"What?"
"To go through here as my own master, and do myself some good."
"Hello!"
Stover sat up amazed at hearing from another the thoughts that had been dominant in his own mind; amazed, too, at the trick of association which had put into his own mouth thoughts against which a moment before he had been rebelling.
"That's good horse sense," he said, to open up the conversation. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to do the best thing a fellow can do at our age. I'm going to loaf."
"Loaf!" said Dink, startled again, for the word was like treason.
"Just that."
"But you're not doing that. You're out to make the Lit. You're heeling something, like all the rest of us," said Stover, who suddenly found himself on the opposite side of the argument, revolting with a last resistance at the too bold statement of his own rebellion.
"I'm not 'heeling' the Lit," said Brockhurst. His shyness disappeared; he spoke energetically, interested in what he was saying. "If I were, I would make the chairmanship without trouble. I'm head and shoulders over the rest here, and I know it. As it is, some persistent grubber who sits down two hours a day, thirty days a month, nine months of the year for the next two years, who will regularly hand in one essay, two stories, a poem, and a handful of portfolios will probably beat me out."