Stover went up the stairs like a terrier, answering the joyful whoop with a war-cry of his own. The next moment he and McCarthy were pummeling each other, wrestling about the room, to the dire danger of furniture and crockery. When this sentimental moment had exhausted itself physically, McCarthy bore him to the back of the house, saying: "We don't want to show our light in front just yet. We've got a corking lot in the house--best of the Andover crowd. Come on; I'll introduce you. You remember Hunter, who played against me at tackle? He's here." There were half a dozen loitering on the window-seat and beds in the pipe-ridden room. Hunter, in shirt sleeves, sorting the contents of his trunk, came forward at once. "Hello, Stover, how are you?" "How are you?" No sooner did their hands clasp than a change came to Dink. He was face to face with the big man of the Andover crowd, measuring him and being measured. The sudden burst of boyish affection that had sent him into McCarthy's arms was gone. This man could not help but be a leader in the class. He was older than the rest, but how much it would have been hard to say. He examined, analyzed, and deliberated. He knew what lay before him. He would make no mistakes. He was carried away by no sentimental enthusiasm. Everything about him was reserved--his cordiality, the quiet grip of his hand, the smile of welcome, and the undecipherable estimate in his eyes. "Will you follow me or shall I follow you?" each seemed to say in the first contact, which was a challenge. "How are you?" said Stover, shaking hands with some one else; and the tone was the tone of Hunter. There were three others in the room: Hunter's room-mate, Stone, a smiling, tall, good-looking fellow who shook his hand an extra period; Saunders, silent, retired behind his spectacles; and Logan, who roomed with McNab, who sunk his shoulders as he shook hands and looked into Stover's eyes intensely as he said, "Awful glad; awful glad to know you." "Have a pipe--cigarette--anything?" said Hunter over his shoulder, from the trunk to which he had returned. "No, thanks." "Started training?" "Sort of." "Take a chair and make yourself at home," said Hunter warmly, but without turning. The talk was immediately of what each was going to do. Stone was out for the glee club, already planning to take singing lessons in the contest for the leadership, three years off. Saunders was to start for the _News_. Logan had made drawings during the summer and was out for the _Record_. Hunter was trying for his class team and the crew. Only McNab was defiant. "None of that for me," he said, on his back, legs in the air, blowing rings against the ceiling. "I'm for a good time, the best in life. It may be a short one, but it'll be a lulu!" "You'll be out heeling the _Record_, Dopey, inside of a month," said Hunter quietly. "Never, by the Great Horned Spoon--never!" "And you'll get a tutor, Dopey, and stay with us."