Rex was not sure whether he liked Harrington to call him Reggie. Sometimes it seemed to place him on a more familiar footing with the collegian, and at other times he had a suspicion that the name was employed merely to recall to the younger the fact of the difference in their ages. Mr. Stout proved to be a young man with a red face, a very unpleasant complexion, and an abnormally weak voice. He had neither coat, vest nor collar on, and his eyes looked as if the bell boy’s knock had awakened him from a sound sleep. “Glad to see you, Harri, old boy,” he said, shaking Harrington vigorously by the hand. “Excuse appearances. Was just taking a snooze to prepare for the evening.” “No apologies, Jack. Let me introduce my friend, Reginald Pell. He’s a neighbor of mine at home. He’s going up to Yale with me to see if he likes it well enough to be one of us next year.” “Proud to know any friend of Harri’s, I’m sure,” and Mr. Stout gave Rex a hand that was so disagreeably clammy that the younger lad could scarcely resist the impulse to take out his handkerchief and wipe off the touch of it. From the conversation that ensued he ascertained that Stout came from somewhere up in New York State and that for some reason or other he appeared to be quite a favorite with his classmates. One or two others were expected in the course of the evening, and the hope that they might go to the theater was now quenched in Rex’s breast. Harrington and Stout talked volubly of things in which he was not the least interested—other college men. New Haven girls, fraternity affairs, and the like. Rex sat there listening, trying to look as if he were having a good time, but failing signally. However, this made no difference, as neither Harrington nor Stout paid any attention to him. Presently Stout began to complete his dressing, talking all the while. Although he was not angry, he seemed to find it necessary to interlard his conversation with some very strong and unpleasant sounding expressions, and once or twice Harrington followed his example. In fact the latter did not appear to be the same fellow here in New York that he was at home. Once in a while he looked at Rex and smiled as if mutely reminding the latter that he owed the good time he was having to him. But Rex found it harder and harder to smile back, and he welcomed a knock that by and by came at the door as signalizing a. change of some sort. CHAPTER XVIII REX SEES A HORRIBLE SPECTACLE Three new fellows followed the knock into the room. They were noisily greeted by Stout and Harrington. In the confusion it was some time before Rex was introduced. Tom Cheever was a tall youth, continually feeling of his upper lip as if to see if his mustache had arrived; Dan Tilford had a narrow face, pallid from much cigarette smoking, and an eye that never seemed fixed on any object he gazed at; Harry Atkins was a handsome fellow of eighteen, who seemed of quieter temperament than the others.