After an hour of rather wearisome instruction in the a, b, c’s of the game the awkward squad was dismissed. Harry imagined he could hear Barrett’s sigh of relief! Donning his sweater, Harry trotted in the wake of the others across the end of the field, through the gate and up the hill to the gymnasium. As he knew none of his companions, and as the work had left them too tired to want to be sociable, he spoke to no one until, having had his shower and dressed himself, he was walking across the campus toward his room in Temple Hall. And even then the conversation was none of his choosing!
“Why, if it isn’t our friend the football hero!” exclaimed a voice. Harry was passing a group of half a dozen boys on the main path across the campus. Resisting the impulse to turn, he kept on his way until a second youth called to him.
“Hi, kid! Why so haughty?”
“I beg pardon?” Harry paused and faced them then. They were all rather older than he, one, a dark-complexioned fellow of seventeen or eighteen, evidently being the leader of the party.
“Don’t apologize,” he begged. “You don’t mind our speaking to you, do you?”
“No,” replied Harry quietly, feeling the blood creeping into his cheeks and hating himself for it. “What did you want, please?”
“Why—er—suspecting that you were a stranger to our—to these classic shades we wouldst make thee welcome,” replied the dark chap with a grin. “Wouldst impart to us thy cognomen?”
“My name’s Danforth,” answered Harry shortly, facing the smiling faces about him with a frown.