The canoe flew in under heavy stone arches only just in advance of a crowd of others. Everybody knew his friend, Trefethen remarked. There was a shouted word for him from almost every boat which scurried in for shelter, and the boy responded with ready friendliness always, yet also, it seemed to the older man, with an unconscious air of being somebody. A rowboat with two students came bumping alongside, and one caught the stern of the canoe and pulled in to it. “Here, you, Dick—you can’t take all of the roof, if you are a great man,” he threw at Elliot.
“Lots of room,” said the boy cheerfully. “I want to present you to my friend, Mr. Lord. Mr. Selden—Mr. Van Arden,” and two hands gripped him heartily in spite of the inconveniences of the situation. “Mr. Lord was captain of the ’Varsity crew of his year,” Dick Elliot hurried to explain, and there was instant deep respect in the newcomer’s manner. “Won’t go to the boat-house. He’s tired—doesn’t want to be fussed over,” he forestalled their suggestions, and they met this with a cloud of protestation. He ought—the men would want to see him. It wasn’t right for Dick Elliot to keep a good thing to himself.
“Ought to get you two out of conjunction, anyway,” Van Arden remarked in a half-shy, eager, boyish manner. “Two captains in one canoe are overallowance!” and Trefethen looked inquiringly at him and then at Elliot.
“Why, he doesn’t know,” Jimmy Selden burst out. “Mr. Lord doesn’t know that Dick Elliot’s the great and only captain of the football team! Holy smoke! But they make ’em ignorant down in New York!”
And Trefethen—railroads and combinations entirely overshadowed—was deeply confused. Certainly he should have known—Elliot—last November’s victorious team—certainly. But he had forgotten the first name; he hadn’t thought of such luck—he simply hadn’t placed him. And the boy laughed at him as a kind and modest emperor might laugh at an obscure subject unaware of his greatness.
“Tell you what,” he flung at them, “if Mr. Lord is game, what do you fellows say to coming to feed with me at Mory’s this evening?”
“O. K.,” spoke Selden. “We’ll come, anyway.”
“No, you don’t,” responded the host promptly. “This is a party for a distinguished stranger, and there ain’t going to be no party without him. Will you come, Mr. Lord?”
“My train goes at—”
“Oh, there’s another one at nine, and ten—and maybe eleven,” urged Jimmy Selden. “And we’ll have big chops and wonderful potatoes and—”