Bruce had wondered a little when Carroll intimated his purpose to look him up; he had even speculated as to whether Mills might not have prompted this demonstration of friendliness for some purpose of his own. But Carroll bore all the marks of a gentleman; he was socially in demand and it was grossly ungenerous to think that his call had any motive beyond a wish to be courteous to a new member of the community.
Carroll was tall and slender, with light brown hair and deep-set blue eyes. His clean-shaven face was rather deeply lined for a man of his years; there was something of the air of a student about him. But when he spoke it was in the crisp, incisive tones of an executive. A second glance at his eyes discovered hints of reserve strength. Serving an exacting man had not destroyed his independence and self-respect. On the whole a person who knew what he was about, endowed with brains and not easily to be trampled upon or driven.
“You mustn’t let Bud fool you about our home town. Most anything he says is bound to be wrong; it’s temperamental with him. But you know him of old; I needn’t tell you what a scoundrel he is.”
“Certainly not! You can’t room with a man for four years without knowing all his weaknesses.”
“Yes, I certainly know all yours,” Henderson retorted. “But he isn’t a bad fellow, Arthur. We must marry him off and settle him in life. I already see several good chances to plant him.”
“You’d better let Maybelle do that,” replied Carroll. “Your judgment in such delicate matters can’t be trusted.”
“Perhaps I’d better leave the room while you make a choice for me,” said Bruce.
“What would you think of Leila Mills as a fitting mate for him?” asked Henderson.
“Excellent,” Carroll affirmed. “It’s about time Leila was married. You’ve met Miss Mills, haven’t you, Storrs?”
“Yes; several times,” said Bruce. He suspected Bud of turning the conversation upon Leila merely to gratify his passion for gossip.