Jonesie nodded. “Should have thought you’d enter Lower Middle. You look it.” The new boy flushed with pleasure at the implied tribute to his age, wisdom and experience. “I’m in the Lower Middle myself,” continued Jonesie, crossing one smartly clad leg over the other and assuming an attitude promising confidential discourse. “Hope you will like the school.”
“I—I think so, thank you,” murmured the other. “I don’t know much about boarding schools, though. I suppose it will be—be sort of strange at first.”
“Probably,” replied Jonesie sympathetically. “Of course a new boy has quite a lot to learn, but you’ll get on to things after a bit. It isn’t a bad school, Randall’s. I dare say you know some of the fellows?”
“No.” The other shook his head a trifle dejectedly. “I guess I don’t know a soul there.”
Jonesie frowned. “That makes it harder,” he acknowledged. “But you’ll find friends after a bit,” he added hopefully. “Sooner the better, too, for there’s nothing like having an older fellow to—er—sort of give you a hand over the rough places.” Jonesie regulated carefully the expanse of violet and gray cuff showing beyond his coat sleeve. “At least, that was my experience. Take the matter of athletics, for instance—— But perhaps you don’t go in for that sort of thing?”
“Oh, yes!” replied the other eagerly, “that is, I hope to. I—I’m very fond of football.”
“Fine game, football,” commended Jonesie. “And that’s a—er—a case in point. Of course you’ll want to make the School Team; every fellow does.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t expect to do that! Not the—the first year!”
“Why not? Fellows have done it. Don’t know why you shouldn’t if you buckle down to it. I dare say I had a close shave from getting on the School myself the first year. Unfortunately illness—er”—Jonesie’s gaze wandered along the bell rope—“illness prevented. Quite a blow to the Coach.”