“Thirty-six?” The other considered the question with a broad smile. Then, instead of answering, he turned toward the room. “Say, fellows, here’s a new one. Come and have a look. It’ll do you no end of good.”
In a second the doorway was filled with curious, grinning faces. Perhaps if Evan hadn’t been so tired he would have accepted the situation with better humor. As it was, he lifted his suit-case and turned away with a scowl.
“He doesn’t like us!” wailed a voice. “Ah, woe is me!”
“Where’s he going?” asked another. “Tarry, stranger, and—”
“He wants 36,” said the tall youth. “Who’s in 36, somebody?”
“Nobody. Tupper had it last year; he and Andy Long.”
“Say, kid, 36 is at the other end of the hall. But don’t scowl at me like that, or I’ll come out there and give you something to be peevish about.”
Evan, obeying directions, turned and passed the group again in search of his room. He paid no heed to the challenge, for he was much too tired to get really angry. But he didn’t take the scowl from his face, and the boy in the doorway saw it.
[“Look pleasant, kid,” he continued threateningly]. He pushed his way through the laughing group and overtook Evan a little way down the hall. He was a big chap, good-looking in a heavy way, and seemed to be about seventeen years old. He placed a hand on Evan’s shoulder and with a quick jerk swung him around with his back to the wall. Evan dropped his bag and raised his hands defensively.