"Well, I wouldn't say Gleason was much of a hand at keeping things tidy," observed Mr. Parks. "Maybe you can help him. I wish you luck. If I can assist in any way, just call on me. I have an office in Russell Hall, ground floor, first entry, and my office hours are printed on a slip on the door. Come and see me when you get settled. Good day."
"Good day, sir, and thank you for your kindness," replied Frank, and the door shut.
Parks was right when he said Gleason was not a tidy housekeeper, for the place was in heaped up disorder. Evidently Gleason had not yet succeeded in settling himself. His clothes were scattered around the room, and mateless shoes bestrewed the floor. A laundry box lay tipped on the window seat with half its contents on the cushion and half on the floor, and the center table was filled with a promiscuous assortment of books, writing materials, a tennis racket, and several tennis balls reposing on a battered flannel cap. Out of this crazy jumble on the table, the drop light rose like a mushroom-topped lighthouse. The fine fireplace was piled full of crumpled papers.
Frank's own things had been tumbled into his bedroom, and there lay his first work of straightening things out. He was busily engaged in setting things in order when there came a tap on the outer door, and following the tap, without waiting on ceremony, a hand pushed it open. Frank turned and saw his visitor, noticing at once that it was one of the group he had encountered a little while before.
"You're Frank Armstrong," said the newcomer.
"That's my name."
"Well, my name's Patterson, Wee Willie they call me because I'm so big." The manner was friendly and genial.
Frank grinned. "Glad to see you," he said as Wee Willie stuck out his hand.
The visitor continued: "I happened to be in that bunch of fellows this afternoon, and I came up to apologize for Queen's, and to tell you that Chip Dixon made me sick. He didn't speak for the school when he cut into you this afternoon so heavy."
"Who is he?"