“Oh, that’s all right. No trouble to promote you. What does ‘Len’ stand for?”
“Leonard.”
“Swell name. You’ve got the edge on the other Grant. Ulysses sounds like something out of the soda fountain. Well, I hope we’ll hit it off all right. I’m an easy-going sort, General; never much of a scrapper and hate to argue. Last year, over in Borden, I roomed with a chap named Endicott. Dick was the original arguer. He could start with no take-off at all and argue longer, harder and faster than any one outside a court of law. I was a great trial to him, I suspect. If he said Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote ‘The Merchant of Venice’ I just said ‘Sure, Mike’ and let it go at that. Arguing was meat and drink to that fellow.”
“And what became of him? I mean, why aren’t you—”
“Together this year? He didn’t come back. You see, he spent so much time in what you might call controversy that he didn’t get leisure for studying. So last June faculty told him that he’d failed to pass and that if he came back he’d have about a million conditions to work off. He did his best to argue himself square, but faculty beat him out. After all, there was only one of him and a dozen or so faculty, and it wasn’t a fair contest. At that, I understand they won by a very slight margin!”
“Hard luck,” laughed Leonard. “I dare say he was a star member of the debating club, if there is one here.”
“There is, but Dick never joined. He said they were amateurs. What do you say to supper? Oh, by the way, you were out for football, weren’t you? What’s your line?”
“I’ve played guard mostly.”
“Guard, eh?” Slim looked him over appraisingly. “Sort of light, aren’t you?”