“There’s Shambler,” spoke Tom in a low voice to Sid, as the four filed out, soon to separate in order to attend different classes.
“Who, that big chap with the red cap?”
“That’s the fellow!”
“Looks as though he had plenty of bone and muscle,” commented Frank.
“He’s coming over here,” went on Tom. “We’ll have to be decent to him, I s’pose.”
Shambler approached. There was a certain breezy air about him, a good-natured manner, and a seeming feeling of confidence, that, while it might be all right, once you had made friends with him, yet was rather antagonizing at first appearance. It was as if the new student took too much for granted, and this is never overlooked among college lads.
Shambler nodded to Tom, in what he meant to be a friendly fashion, and began to keep step with him. Then he spoke.
“I say, I didn’t know it was the fashion at Randall for everybody to go to bed with the chickens.”
“It isn’t,” said Tom shortly.
“It seems so,” was the rejoinder. “I was out for a lark last night, and I couldn’t find anyone from around here to have fun with. I went past your room and it was as dark as a pocket—you’re on my corridor; aren’t you—sixty-eight?”