“Yes. You’re really a school hero, you know, but you don’t seem to be on to the fact. You could put on all sorts of lugs and the fellows would stand for it, but instead you hardly notice anyone and go around looking as humble as—as a worm! Of course I’m not saying it isn’t a clever scheme, because the less you seem to want to know fellows the more anxious they’ll be to have you. Get me? And being modest is a good game, too. Lots of fellows in your place would be swaggering all around the shop, patronizing us lesser mortals. We’d stand for it all right enough, but we’d resent it a bit, too, and if you ever came a cropper, fell down in the big game, you know, or something of that sort, how we’d jump on you! No, a fellow can have a swelled head and get by with it if he’s making good, but you don’t love him any more for it. Your way is much better, Burtis.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Kendall a trifle indignantly. “I’m not a hero and don’t pretend to be. I don’t want to be and I’m not trying to be!”
The Duke grinned. “Of course not. I understand. You’re not one of our star players on the football team and you don’t win games for us by the niftiest kicking that’s ever been seen in these parts. You seem to, but you don’t. Appearances are against you.”
“You’re an idiot,” grunted Kendall.
“Oh, certainly!”
“Besides, it’s silly to say I don’t want to know fellows. I do. There are lots of tip-top fellows I’d like awfully well to know, but I can’t butt in the way—the way——”
“The way I do,” suggested The Duke helpfully.
“The way some fellows do.”
“I really believe you mean it!” marveled The Duke. “Why, you poor benighted heathen, don’t you realize that there’s hardly a fellow in school who wouldn’t be proud to paddle you up and down the river all the afternoon just for the glory of being seen with you?”