“A hundred and thirty-six, but I suppose some of that will come off.”
“Well, I only weigh a hundred and forty-four myself,” said Loring encouragingly. “And you look fast. Hope you’ll make it.” Then he disappeared into the bath and a blood-curdling yell and a bath towel floated out at the same instant.
Dan went back to his room that afternoon feeling as though he had found himself again. Tubby, as usual, was curled up on his bed reading something that didn’t look like a text-book, but this evening he hadn’t borrowed Dan’s pillows.
“Well, I suppose everyone was tickled to death to see you,” he said sarcastically. “Had a brass band out, I dare say, to welcome you.”
“Tubby, you’re a cynic,” answered Dan good-naturedly. He hadn’t meant to address Tubby by his nickname; it came out without thought. Tubby looked surprised, was secretly pleased and made believe that he didn’t relish the familiarity.
“I don’t call you Dan, do I?” he growled.
“Oh, you can if you like,” was the answer. “It’s shorter than Vinton, and as we’re destined to see a good deal of each other for awhile you might as well take things easy. I shall call you Tubby, anyway. It fits you like a coat.”
“Go to thunder,” muttered Tubby, returning again to his book. Dan laughed cheerfully.
“Tubby,” he said, “to judge by your manner sometimes one would almost think you bad-tempered.”