“He wanted to come in here with me, and he never said a word about it. Says he was waiting to make sure I hadn’t any one in view. He’s too blamed sensitive.”
“Well, that’s easily fixed,” said Evan, lightly. “It won’t take me ten minutes to move across to 36. That’s where I belong, anyway, Langton. I’d rather do it, really.”
“Not much! But I’ve got an idea.”
He hurried out, crossed the hall, knocked on the opposite door, and threw it open.
“Hello, Spalding!” Evan heard him say. “Want to use your window a second. Oh, Mal! Come back a minute, will you?” Evidently Warne heard, for Rob only sent one hail across the yard.
“Here’s the idea,” he went on, as he returned to 32. “We’ll get Warne to move into 36. He never knows whether he’s hot or cold, and he’s dead anxious to get out of the room he’s in. He’s in First House with a chap named Gammage; decent chap enough, but he and Warne don’t hit it off. Mal’s a Southerner, from North Carolina—or South, I’ve forgotten which. Where is Wilmington, anyway?”
“Wilmington? In Delaware, isn’t it?”
“Is it? Then I guess Wilmington isn’t the place; I’m pretty sure he’s from one of the Carolinas. Anyway, he’s an awfully nice fellow, and I want you to like him. Here he comes. Say, Mal, I’ve thought of a great scheme. Sit down and I’ll unfold it. Kingsford here was booked for 36. So that leaves 36 empty. You see the Doctor and get him to let you move into it. You don’t mind rooming alone, do you? Besides, you can make this room home if you like to.”
“I shouldn’t mind that a bit,” said Warne.