“That’ll make three, then. Now, of course, I know lots of fellows who would come in if I asked ’em, but, as I just said, this thing is going to be select; it’s going to be the selectest table in town. So you tell me who are the top of the bunch in our class, and I’ll go and fetch ’em in if I have to rope ’em and hog-tie ’em.” Pete took out a pencil and began to write on the back of an envelope.
“Of course, it’s all poppycock,” said Allan, “but—well, there’s What’s-his-name, the class president, and Maitland, and Poor——”
“Whoo-ee! I’m glad you thought of Poor.”
“And Armstrong—only he lives at home, I think—and Mays, and Wolcott, and—and Cooper—Cooper of St. Eustace, I mean; the other chap’s an awful duffer—and Van Sciver——”
“Whoa, Bill! That’s eight—eleven, counting us three; guess I can get enough out of the list. Besides, I must ask Greb; mustn’t slight Greb.”
“You’re not going to ask him?”
“Ain’t I? Just you keep your eyes peeled and you’ll see.” He got up and carefully put the list in the big yellow leather wallet he carried. “Guess I’ll see a few of ’em this afternoon. Want to come along?”
Allan shook his head vigorously.
“Not me, Pete. I don’t want to have to testify against you before the faculty. How do I know what you’ll do to those chaps to make them join?”