“Well, I understand Browning is one—and Hodge.”
“Browning’s all right, but Hodge—well, he’s a good fighter when that is necessary, but he doesn’t add much jolliness to a gathering. A joke always seems to rub him the wrong way.”
There came a sound of many feet and voices outside, the door was flung open, and Bruce Browning came in, followed by Bart Hodge, Dick Starbright, Bert Dashleigh, and Greg Carker. Bruce made straight for a comfortable couch, on which he dropped, brought forth a clay pipe and began to fill it. The others greeted Merriwell, Hodge saying:
“Thought we’d come up, Frank, just to get the crowd together for a little while before we separate for the holidays. You don’t mind?”
“Fellows, I’m delighted to have you come in just like this,” declared Frank. “Make yourselves at home, every man of you.”
“That’s right,” said Ready, “if you can’t find chairs, sit right down on the carpet; it won’t hurt it much. What’s that thing you’re filling, Browning—a clay pipe? Ye gods and little fishes! How have the mighty fallen! I didn’t think you’d come down to that! How did it happen?”
“Well,” grunted Bruce, getting into a comfortable position, as he lighted the pipe, “you see even a clay pipe has its advantages.”
“What are they?”
“Why, if you let one fall on the pavement or a hard floor, you don’t have to bother to pick it up,” exclaimed the laziest man in Yale, causing a laugh at his expense.
“That surely is a bad case of ennui,” said Carker reprovingly.