“Maybe you did know me last summer, or the summer before,” McKnight got back. “But that isn’t saying that you know me now. I’ve already asked Dad if I can’t go to the Mesaba and begin to learn the steel business from the bottom, and he didn’t write to say ‘yes.’ Not on your moving-picture. He wired it.”
Wally Dixon shook his head in mock solemnity.
“You shouldn’t ought to do things like that, Ollie; not unless you’re sure there’s no heart disease in your family. Think of the terrible shock it must have been when they got your letter.”
“That’s all right,” laughed the son of the steel magnate good-naturedly. “I’ll admit I was one of the Willie-boys when I came here last fall, but it’s only fair to Old Sheddon to say that I hope she’s done a little something for me in nine months.”
After a bit more of this good-natured joshing the fellows began to drop out, one by one, drifting away to their respective rooming places. The year-end examinations were on, the outdoor activities were stringing out to a close, and even the bright stars who had made “A’s” and “B’s” in the semester tests were cramming a bit for the final trials.
“You’re going to make the turn all right, this time, aren’t you, Purdy?” asked Larry, after the others had gone, referring, for the first time since Purdick had come to room with him, to the small one’s discouraging flunk-out of the previous year.
“Easy,” said Purdick; “thanks to you and to that other fellow whose name you won’t tell me. Can’t you take the bridle off of that promise now, Larry?”
“Permission not yet given,” Larry grinned.
“Will it ever be given?”
“Maybe—some day.”