"You'll be out heeling the Record, Dopey, inside of a month," said Hunter quietly.
"Never, by the Great Horned Spoon—never!"
"And you'll get a tutor, Dopey, and stay with us."
"Never! I came to love and to be loved. I'm a lovely thing; that's sufficient," said McNab, with a grimace to his elfish face. "I will not be harnessed up. I will not heel."
"Yes, you will."
Hunter's tone had not varied. Stover, studying him, wondered if he had marked out the route of Stone, Saunders, and Logan, just as he felt that McNab would sooner or later conform to the will of the man who had determined to succeed himself and make his own crowd succeed.
Reynolds, a sophomore, an old Andover man, dropped in. Again it was but question of the same challenge, addressed to each:
"What are you trying for?"
The arrival of the sophomore, who installed himself in easy majesty in the arm-chair and addressed his questions with a quick, analytical staccato, produced somewhat the effect of a suddenly opened window. Even McNab was unwillingly impressed, and Hunter, closing the trunk, allowed the conversation to be guided by Reynolds' initiative.