This violent arraignment awoke new chuckles of merriment. Dunn was becoming interesting.
“That’s a good suggestion,” said Wilmot. “Harrison might try that next time.”
“Shut up, Baldie, and get dressed!” admonished Ben Tracy, in a low tone. “You’re playing right into their hands. You don’t need the socks to get to your room.”
At this advice, the wisdom of which he recognized, Dunn smothered his indignation and went on with his dressing in silence. The crowd, perceiving that the fun was over, began to scatter. Eaton put on his coat and turned to Wilmot. “All ready, Steve! Come on, Pete!”
“I’m going up to Hardie’s room for a while,” said Talbot, who had been talking in the corner with Roger.
Wilmot slid over toward the door. “There are your socks on the bench, Dunn!” called Eaton.
“I must have been sitting on them all the time,” Wilmot explained contritely from the doorway. “I felt something hot under me. Hope I didn’t hurt them.”
“They seem all right, just as bright and sporty as ever. Want ’em, Dunn?” Eaton held out the lost socks toward their owner; but Dunn, having definitely adopted a policy of indifference, turned his back on his tormentors and continued the conversation with Tracy as if he had lost all interest in the object of dispute—in the end taking possession of his property without let or hindrance.
Talbot, having explained the point in physics which was the nominal object of his call on Hardie, sat by the window and talked about school affairs.
“The trouble with our athletics is that we are in a big city,” he said, “with lots of interesting things to take up our time outside of school. Then we’re mostly too young to be very serious about anything. In the big schools like Hillbury the fellows are older; and in the boarding-schools they haven’t any outside attractions nor any liberty, and there’s really nothing else to do but play something.”