"I know that," thought Lawrence, as he closed the door, "only I wouldn't say 'Harry' very often if I were you."
Left alone, Thompson took a gulp of whiskey straight without wincing very much, stretched out in a big chair and planned how to follow his friend Lawrence's suggestions, wrinkling his brows and looking no doubt very much like the man of the world that he read about as he did so.
Meanwhile Lawrence was saying to himself, "Still, it's all in a good cause," and hurrying along the street with his coat-collar turned up, like a man ashamed of himself.
"This time next year," he was thinking, "I'll be out of college and hustling in the big world which recent graduates are always telling me I know nothing about. I suppose I shall have to get used to boot-licking and getting pulls. That's business. But just at present I don't like the taste." So he hurried up the street for a counter-irritant, while the mood was on him.
A few moments later he was saying, "The fact of the matter is, Darnell, I'm in a pretty bad hole, and I think I'll ask your advice."
"Yes, if you do not object to giving it."
"I think you know what I mean," said the freshman, "don't you?"
"Yes," said Lawrence, "I know what you mean." He also knew he was finding it a different matter talking to this freshman.
"Well, I'll tell you about it anyway," he went on. "Last year, when your friend Gus Thompson's sister was down here for the sophomore reception—what?" The freshman's big eyes were making him nearly blush.