confidence of almost all his mates. K. K. was one of the most
remarkable chaps, who, while engaging in the customary rough and tumble
sports of boys with red blood in their veins, still seemed able to keep
himself always tidy and neat. No one ever knew how he did it, and a
few were wont to call him a "sissy," but K. K. was far from that. Only
one boy attending Scranton High could really come under such a name,
and he was Reggie Van Alstyne, who had always been a veritable dude.

"Oh! I had nearly forgotten an errand my mother commissioned me to do
for her," Hugh suddenly exclaimed. "I'll have to leave you here, K.
K., and turn back."

The other laughed.

"Too much baseball on the brain, I reckon, Hugh," he went on to say;
"but then, with your fetching us that good news, it wasn't to be
wondered that you let such a little thing as an errand for your mother
slip out of your mind. If I can help any, tell me, Hugh."

"Oh! no, I've just got to step in at Madame Pangborn's and ask her
something. My mother is interested in Red Cross work, you know, and
the old Madame has a connection with the French branch of that service.
Most of the material the ladies of Scranton have been getting ready is
sent abroad through the queer old lady, who, they say, once used to
queen it at the court of Louis Napoleon. She's over eighty years of
age now, but quite rich, I've been told. And if you've never been in
her house you'd be interested in seeing how she lives. That wonderful
green parrot of hers can rattle off a whole string of songs and
sayings. It almost gives you the creeps to hear Jocko performing, for
it strikes you as what Andy McGuffey would call uncanny. Well, so