“You don’t believe it?” protested Tooker. “Why, the man’s a prominent citizen of my town; keeps a shoot and boe store――” There was a laugh at that. Tooker waited patiently and resumed. “He doesn’t mind being called Shad; makes no bones about it!” The talk became more serious after that, and the subjects ran all the way from Football to Elective Courses. At nine o’clock Mr. Collins disappeared and returned presently with a tall pitcher of lemonade and a tin box of biscuits. The conversation again became jocular, Tooker starting it with: “Well, Teller, I was right after all, wasn’t I?” “About what?” asked Sanford gravely. “About the lemonade,” replied Tooker with the straightest of faces. “You said you didn’t think Mr. Collins would give us lemonade to-night and guessed you wouldn’t come. I told you he would, though!” Sanford’s shocked denials were drowned in the laughter of the rest, from which Tooker’s voice emerged again: “――Very wrong, I think, to consider your stomach as much as you do, Teller. I’ll have another biscuit, please, Arthur.” Kendall found Ned Tooker fascinatingly amusing. Kendall was not much of a joker himself, but he was blessed with a generous sense of humor and he enjoyed Ned’s ridiculous remarks thoroughly. Presently the little gathering broke up, Tooker tugging at Sanford’s sleeve with one hand and exhibiting the empty pitcher with the other: “Come on, Teller, it’s all gone; honest; look for yourself.” Sanford informed him that he was a “silly ass.” “I deny it,” replied Ned. “I may lack tact, but I’m not an ass. Good night, Mr. Collins.” “Good night,” laughed the host. “Come again, fellows.” “Coming along, Ned?” called Abercrombie from the entrance. “No, I’m going home with this chap. I want to hear more about his friend Meshach Fish.” The others laughed and went out and Ned turned to Kendall. “Mind if I go up with you and converse awhile? Those fellows are so flippant that I really feel the need of a few moments of serious conversation to compose my mind.” CHAPTER X NED TOOKER Kendall, striving to hide his surprise, replied that he would be very glad to have Tooker come up. “Thank you,” replied Ned, leading the way. “You’re in 21, aren’t you? I used to be in 17 myself last year.” “What made you leave?” asked Kendall politely. “Custom, Burtis, custom. We’re all slaves to it. In your senior year you have the inestimable privilege of rooming in Dudley. It’s always done and so I did it. Left a perfectly comfortable, well-heated room and went over there to freeze in a little two-by-twice hole-in-the-wall. Here we are! Sure you don’t mind my sticking around awhile?” “Glad to have you,” replied Kendall, observing with satisfaction that Harold was out. “That big chair’s the most comfortable.” But Tooker chose a straight-backed chair, explaining gravely that he believed in mortifying the flesh whenever possible. He took up a book, glanced at the title and laid it down again: