“Yes, I’m sure,” answered Gerald.
“All right. You stick to that, my boy, and we’ll have you in Cambridge next Fall as sure as shooting.”
Gerald viewed him doubtfully.
“Do you mean it, Alf?” he asked. “You’re not just saying that to—to make me feel better?”
“Not a bit of it,” replied Alf gayly. “Dan and I have got the whole thing planned. We thought that if you wanted to go in for Oxford we wouldn’t say anything about it; just let you go. But if you don’t, why, don’t even think of it. The next election is in November, and we’ll get you through with flying colors. You’ll only be in the Third then, and will have three years before you. You really aren’t missing much, you see; lots of fellows don’t make a society until they’re in the Third.”
“That’s mighty nice of you,” said Gerald gratefully. “I don’t care so much now. Only—about Oxford; do you think Tom will mind if I don’t take it?”
“Not a bit,” said Dan.
“That’s right,” Alf agreed. “He knew you preferred Cambridge, and only got you through there in case you missed it with us, and wanted consolation. Tom understands perfectly.”
“Then I’ll write and decline it,” said Gerald cheerfully. “What shall I say?”