The door opened. Bert Dodge, dressed in the height of the prevailing fashion, looked inside.
"May I come in?" he called, in what was meant for a cordial, friend-from-home voice.
"Oh, yes, come in," sighed Dick wearily.
"That's not quite the welcome I might have expected from you two," muttered Bert, as he opened the door and stepped into the room. "Fellows, you're at West Point now," proceeded Bert Dodge pompously, "and this is a place where social points count tremendously, as I guess you've found out by this time. Now, you two may be all right, and I guess you are," admitted Bert condescendingly, "but you're just the sons of commoners, while my father is a wealthy man, a banker and a leader in society. So I guess you can quickly understand that I'm going to cut a good deal wider swath here than you two fellows put together."
Greg Holmes, who had been following Dodge with a gradually widening grin of amazement, now burst into a hearty laugh.
"Well, what's so awfully funny!" demanded Bert.
"You—you—social swell!" exploded Greg hilariously. "Oh—wow!"
"Oh, enjoy yourself in your own way," retorted Bert in decided anger, "but you'll soon find out."
Then looking about the room, he remarked, going on a new tack:
"I must say, you fellows are rather badly provided for showing the social courtesies here. You haven't even a chair for a guest."