“Oh, just pressed. I don’t think they’re spotted. Are you sure you want to do them? You look sort of busy already.” His glance went to the half-dozen coats and waistcoats and trousers lying about.
“I am,” replied Toby cheerfully, “but I’ll have these ready for you in the morning. Seven early enough?”
“Oh, yes, there’s no chapel to-morrow, you know. If I’m not up just toss them in the room somewhere.”
“All right. You’re in Dudley, aren’t you?”
“Yes, four. Crowell’s the name.”
“I know. You’re hockey captain. I suppose it’s hard to learn that game, isn’t it?” Toby turned the light out under the burner and seated himself on the edge of the bed.
“Hockey?” asked Orson Crowell. “N-no, I don’t think so. Of course a fellow’s got to know how to skate a bit, and not mind being roughed, you know. The rest comes with practice. Thinking of trying it, Tucker?”
“Me? No, I wouldn’t have time. I just wondered. Arnold Deering’s on the team, and he’s talked a good deal about it.”
“Oh, you know Arn?”