“No, only about half,” said Lord. “There are some I’d be willing to tell anything to, and do ’most anything for. There are others who aren’t worth wasting cusses on. Alsop thinks he’s the greatest man since Washington—and what is he?” He snapped his fingers contemptuously.
“When’s Peck coming?” demanded Taylor, abruptly.
“He was due yesterday, if he passed his exams.”
“Too bad if he doesn’t come. He’s an awfully good fellow and lots of sport. Know him?”
Archer shook his head. Fowle took occasion, while his friends were intent on this conversation, to make a good shot at Lord with a sofa pillow. Lord seized the pillow, but made a wild return. Fowle jeered. The fracas seemed in a fair way to begin again when Taylor interfered, and with forceful prophecies of the fate that would befall them all if they got to rough-housing again, persuaded the pair to “quit their fooling” and take themselves off.
That same afternoon Mr. Peck’s stenographer brought him a telegram, which ran thus:—
“Got ten points what shall I do send money quick.”
The father dictated immediately the following answer:—
“Go back to Seaton try again will send check there.”
The next day Archer saw his room-mate.