Bertie, reverently.

"I've heard he has white port of 1820," said Billy; "and claret and
champagne."

Bertie looked out of the window. "This is the finest day there's been,"
said he. Then he looked at his watch. It was twenty-five minutes
before Oscar. Then he looked Billy hard in the eye. "Have you any
sand?" he inquired.

It was a challenge to Billy's manhood. "Sand!" he yelled, sitting up.

Both of them in an instant had left the table and bounded out of the
house. "I'll meet you at Pike's," said Billy to Bertie. "Make him give
us the black gelding."

"Might as well bring our notes along," Bertie called after his rushing
friend; "and get John to tell you the road."

To see their haste, as the two fled in opposite directions upon their
errands, you would have supposed them under some crying call of
obligation, or else to be escaping from justice.

Twenty minutes later they were seated behind the black gelding and bound
on their journey in search of the bird-in-Hand. Their notes in
Philosophy 4 were stowed under the buggy-seat.

"Did Oscar see you?" Bertie inquired.

"Not he," cried Billy, joyously.