“Gould? Oh, he went out with the bunch,” said Jeff, and in spite of himself he could not repress all the scorn that he held for the Sophomore for deserting his supposed chum.
“Huh,” grunted Pell, after a moment’s silence. He evidently intended to say more but reconsidered. Still in that grunt Jeff detected the fact that Pell’s eyes were opened to the value of Gould’s friendship.
“How about it now? Feeling any stronger?” asked Buck as he heard the doors upstairs slam behind George Dixon and Honey Wiggins.
“Try to stand now,” urged Jeff; “we’ll support you between us and get you over to Newkirk and to bed. You’ll get an hour’s rest before the supper bell and that will brace you up.”
Pell got to his feet once more and walked slowly, but steadily, to his locker, where he managed to get into his overcoat and hat. Then with Jeff and Buck partly supporting him, yet not being conspicuous about it, they helped him up the stairs and out of the building into a fast gathering March twilight.
Across the campus they hurried, as fast as the weak and still trembling Pell could move. And under the cover of the half light they managed to reach Newkirk Hall and get Pell into his room without encountering any one.
Pell’s teeth were chattering when they bundled him into his blankets and turned on the steam radiator in his room. Jeff paused and looked at him a minute.
“Jiminy, old fellow, you’re shivering so you shake the bed. Think we had better call Dr. Stout?”
“No, don’t do that,” protested Pell; “I’ll be all right by supper time, I think.”
But when Jeff and Buck left him they did not agree with him in that respect.