Philip Thatcher carried himself better than his friend, and seemed older. His work on the crew had developed his frame and given him a poise which does not come to those college students who watch athletic sports from the side-lines. He had represented his university in competition, and this responsibility showed itself to his advantage. Those same "animal spirits" which gave Billy his boyish manner found a natural outlet, in Philip's case, during the hours of physical athletic training. His face was more his father's than like Mrs. Thatcher's; yet at times Huntington discovered expressions or mannerisms resembling his sister, which was enough to add to the interest he had already taken in the boy. "Hello, Uncle Monty!" Billy announced their arrival. "We've come in to eat ourselves out of shape." When this operation had been performed, and the coffee period took them back to the library, Huntington settled down to the real purpose of the evening. "Philip," he said, "there is a man coming to visit me next week whom I want you to know and who wants to know you. He is an unusual character. I wish you would show him something of what Harvard life is to-day, and when you get acquainted tell me what you think of him." "I should be glad to meet any friend of yours, Mr. Huntington," the boy answered. "He has a greater claim on you than simply as my friend," Huntington continued. "He was also a friend of your mother's, years ago, and while we were in Bermuda he showed us all a great deal of attention. He lives there." "You mean that Hamlen chap?" Billy asked. "Is he really coming here? He's a dead one!" "Don't let Billy's remarks prejudice you, Philip," Huntington urged. "Hamlen is a classmate of mine who has passed through some unfortunate experiences. He has lived by himself ever since he graduated, seeing hardly any one, and he will find much that is unusual when he returns to Boston and Cambridge after his long exile. He is a real man, Philip, and I want you to help me bring him back into the present again. Will you do it?" "I'll try,--gladly," was the hearty answer. "It sounds like a pretty big contract, but if I can really help I shall be glad to do it." "I know you will," Huntington said; "I was sure of it." "Why don't you ask me?" Billy demanded. "Why go out of the family?" "You may come into it later, but I want his first impressions to be favorable." "Stung!" Billy cried, laughing. "But I don't care. I don't care what happens now, for Phil has asked me to spend the Easter recess with him in New York, and I shall see Merry again." "So it is still 'Merry,' is it?" Huntington asked, looking at him with an expression which any one other than a boy would have noticed. "By this time I thought there might have been a dozen others." "Merry is still the one best bet," Billy insisted. "Phil here doesn't know what a cinch it is to have a sister like that." "I believe it's because of Merry that you like me," Phil declared, half seriously.