Nor had he a much clearer conception of any of the other recitations or lectures he was to attend that day, and his face was rather glum as he ran downstairs and out onto the campus. He was due at the chemical lab at ten o’clock, and, as he hurried across one of the walks, head down and thoughts, sad to say, very far away from chemistry, he suddenly heard some one calling his name.
“What’s your hurry, Bob? Where you rushing to?”
Hollister looked up quickly, and when he saw who the speaker was, his face brightened.
“Hello, Jarv,” he said quickly. “I’m due at the lab at ten o’clock.”
“As it lacks just sixteen minutes of that hour, and you can’t possibly use up more than five getting over there, I fail to see the reason for your hurry,” commented Jarvis Blake, as he continued to advance slowly and leisurely. “I’m going there myself, but I don’t propose to run my legs off.”
He was a big, blond fellow, with thick, straight, almost tow-colored hair, eyelashes and eyebrows so light as to be nearly invisible. He wore a neatly clipped yellow mustache, which was the exact color of corn silk.
His eyes were dark blue and set wide apart, his features clean-cut and handsome, except that his mouth was large and loosely set. He was one of the best subs on the varsity and played an exceedingly good, brainy game.
Men about college said he had a pronounced case of swelled head. Certainly he was not likely to undervalue himself, but for all that he was well liked among a certain class, and Hollister had always found him genial and entertaining, a good fellow in every respect.
“Didn’t know I had so much time,” the latter explained, as they pursued their way along the walk together.
“How are things?” inquired Jarvis. “Strikes me you look a bit glum this morning.”