"Mother," drawled Dicky in a voice that seemed on the verge of tears, "why don't we ride? I'm so tired I can hardly walk."
"Poor lamb, there aren't any trolleys here or any station carriages," explained Mrs. Morton. "Roger, can't you get another porter to take your bags while you carry Dicky?"
Thus reinforced the New Jersey army marched down the hill from the Road Gate to the square.
Mrs. Morton had taken a cottage, and the porters said that they knew exactly where it was situated. Roger, bearing Dicky perched upon his shoulder, walked between them soaking up information all the way. He noticed that both young men wore letters on their sweaters, and he discovered after a brief examination that they were both college men who were athletes at their respective institutions.
"There are lots of fellows here doing this," one of them said.
"Working, you mean?"
"I sure do. Jo and I think you really have more fun if you're working than if you don't. There are college boys rustling baggage at the trolley station where you came in, and at the steamer landing, and lots of the boarding houses have them doing all sorts of things. Jo and I wait on table for our meals at the Bismarck cottage."
"Do you get your room, too?"
"We get our rooms by being janitors at two of the halls where they hold classes. We get up early and sweep them out every day and we set the chairs in order after every class. Then we do this porter act at certain hours."
"So your summer really isn't costing you anything."