"It'll do you good. I'd go with you,
only I've got to get that condition made up or they'll fire me off the
'varsity, and I only need this one more game to get my letter."
"Go to thunder!" growled Tennelly. "What do you think I want to go to
church for a morning like this? Court, you're crazy! Let's go and get
two saddle-horses and ride in the park. It's a peach of a morning for a
ride."
"I think I'll go to church," said Courtland, with his old voice of quiet
decision. "Do you want to go or not?"
There was something about Courtland's voice, and the way Bill Ward kept
up winking his off eye, that subdued Tennelly.
"Sure, I'll go," he growled, reluctantly.
"You old crab, you," chirped Bill, cheerfully, when Courtland had gone
out. "Can't you see you've got to humor him? He needs homeopathic
treatment. 'Like cures like.' Give him a good dose of religion and he'll
get good and tired of it. Church won't hurt him any, just give him a
good, pious feeling so he'll feel free to do as he pleases during the
week. I had a 'phone from Gila this morning. She says he's made another
date with her after exams. He fell, all right, so go get your little lid
and toddle off to Sunday-school. Try to toll him into a big, stylish
church. They're safest; but 'most any of 'em are cold enough to freeze
the eye-teeth out of a stranger as far as my experience goes."
"Well, this isn't my funeral," sulked Tennelly, going to his closet for
suitable raiment.
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