Again Dick uncovered that purposeful second layer. “You see,” he said to one of the fellows who he knew had been carelessly spreading Underhill’s calumnies; “you see how people who really know Donnie appreciate him. Bess Holcombe met him last summer out in Colorado, you know, and, incidentally, he saved her life on a runaway car—no, not an auto—a Pullman on the railroad. You couldn’t tell the Holcombes anything against him, and get away with it.”
Oddly enough, after the first few minutes, Larry found himself getting along very well indeed with the daughter of, perhaps, the richest man he had ever shaken hands with. Which was something to Miss Holcombe’s credit, too, for she was rather fond of taking “rises” out of bashful young fellows. Most naturally, their talk went back to that day in the Tourmaline Canyon at first, but it got around to more modern things after a bit.
“You are taking the Mechanical course in Sheddon?” the girl asked, when things present had been given a chance.
“Taking at it,” said Larry modestly.
“And Dickie Maxwell’s in Civil?”
“He is. His father is a C. E., you know.”
“Mr. Maxwell is a Sheddon old-grad., isn’t he?”
“Yes; that is how Dick and I come to be here. It’s a good old dump.”
The girl laughed.
“If you go on playing foot-ball the way you did this afternoon, you’ll put Sheddon on the map,” she said. “Where did you learn?”