“Turning ’em away, sir, at every performance.”
“Good. I’ve got a new recruit for you, or perhaps it would be better to say a new subject for you.”
“All right, sir. Who is it?”
“A fellow named Burtis, a new boy this fall. He rooms upstairs here in Number 21. I think you’ll like him. I do. He seems to have more than the usual amount of common sense, for one thing. And he has principles. I believe, Tooker, that he’s the sort we like, you and I; the sort that becomes a credit to the school. But he needs a little help right now. I can’t go into particulars, but Burtis hasn’t been altogether fortunate since he came. I think he’s a bit down-in-the-mouth just now and he needs some fellow to chum up to him a bit. I’ve asked him here this evening and I want you to look him over and, if you possibly can, get acquainted with him and tide him over the next month or so. You’re the man for the job, Tooker. Will you take it?”
“Why, of course, sir. You’ll see us to-morrow wandering away to the woods arm in arm, to carve our initials on the tree trunks. Fever near, sir!”
“I won’t,” replied Mr. Collins with a smile. “I’ll leave him to you, Tooker. By the way, I neglected to say that Burtis is not yet—er—what we might call a tasteful dresser. There remains about him a strong suggestion of the—er—bucolic.”
Ned shook his head. “I’ve never had that, sir.”
“Had what?”
“The bucolic. Is it catching?”