CHAPTER XI
TOM FANNING, OPTIMIST
Only Horace Ramsey was at home when Toby entered Number 31. Ramsey appeared very glad to see the visitor, and he was quite fussed-up during the process of getting Toby comfortably seated. The room was one of the better ones on the third floor, and one of the occupants, probably Ramsey, had added to the scanty equipment supplied by the school. Although the evening had turned decidedly cool, both windows were wide open, and it was not until Toby had glanced at them a bit uneasily several times that Ramsey took the hint.
“It is sort of cold in here, I guess,” he said, as he closed the windows. “I’m used to a cold room, though. Plenty of fresh air is what I like. Mr. Bendix says you can’t have too much of it. George doesn’t like it much, though, and we scrap a good deal about having the windows open.”
“George? Oh, you mean Tubb. How are you and he getting on now? Hitting it off any better?”
Horace Ramsey smiled. “Oh, yes, we get on all right. He’s a cranky chap, though. I have to handle him carefully. He gets the most awful grouches you ever saw. Gets positively ugly and hates himself. Still, he’s been some better the last few days.” Ramsey chuckled. “Guess I have, too. At first I used to let go of my temper and—well, you found us at it one night. Remember? Now I just let him growl and he gets over it after a bit. He’s really not a bad sort when you get to know him.”
“I thought I might find him in,” explained Toby. Then a faint expression of disappointment on the other’s face made him add: “And then I wanted to see how you were getting on, too, Ramsey. You’re looking pretty fit. Been playing much tennis?”
“Every day. A fellow named Lingard, a Fourth Class fellow, and I have been at it a lot. Don’t know if you know him, Tucker. Sort of a lanky chap, with——”