“I’d like to know Vinton,” said Harry, after a moment’s silence, during which they watched the tennis battle. “You might ask me up to your room some night, Gerald.”
“Come whenever you like,” said Gerald. “I didn’t suppose you needed an invitation.”
“Well, Vinton might not like a kid like me bothering around him. He was awfully decent to me once, though. He and I came up from the station together after Christmas vacation, and I guess he saw that I was feeling sort of—of homesick. And he told me to come around that evening and see him if I was lonesome.”
“Didn’t you go?”
“N-no. I wanted to, but—I didn’t like to. I was afraid he’d think I was a baby.”
“Dan wouldn’t,” said Gerald. “He understands. He told me once that when he came here last Fall he was so homesick that he came near running away home.”
“Really!” exclaimed Harry. “Think of a fellow like Dan Vinton being homesick! I wish I’d known that. I’d have gone and seen him that time. But I’m going to come around some evening, if you think he won’t mind.”
“Of course he won’t,” said Gerald scornfully. “He—he isn’t that sort. Come on; they’re through. I’ll toss. Rough or smooth?”
After they had played their allowance of three sets, Gerald winning 6–3, 6–4, 7–5, they went down to the boathouse and rented a bright green canvas canoe for the period of one month, and Gerald had his first lesson in paddling.