The meal was a delightful one. New students were constantly coming in, and the place was blue with smoke from many cigars, pipes and cigarettes. Ricky smoked, as did Hank Heller, but Slim Jones confessed that it was a habit he had not yet acquired, in which he was like Joe.
“Say, we’re going to have some fun at our joint,” declared Ricky on their way back, at a somewhat late hour. “We’ll organize an eating club, or join one, and we’ll have some sport. We’ll be able to stand off the Sophs. better, too, by hanging together. When the Red Shack gets full we’ll do some organizing ourselves. No use letting the Sophs. have everything.”
“That’s right,” agreed Joe.
As they passed along the now somewhat quiet streets they were occasionally hailed by parties of hilarious Sophomores with the command:
“Take off your hats, Freshies!”
They obeyed, perforce, for they did not want to get the name of insurgents thus early in the term.
“Come in and have a talk,” invited Ricky, as they entered the rooming house. “It’s early yet.”
“Guess I’ll turn in,” confessed Hank. “I’m tired.”
“I’ll go you for awhile,” agreed Slim.
“How about you, Joe?”