“Hugh,” answered Bert from the doorway, “Hugh Brodwick Ordway. Some name, what?” “Rawther!” “Cut it,” laughed Guy, “or we’ll all be talking that way! I feel it coming on. We’ll come up after supper, Bert, and help you entertain, although when I’m going to get my things unpacked――――” “I’ll help you, Guy,” Nick volunteered. “I’m a remarkable little unpacker. A misplace for everything and everything misplaced, is my motto. Bye-bye, Bert. Give my love to Broadway――I should say Ordway. Tell him I’ll be around later and cheer him up!” Hugh Ordway was not, however, singing either ‘Dixie’ or anything else when Bert got back to Number 29. He was sitting at the window, attired principally in a bathrobe, gazing a trifle disconsolately, or so Bert thought, out over the campus. He turned as Bert entered. “I say, Winslow, what about a bath?” he asked. “Is there a tub on this floor?” “Yes, but it’s five minutes to supper time, Ordway. You’d better leave it till afterwards.” The other reflected. “Very well,” he said. “And, another thing.” He hesitated. “Do I put on――er――do I dress, you know?” “Well, I wouldn’t go down in that thing,” said Bert gravely. “No, but just regular things, eh? You see, I really don’t know much about American prep schools. I dare say I’ll make an awful ass of myself,” he added ruefully. “Wear whatever you like. Sweaters are the only things barred. I’ll wait for you and show you the way.” “Thanks,” was the grateful reply. “That’s decent of you. I won’t be a minute.” He disappeared into the bedroom and, judging from the sounds, managed a very good substitute for that prohibited bath. Still, although he wasn’t back in a minute, Bert didn’t have long to wait. Ordway returned in a blue serge suit and patent leather shoes. He was certainly, thought Bert, a mighty good-looking chap; straight, well formed, with a clear, fair complexion, nice brown eyes and hair of the same color. His nose was a bit aquiline and his chin was at once round and strong looking. Bert, studying him as he paused to make certain that he had placed a handkerchief in his pocket, decided that he was far more American than English in appearance, whatever his character might prove. Bert moved to the door, while Ordway was securing the missing article of attire, and pulled it open. “All right?” he asked. “Yes, thanks.” Bert unconsciously stepped aside for the other to pass out first. Afterwards, going down the stairs, he was angry with himself for having done so. “I’m just as good as he is, for all his airs,” he told himself, “and I’m the older, too.”