“Good! But I ought to tell you that 36 is a cold old hole; there’s something wrong with the pipes—some bronchial trouble, I guess. Anyway, in cold weather you’ll pretty nearly freeze. But you can always study over here, you know.”
“I don’t mind a cold room. That’s one thing Gammage and I are always scrapping about. He likes it about eighty. Do you think the Doctor will let me change?”
“I don’t see why not. Tell him that you don’t get on with what’s-his-name; tell him you like a cold room. He ought to be glad to have some one in 36 that won’t kick all the time for heat. He’s over at the office now. Go ahead and tackle him before he gets any one else down for the room. And come right back and let’s hear what he says.”
Malcolm Warne was back in ten minutes, looking very pleased.
“He said yes, Rob. My, but I’m tickled. I’d sleep in an ice-chest to get rid of Gammage.”
“That’s fine, Mal. I told Kingsford that you were disappointed about rooming in here, and he offered to get out. But I knew you wouldn’t want him to do that.”
“No, indeed,” said Malcolm, warmly, glancing gratefully across at Evan. “It was very good of you, though, Kingsford.”
“Not a bit,” murmured Evan.
“I say, you chaps,” began Rob. Then he paused doubtfully. The others waited, looking inquiringly at him where he stood rumpling his mutinous locks with a paper-cutter.
“Why, just this,” he went on presently. “Here are three of us, all pretty good fellows—speaking for the rest of you, that is. Now let’s cut out this surname nonsense. My name’s Rob, yours is Malcolm, or Mal for short, and yours is Evan. There, that’s settled.” He tossed the paper-knife down. “Now I want to show you fellows a little idea that occurred to me coming back from the office a while ago. Bring up your chairs.”