nowledge a fact
oneself and another to hear the same fact stated by a second person.
There's a certain finality about the latter that is convincing. But if
Don was downcast he didn't show it to his companion. Don had a way of
concealing his emotions that Tim at once admired and resented. When Tim
felt blue--which was mighty seldom--he let it be known to the whole
world, and when he felt gay he was just as confiding. But Don--well, as
Tim often said, he was "worse than an Indian!"

After study they sallied forth again, arm in arm, and went down the Row
to Torrence and climbed the stairs to Number 14. As the door was half
open knocking was a needless formality--especially as the noise within
would have prevented its being heard--and so Tim pushed the portal
further ajar and entered, followed by Don, on a most animated scene.
Eight boys were sprawled or seated around the room, while another, a
thin, tall, unkempt youth with a shock of very black hair which was
always falling over his eyes and being brushed aside, was standing in a
small clearing between table and windows balancing a baseball bat,
surmounted by two books and a glass of water, on his chin. So interested
was the audience in this startling feat that the presence of the new
arrivals passed unnoted until the juggler, suddenly stepping back,
allowed the law of gravity to have its way for an instant. Then his
right hand caught the falling bat, the two books crashed unheeded to the
floor and his left hand seized the descending tumbler. Simultaneously
there was a disgruntled yelp from Jim Morton and a howl of laughter from
the rest of the audience. For the juggler, while he had miraculously
caught the tumbler in mid-air, had not been deft enough to keep the
contents intact and about half of it had gone into the football
manager's face. However, everyone there except Morton applauded
enthusiastically and hilariously, and Larry Jones, sweeping his
offending locks aside with the careless and impatient grace of a violin
virtuoso, bowed repeatedly.

"Great stuff," approved Amory Byrd, rescuing his books from the floor.
"Do it again and stand nearer Jim."

"If he does it again I'm going into the hall," said Morton disgustedly,
wiping his damp countenance on the edge of Clint Thayer's bedspread.
"You're a punk juggler, Larry."

"All right, you do it," was the reply. Larry proffered the bat and
tumbler, but Morton waved them indignantly aside.

"I don't do monkey-tric