“Sit down,” invited Malcolm. “Try that wicker chair. Most of these things I brought up with me when I came, although I’ve fetched one or two things since then. Glad you like my pictures.” “I like everything,” replied Evan warmly. “It looks――it looks almost like home! I don’t see how you ever got fixed up so quickly. Why didn’t you let me help you?” “Oh, it wasn’t any bother, and I liked doing it. Besides, I reckon you were pretty busy playing foot-ball, weren’t you? There’s Rob, I think. I’ll call him in.” “Talk about your palatial mansions!” exclaimed Rob as he surveyed the room. “I tell you what, Evan; we’ll use this for our parlor and all sleep in 32.” “I’m afraid Mrs. Crow wouldn’t stand for that,” laughed Malcolm. “And then, too, you say this is cold.” “Cold! What of it? Who would care whether he was cold or warm when he could lie in the midst of such luxury?” Rob stretched himself on the leather couch and crushed innumerable pillows under his head. “We will now have soft music and light refreshments, Mal.” “I’ve got some crackers,” said Malcolm eagerly. “Fetch them along. What do you think of all this, Evan? Isn’t our little friend a――a one of those things commencing with an S?” “Cinch?” asked Evan gravely. Rob viewed him doubtfully. “Cinch! That doesn’t begin―― Oh, you run away and play! Syb――sybarite! That’s the word. What is a sybarite, Mal?” “Oh, a man fond of good things, I reckon. Actually the Sybarites were inhabitants of Sybaris, in southern Italy. Don’t you remember that Seneca tells of a Sybarite who complained that he hadn’t slept well, and when they asked him why he told them that he had found a rose petal doubled under him and that it had hurt him?” “Isn’t he a wonder?” demanded Rob admiringly of Evan. “Do you wonder that he’s a whole class ahead of us stupids? Frankly, though, Mal, I don’t recall that story of Mr. Seneca’s, but he said a whole lot of things I’ve forgotten――or never heard of. Anyway, that’s what you are, Mal, a sybarite, a blooming sybarite.” [Illustration: “‘TALK ABOUT YOUR PALATIAL MANSIONS!’ EXCLAIMED ROB.”] Malcolm passed the crackers around and they tried their best to spoil their appetites for dinner. Luckily the supply of crackers gave out before their end was accomplished. Rob, who, stretched luxuriously on the couch, had been too busy eating to talk, suddenly began to moan and grimace in a frightful manner and roll around. “What’s the matter with you?” asked Malcolm. “I――I think,” muttered Rob, speaking thickly because his mouth was full, “I think there must be a crumpled rose petal under me.” Investigation, however, proved the rose petal to be nothing more romantic than a block of wood in Rob’s pocket, a block which, so he declared, was to be fashioned into the model of his greatest invention as soon as he could borrow somebody’s knife, his own having all blades broken.