“Work? Didn’t suppose you silk-stocking bunch in Sohmer ever had to work! Thought you had slaves to do that sort of thing. How little one half the school knows how t’other half lives! To think of you soiling your lily-white hands and getting calloused with labour! What sort of work are you going to do? Clip coupons?”
“Oh, dry up!” exploded Myron. “I’m sick to death of your chatter! And I’m sick of being guyed all the time, too! Lay off, can’t you?”
To his surprise, “Chas” chuckled and thumped him on the back. “A-a-ay!” he applauded. “That’s the stuff, old chap! I was beginning to think you didn’t have any pep in you. There’s always hope for a fellow who can get mad!”
“That isn’t hard when you’re around,” answered Myron, unappeased. “Don’t bang me on the back, either. I don’t like it.”
“All right,” answered Chas, sobering. “I’ll behave. Mind if I come up for a few minutes?”
Myron looked at him suspiciously, but for once Cummins was neither scowling nor grinning. “I guess not,” he answered ungraciously.
“Fine! But don’t embarrass me with your welcome, old chap,” chuckled Chas as they mounted the steps. “Some dive this, isn’t it? Don’t believe I ever hoped to get in here.” Joe was not in and when Chas had looked around the study—a trifle disappointedly, Myron thought—and seen the view from the window he seated himself on the window-seat, took one knee into his hands and viewed his host reflectively. Myron, at the table, fussed with his books and fumed inwardly and wished Cummins would get out. Finally the latter said: “Foster, you and I ought to be great pals.”
Myron looked every bit of the astonishment he felt, and his guest chuckled again. “Because we’re as unlike as three peas, and the only things that can be more unlike than three peas is four peas. You’ve got coin and I’m the poor but proud scion of a fine old chap who made his living laying bricks. You’re a swell and I’m a—well, I’m not. You’re a sort of touch-me-not and I’d make friends with any one. Probably we don’t think alike on any two subjects under the sun. So we ought to hit it off great. Get the idea?”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” owned the other, interested and puzzled.
“It’s the old law of the attraction of opposites, or whatever it’s called. Now I took a shine to you right off”—Myron sniffed, but Chas only smiled and went on—“Oh, I don’t always hug a chap I take a fancy to. That’s not my way. I try ’em out first. I tried you out, Foster, old chap.”