“More than an hour to supper,” said Ted finally. “Not that I’m particularly hungry, though. It’s too hot to eat. Honest, fellows, I believe it’s hotter up here than it is in New York! If this last week is a sample of New England summer weather I don’t see why folks come here the way they do.” “It’s the fine, pure air,” muttered Nick. “Air! That’s the trouble. There isn’t any. This place is hotter than Broadway on the Fourth of July!” “There’s a breeze now,” said Nick. “Get it?” “Sure; it almost blew out the door,” replied Ted sarcastically. “Come on over to my place. It’s a heap cooler, I’ll bet.” “I’m too tired to move,” protested his host. “We can go downstairs, if you like. I dare say it’s cooler in the common room.” “Who’s with you this year?” asked Ted, his gaze traveling to the open door of the bedroom at the left. “Fellow by the name of Ordway, or something. Comes from Maryland. Upper middler, I think.” “How’d you happen to go in with him? Thought you liked rooming alone.” “So I do, but I’ve had my eye on this suite ever since I came over from Manning. Gus Livingstone and I had it all fixed to take it together and applied last fall for it. Then, when Gus didn’t come back after winter vacation, I tried to get Nick to come in with me, and――――” “I wanted to hard enough,” said Nick, without turning, “but my dad kicked like a steer. He said seven hundred was too much for his pocket.” “Wow!” exclaimed Ted. “Is that what this stands you? Seven hundred each?” Bert nodded. “Yes, it’s high in price and elevation too.” “What do you pay downstairs, Nick?” “Three hundred. That’s what you pay, isn’t it?” “Two-fifty. Seven hundred for room and board, a hundred and fifty for tuition and a couple of hundred for incidentals; total, ten hundred and fifty a year! Say, Bert, I’ll bet your old man will be mighty glad when you’re through here!” “Then it’ll be college,” answered Bert, “and I guess that won’t be much cheaper. We do cost our folks a lot of money, though, don’t we?” “We’re worth it, though,” said Nick. “At least, some of us are.” Ted Trafford laughed. “I’m worth two-fifty and you’re worth three, eh? And Bert’s worth seven. Well, it’s a peach of a suite, all right, Bert, but I’d just as lief have my dive. Besides, I’ve got it to myself. When you have another chap with you he always wants to cut up when you want to plug. Not for mine, thanks!” “Single blessedness for me, too,” murmured Nick. “When I was in Manning in junior year I roomed with young Fessenden and we nearly got fired because we were always scrapping. He was a quarrelsome little brute!” “What happened to him? Did you kill him finally?” “No, but I wanted to lots of times. He quit the next year. Went to some school in Pennsylvania. His folks wanted him nearer home, he said. I don’t see why they should!” “Hope you like your new chum, Bert,” said Ted. “Broadway’s a funny name, though, eh?”