"I say, Dink, old man," he said doubtfully, "I'd like you to come over and grub with us. But I don't want to haul you over, you know——"
"My dear boy, I should love to!" said Dink, squeezing his arm eagerly.
"Honest?"
"Straight goods!"
"Bully for you!"
He had three-quarters of an hour to dress before dinner. He went to his room at a gallop, upsetting Beekstein and Gumbo on his volcanic way upward. Then for half an hour the Kennedy was thrown into a turmoil as the half-clothed figure of Dink Stover flitted from room to room, burrowed into closets, ransacked bureaus and departed, bearing off the choicest articles of wearing apparel. Meanwhile, the corridors resounded with such unintelligible cries as these:
"Who's got a collar, fourteen and a half?"
"Darn you, Dink, bring back my pants!"
"Who swiped my blue coat?"
"Who's been pulling my things to pieces?"