Kendall looked at Towne a bit doubtfully, but the latter’s countenance was so innocent that his misgivings passed and he pulled his jacket down and smoothed his hair.
“I—I guess I will, then,” he murmured. “What did you say his name was? Winton?”
“No, Vinton; most of the fellows call him Dan, but you can do as you like about that.”
“Gosh, I couldn’t do that!” exclaimed Kendall.
“All right. Twenty-eight’s the number. Down the hall to the right; last room on the other side.”
“Thanks,” said Kendall, giving a last tug at his sleeves. “I hope he won’t think I’m—fresh.”
“Never fear, old chap; he will be tickled to death,” Towne assured him gravely. But after the door had closed and Kendall’s footsteps died away along the hall Towne’s gravity left him, and he threw himself on the bed, buried his face against the pillow and laughed until his sides ached.