“No, he didn’t say much of anything; just asked for you, and then mooned around a bit with his hands in his pockets and went away.”
Knowing well Purdick’s peculiar gift for reading faces, Larry pushed the inquiry farther.
“You’re pretty good at guessing what’s in the back part of a fellow’s head, Purdy. Was there anything the matter with Dick?”
“If you ask me, I’ll say there was. He looked mighty sober—for him.”
Larry hung upon his heel, so to speak. Though he had had a number of invitations, he had never yet set foot inside of the Zeta Omega house. Should he go and look Dick up? At this time in the evening he would probably be in the frat house. Larry thought he’d better go over. For old times’ sake, if for nothing else, he might take that much trouble.
It was just coming on to dusk when he left Mrs. Grant’s, and as he was unlatching the gate a slender figure with its head down and its hands in its pockets came along the sidewalk.
“Dick!” exclaimed Larry; “I was just going over to the Omegs’ to hunt you up.” Then, as he got his first good look at Dick’s face: “Great cats!—what under the sun have you been doing to yourself?”
Dick turned his face away.
“Would you—would you mind taking a little hike with me, Larry?” he asked.
“Sure I won’t; it’ll seem like old times. Which way?”