[CHAPTER XI]
IRA RENEWS AN ACQUAINTANCE
Martin Johnston and Dwight Bradford occupied what at Parkinson was known as an alcove study. To be correct, it was not the study that formed an alcove, but the bedroom. There were only a few of such apartments in Goss Hall and those who had them were considered fortunate. Number 16 proved to be rather a luxurious place. There was a good deal of furniture, most of it black-oak, the chairs having red-leather cushions and the study table being adorned with a square of the same brilliant material. One side of the room was lined with bookcases to a height of about five feet and the shelves were filled and a row of books overflowed to the top. Many pictures were on the walls, a deep window seat, covered in red denim, was piled with pillows and there was a dark-brown wool rug with a red border on the floor. The alcove, just big enough for two single beds and a night stand between, was partly hidden by red portières. At first sight, as Ira paused in the doorway after being bidden to enter, the room was disconcertingly, almost alarmingly, colourful.
“Evening and everything!” said a voice from beyond the light on the table, and a chair was pushed back. Then Mart’s form emerged from the white glare. “Hello!” he said. “How are you, Rowland? Glad to see you. Meet Mr. Bradford, Rowland. Brad, you remember my speaking of Rowland?”
A second youth, who had been lying on the window seat, arose and came forward to shake hands. He was a nice-looking fellow of eighteen, broad of shoulder and deep of chest. Ira recognised him as one of the substitute ends he had seen in practice. He had a pleasant, deep voice, a jolly smile and a firm, quick way of shaking hands. Ira fell victim to Bradford’s charms then and there.
“Awfully glad to meet you, Rowland. Yes, I remember you said a lot about this chap, Mart. It was Rowland you landed in Maggy’s, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Sit down, Rowland. How’s everything going?”
“Very well, thanks.”
“That’s good. Toss your cap anywhere. Brad won’t like it, but never mind.” Mart’s words were amiable enough, but it was evident to the caller that he was not forgiven for his indifference, and so, as he thrust his cap into a pocket, he decided to make an explanation.
“I guess you thought it was funny I didn’t look you up,” he began. But Mart waved carelessly.
“Not a bit! Not a bit, Rowland! I never thought of it.”