Mr. Gordon dismissed them and there was a fairly dignified rush for the door, Jim becoming separated from his companions in the exodus. He discovered them again outside, however. Jeffrey, the subject of much polite curiosity, was leaning on his crutches at the foot of the steps, while, close by, Gil and Poke made part of a group of six or seven fellows who were talking and laughing as fast as they knew how. Jim joined Jeffrey, but a moment later Gil saw them and called them over.
“Want you to meet some friends of mine, fellows,” he said. “Sargent you met last night, I think. This is Cosgrove. Joe, shake hands with Hazard and Latham. You too, Atherton. Likewise Sommers and Heath. Hazard’s a Lower Middler. How about you, Latham; what’s your class?”
“The same,” replied Jeffrey.
“You fellows want to come over and see our new room,” said Poke. “It’s a dandy. We’ve got hardwood ceilings, hot and cold elevator service, continuous janitor, telephone in every room—”
“Dry up, Poke,” laughed Joe Cosgrove. “Where is it? What did you leave Weston for?”
“Didn’t like the society there,” replied Poke gravely. “We’re at Mrs. Hazard’s; this chap’s mother, you know. She’s taken the Timberlake cottage. We’ve got a fine old room, honest. Come over soon, will you?”
Jim became aware that Duncan Sargent was looking at him in a peculiarly speculative way as though trying to guess his weight. He was enlightened the next moment when [Sargent asked]:
[“You a football man, Hazard?”]
Jim shook his head. “Not much of one, I’m afraid. I’ve tried the game but I never made a success at it.”
“Well, but you’re coming out, aren’t you?”