“That sounds familiar,” mused Gerald.
“You’re thinking of the chap who helped Izaak Walton write his ‘Compleat Angler,’ but I don’t think this is the same. I’m not sure, though; he looks a good deal like a fish. The worst I can say about him, fellows, is that he has an apparently insurmountable hatred of water when applied to the outer person. I hope, however, to overcome his aversion. Each evening I recite to him that charming little poem:
“‘Water, cold water! For washing and drinking
There’s nothing like water, cold water, I’m thinking.’”
And The Duke, having arisen to deliver the poetical gem, bowed deeply and vanished through the doorway.
“What did you say his name is?” asked Kendall. “The Duke of Wellington?”
“His name,” laughed the other, “is Lester Wellington, but he’s been known as The Duke of Wellington ever since he came here. The Duke is a good sort, but he’s horribly lazy about study. He’s been here five years, I believe, and has just got into the Second Class. Everyone likes him, though, and he’s as kind-hearted as can be. It’s a shame he doesn’t do better with his studies. I’d hate to be in his place and have that Mr. Rabbit rooming with me!” Gerald shuddered. “I don’t know why I should take such an aversion to the chap, but—— Well, let’s forget him. What I started to say half an hour ago, Burtis, was this: I’ve got half a room that’s empty and I’d be glad to have you come and use it. What do you say?”
“You mean—share your room—with you?” stammered Kendall incredulously.
“Yes. Think it over. Let me know to-morrow, though, if you can. They are likely to plank someone down with me any moment, and with fellows like that Cotton chap floating around”—Gerald shook his head dubiously—“there’s no telling what might happen to me!”
“But—but I don’t see why you want me!” blurted Kendall.