"Hello there."
He continued on to his entry, and, turning, saw the two juniors stop and watch him. Without heed he went up to his room, lit the dusty gas-jet, and went reverently to his bureau. He was in his bedroom, standing there in a sentimental mood, gazing at the one or two little kodaks he had displayed of Jean Story, when a knock sounded. He turned away abruptly, singing out:
"Let her come."
The door opened and some one entered, and, emerging from his bedroom, he beheld to his surprise Le Baron and Reynolds.
"Hello," he said, puzzled.
"Anything doing, Dink?" said Le Baron pleasantly.
"Not a thing. Make yourself at home," he said hastily. "Take a seat. Pipe tobacco in the jar—cigarettes on the table."
Each waved his hand in dissent. Reynolds seated himself in a quick, business-like way on the edge of his chair; Le Baron, more sociable, passed curiously about the room, examining the trophies with interest.
"I wonder what's up now," thought Dink, without uneasiness. He knew that it was the custom of men in the class above about to go into the senior societies to acquaint themselves with the tendencies of the next class. "That's it," he said to himself; "they want to know if I'm heeling Bones or Keys."