"You know what they say about Kentucky," the freshman proceeded, "for good whiskey, fast horses, and pretty women."
"Yes," said Lawrence.
The freshman refilled his guest's glass with Pendennis Club and his own lungs with cigarette-smoke, which he allowed to seek the free air of the room slowly, with his head tipped back and a mouth twisted scornfully as he had once seen another devil of a fellow do it, who said, "I don't give a damn for the girl." All of which was lost on Lawrence, who was rubbing his chin and looking in the other direction and wishing he had not come.
"By the way, Thompson, speaking of horses, how did you come out playing the races last fall? I often saw you on the train going up—" this was a lie—"when I was slaving over football. Luck stay by you?"
Then the freshman leaned back and said things about Futurity Stakes and plunging at Morris Park and a lucky sixteen-to-one shot, intermingled with a brave lot of profanity and considerable cigarette smoke. Lawrence wore the look of a man listening, and thought up what to say next.
"By the way, Thompson," only it was not by the way to anything but his own thoughts, "where's your friend Darnell? I didn't see him with the others in here."
"No," said the devil of a fellow, "he won't own up to it, but he's a good bit of a poler at heart, Lawrence."
"I did not think it of him," said Lawrence, sincerely. "He's a blame nice fellow though, isn't he?"
"Right. He's the best friend I have. He's pretty young and has a lot of things to learn, but he's a mighty nice man. Awfully clever chap, too. Wish I had his brains. I believe he comes from very nice people in New York, doesn't he?"
"Yes. Thompson, you are dead right in saying he's too young."