Then had come the first bewildering dinner, with the myriads of strange faces about him. Already he thought of Jimmie Lawrence, next whom he sat, as an old friend. In the afternoon he was carried off to the Store and fitted out with football clothes, and then led off to the playing-field back of the quadrangle to be tried out. The game was strange to him, and he felt an awkward muff at it. But as a matter of fact he was quick and fleet and intelligent, and at the end of the afternoon, Kit deigned to pat him on the shoulder and to bid him reappear on the morrow. “You are not half bad, you know; for a land-lubber, so to speak. Mind you’re regular, and don’t eat toffy, and keep clear of the pie-house!” At 5 o’clock Tony found himself excused from afternoon school by the Doctor’s command, and went in to tea at the Rectory and was introduced to Mrs. Forester—a sweet, motherly, middle-aged woman; and to two or three masters, the sarcastic Mr. Gray amongst them; and to four or five members of the noble Sixth, who were discussing the new football material. Tony spent a pleasant half-hour there, and after a talk with, or rather from, the Doctor about Kingsbridge and Deal in the olden time, he was sent back to the schoolroom and to afternoon recitations. At 9 o’clock he was dismissed from evening school, and the attentive Lawrence steered him over to Standerland Hall, where Mr. Morris showed him the rooms he was to share with a Fourth Former. This was a pleasant little apartment, consisting of a study and two bedrooms, which looked eastward, over Lovel’s Woods and the Strathsey River. “You can unpack to-morrow,” said Mr. Morris, “but you may take half-an-hour now to get acquainted with your room-mate.” As they entered the room a tall, lanky youth had arisen from a Morris chair. He had rather fair, well-moulded features, a cool gray eye, a quiet but somewhat patronizing manner, a drawl to his speech, and a general air of distinction, not unmingled with conceit. “This is Tony Deering, Carroll. Tony, allow me to present you to your room-mate, Mr. Reginald Carter Westover Carroll, of Virginia.” “Awh, thanks, Mr. Morris, for getting it all in,” drawled Carroll. “How-de-do, Deering; pray don’t hesitate to make yourself at home.” He languidly extended his hand, and allowed Tony to shake it. “Won’t you honor us, Mr. Morris?” he asked, waving his hand gracefully in the direction of the deep easy chair. “No, thank you; not to-night, Reginald. Be good enough to explain to Deering the simple rules that theoretically will govern his behaviour. Lights are to be out at nine-thirty. Good-night.” He shook hands with the boys cordially, and left them alone together. Deering looked curiously about him, a hundred questions on the tip of his tongue; which however he refrained from asking, as he saw Carroll sink back into the Morris chair, extract the novel that he had slipped under it when he had heard the knock, and resume reading.