“Lots,” said Jim. “They have crews, too, you know.”
Jeffrey nodded. “Yes, that’s partly why I came here. I’ve always been fond of boat racing. At Poughkeepsie, you know, we have a lot of it every year. Are you—do you go to Crofton?”
“Yes,” answered Jim, passing his plate for a second helping, “I begin to-morrow. We’re in the same class, too.”
“Really? And are there other fellows here?”
“In the house? No, not yet. We’ve got three other rooms, but yours is the only one taken.”
“We hope to rent the others,” explained Mrs. Hazard. “This is our first year here. We have always lived in Essexport; that’s on the coast, you know; but when Jim decided that he’d rather go to Crofton than anywhere else, we decided that we couldn’t do without him. So we rented our house at home and took this. My husband died three years ago and since then Jim has looked after us. Hope and I are awful babies, aren’t we, Hope?”
“Speak for yourself, Lady! Jim and I— Listen! There’s somebody going upstairs!”
“I’ll see who it is.” Jim laid aside his napkin, pushed back his chair and hurried out. In the hall he was just in time to see the end of a bag disappear about the turn of the landing. He ran up the stairs, wondering. At the open door of Jeffrey’s room stood, bag in hand, a big thick-set boy of apparently seventeen years of age. He had a good deal of color in his cheeks, very dark eyes and a mass of unruly black hair under the funny little crimson cap perched on the back of his head. He turned at the sound of Jim’s approach and scowled at him across the banisters.
“Hello,” he growled.