“Yes, I leave in the morning,” nodded Frank. “Got to run down to New York to attend to some business concerning my play, ‘True Blue.’”
“Which way after that?”
“Well, Starbright has invited me to visit him.”
“I’m another. Going to accept?”
“I may.”
“Then, by all the eternal gods of Olympus! I’m going to try to get round there myself. You hear me chirp! You catch the silvery cadence of my voice!”
“He invited you?”
“Did he? Why, he fell on my neck and wept like a brother at thoughts of parting. We mingled our weeps, and we spilled brine enough to start another ocean. It was sad, and touching, and sloppy. He said, ‘Ready, old man, I hate to leave you—alive.’ I said, ‘Starbright, my baby, you’re the only freshman for whom I entertain the slightest feeling of affection, and I’ve always felt for you—with a brickbat.’ It was a strange, weird spectacle—a soph and a freshie weeping in each other’s arms. Any minute I expected he would toss me down and jump on me, but he did nothing of the kind, and it has dawned on me that the fellow really likes me and really meant it when he invited me to run over and visit him with the rest of the gang during the holidays.”
“Did you accept?”
“Not on the spot; but now—now I know you are going—I may. Who’s going?”