyes," cried Jasper, tugging at the book.

"Clear out!"

"I'm not going. Pick, your eyes aren't much bigger than pins."

"But they're sharp--just as pins are. Leave me alone." Pickering squirmed all over his chair, but Jasper had the book.

"Never mind, I'll fly at my history, then," said Pickering, possessing himself of another book; "that's the beauty of it. I'm as backward in all of my lessons as I am in one. I can strike in anywhere."

"You are not backward in any now," cried Jasper in glee, and performing an Indian war dance around the table. "Forward is the word henceforth," he brought up dramatically with another lunge at Pickering.

"Get out. You better go home."

"I haven't the smallest intention of going," replied Jasper, and successfully coming off with a second book.

"Here's for book number three," declared Pickering--but too late. Jasper seized the remaining two, tossed them back of him, then squared off.

"Come on for a tussle, old fellow. You're not fit to study--ruin your eyes. Come on!" his whole face sparkling.

It was too much. The table was pushed one side; books and lessons, Mr. Faber and college, were as things never heard of. And for a good quarter of an hour, Pickering, whose hours of exercise had been much scantier of late, was hard pushed to parry all Jasper's attacks. At the last, when the little clock on the mantel struck four, he came out ahead.

"I declare, that was a good one," he exclaimed in a glow.

"Particularly so to you," said Jasper ruefully. "You gave me a regular bear-hug, you scamp."

"Had to, to pay you up."

"And now you may study," cried Jasper gaily; and snatching his books, he ran off.

"Oh, Pick," putting his head in at the door.

"Yes?"