Part 3 (1/2)

”We'll help you,” said Will Phelps, at once laying aside his coat.

In their room he and Foster had done but little of the labor required in unpacking their belongings, for neither had been accustomed to such tasks in the homes from which they had come. Their fathers both were well-to-do and it had not occurred to either of the boys that the manual labor in settling their room was something to be expected of them. For a moment Foster glanced quizzically at his friend as if he was puzzled to account for his unexpected proffer, but knowing Will's impulsiveness as he did he was quick to respond, and in a brief time the few belongings of Peter John and his room-mate were unpacked and the beds were set up, the shades at the windows, and the few scanty belongings all arranged.

”I didn't bring a carpet. Did you?” inquired Hawley of Schenck.

”No,” replied Peter John.

”We can get along without one. I haven't any money to spare, and carpets are luxuries anyway. If we feel like it we can buy one afterwards.

They're dangerous things though,” and Hawley laughed as he spoke. ”My doctor says they're the worst sources of contagion in the world, and whatever else I do I must be careful of my health.” Again the laugh of the young giant rang out, and in its contagion all three of his cla.s.smates joined.

And yet as Will Phelps glanced about the room its appearance was pitifully bare. The furniture was of the plainest, the walls were bare of pictures, there were none of the numerous pillows and other tokens of the warm regard of friends that had accompanied himself and his room-mate into the new life upon which they had entered. Apparently, however, Hawley was as delighted over his surroundings as he and Foster over theirs, perhaps even more, and Will was thoughtful for a moment as he silently watched his newly made friend.

”How did you happen to come to Winthrop?” he inquired at last when the task of settling the room was measurably complete and all four had seated themselves on the rude wooden chairs which made up most of the furnis.h.i.+ngs of the room.

”I didn't 'happen' to come.” Somehow everything appeared to be a source of enjoyment to Hawley, and questions or remarks were alike greeted with a laugh.

”What made you, then?”

”Isn't Winthrop the best college in the United States?” demanded Hawley.

”Yes, or at least that's what my father thinks. He graduated here and it may be that his opinion is a little prejudiced. Is that why you came?”

”Partly.” Again Hawley laughed and closed one eye as he spoke.

”I can give a guess what the other reason was,” said Foster.

”What was it?”

”Football.”

Hawley laughed loudly this time as he replied, ”You're 'a very Daniel come to judgment.' That's from the 'Merchant of Venice,' isn't it? Well, if it is, it's about all I remember of my English course. Well, I'll be honest with you. I did see Baker this summer, and he set before me the advantages of coming to Winthrop in such a way that I couldn't very well say no. And I didn't, so here I am.”

”Did he offer to pay you?” demanded Peter John.

”Did he offer _what?_” demanded Hawley.

Somewhat abashed Peter John did not repeat his question, and his room-mate at once turned the conversation into other lines. ”We had a pretty good football team in the academy where I fitted for college, and there were several colleges, or at least the football men of the college, who seemed to be quite willing that some of our fellows should go to them. We had a half-back who was a dandy! His name was Patrick O'Hara, and he pa.s.sed better in football than he did in any other subject in the course.” And Hawley stopped to laugh at the recollection of his former fellow-student. ”Pat wasn't very much of a hand to study, and when one of the men from White College suggested to him that he should come there, why Pat was delighted. 'What studies will you take?'

asked the fellow, for you see he knew without being told that Pat wouldn't be valedictorian of his cla.s.s whatever other honor he might take, and he was trying to make it easy for him. 'Well,' said Pat, ''bedad, an' if it's all th' same t' yez, I'm thinkin' I'll just be afther takin' a bit o' the spellin' an' perhaps a bit o' figurin'. How do thot be afther suitin' yez'?”

All the boys joined in the laugh with which Hawley related the story, and Will Phelps said, ”Where did Pat go?”

”Well,” said Hawley slowly, ”he has gone to White College.”

”Do you mean to say he has _entered_ there?” demanded Will.

”That's what they tell me, though I've a notion he'll come out the same door he went in, and he won't tarry long either. Probably soon after the season ends.”

”But we play White College. It's one of our nearest rivals,” suggested Will. ”But then,” he added, ”that's just like them. They never do a thing on the square anyway!”