“Why, the fellow I room with. His name is Towne.”
Dan looked inquiringly at Gerald. “Know him?” he asked.
Gerald nodded. “Yes; Harold Towne; ‘Whitey,’ they call him. He rooms down the hall. You know him by sight, Dan; thin, light-haired, pasty-faced chap.”
Dan remembered him. “Oh, yes, I’ve seen him,” he said. “So he told you to come to me and ask for an application blank?”
“Yes, he said I must fill out a blank and put down my name and age and what position on the team I wanted to play. He said I’d better do it right away or I might be too late. That’s why I came to-night. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Pshaw! that’s all right. No harm done. I’m glad you came, and I hope you’ll get on finely, Burtis. Come and see me again and tell me about it. Good night.”
“Good night,” replied Kendall. Then he fixed his straight level eyes on Gerald. “Good night,” he repeated.
“Good night,” responded Gerald gravely.
The door closed behind the visitor. Dan smiled at Gerald.