“Thank you,” said Ned gravely. “I may be a tramp, but you needn’t throw it in my face.”
“I’m sorry; hope I didn’t hurt your feelings. Come and see me, will you? Come over to-night for a while.”
“Not to-night, for I told Burtis I’d drop in on him. But I’ll be around soon. Lo song.”
“Eh? Oh, so long. I’m crazy about your Tookeritis—”
“Tookeranto, please,” Ned corrected.
“Whatever it is; and I’m going to study it so I can understand what you’re saying now and then.”
“Unkind, unkind!” murmured Ned sorrowfully. “I fid you barewell, Van Dinton.”
Kendall had news for Ned that evening when the latter called on him, but owing to the fact that Harold Towne was in the room he couldn’t confide it for a time. Harold entertained a large respect and admiration for Ned Tooker, and whenever he was on hand on the occasions of Ned’s visits he always set out to make himself agreeable. Harold’s notion of being agreeable was to monopolize most of the conversation, carefully selecting subjects which he believed Ned to be interested in and rattling away on them with an assurance that was at once irritating and amusing. Ned detested Kendall’s roommate heartily, but managed to be polite no matter how much Harold’s chatter annoyed him. To-night Harold quite surpassed himself, playing the rôle of host from the moment of Ned’s appearance.
“Hello, Tooker!” Harold cried. “Awfully glad to see you. Kendall, pull that chair around for Tooker. Throw your cap anywhere; this is Liberty Hall.”
“Much obliged, but I’ll sit here. Well, how are things with you, Curt?”