"Is this really you, Johnny Carroll?" asked White, as he held out his hand.
"Oh yes," said the other, "it's Johnny Carroll—and you are Bob White."
White's hand was still extended. After a long pause his classmate took it. White was shocked at the chill of Carroll's fingers. "Why, man," he cried, "you are cold."
"Well," the other answered, simply, "why not? It isn't the first time." Then, after a swift glance at White's face, he turned his own away and said, "I'm hungry, too, if you want to know."
"So am I," said White, cordially. "I was going to have my Thanksgiving dinner alone. Will you join me, Johnny?"
"Do you mean it?" asked the other.
"Why shouldn't we dine together?" White responded, setting off briskly and putting his arm through his classmate's. "Our team has won to-day, you know—eighteen to nothing; we'll celebrate the victory."
"Where are you taking me?" inquired Johnny, uneasily.
"To the College Club, of course," answered White. "We'll—"
"I mustn't go there," said Johnny, stopping short. "I couldn't face them now. I—oh, I couldn't!"