“Yes. It was the only way. Constant association, you know.”
“I see,” said Kendall soberly. Ned smiled. Then,
“Do you know, Burtis, I like you,” he exclaimed approvingly. “You have a sense of humor. One wouldn’t suspect it, though. You’re such a serious-looking chap until that smile gets in its work around your mouth. I daresay that’s the New England of it. New Englanders hate to smile if they can get out of it any way, don’t they?”
“Do they?” asked Kendall. “I never thought that. Where do you live?”
“Me? Oh, I’m one of ’em; that’s how I know. I live in a little town called Boston. Some of my folks founded the place, I believe. You come from Maine, I think Mr. Collins said. How do you like our school?”
“Very much, only—”
“Only?” prompted Ned.
Afterwards Kendall was very much surprised at himself, but now there was something about the caller that loosed Kendall’s tongue, and almost before he knew it he had confided the fact that he was on probation. Ned Tooker whistled softly. Then he smiled.
“Burtis—by the way, what did you say your first name was when you asked me to call you by it?”
“Kendall,” laughed the other.