“No, I never heard of one,” owned Bert, “but Faculty has a way of making rules at short order. Mind shaking a leg a bit? It’s twelve minutes to ten. If I were you, Chick, I’d play less pool, anyway. Two or three nights a week is sort of overdoing it, isn’t it?”
“Why is it? Might as well be doing that as sitting around in the room. There’s nothing wrong with Mooney’s place, is there? You saw what it was like to-night.”
“N-no, there’s nothing wrong with it, I guess; except that a lot of betting goes on there and the crowd isn’t exactly the sort a fellow would pick out to spend an evening with.”
“Pshaw, the crowd’s all right. Just because they don’t happen to be our sort doesn’t mean anything, Bert. Take Les Devore, now. Of course he isn’t a college fellow, and all that sort of tosh, but he’s a mighty decent guy, just the same. Works hard for his living and gets his fun playing a little pool.”
“What does he work at?” asked Bert.
“Railroading. He’s something over at the freight yard, I believe. Why?”
“I just wondered. His hands don’t look as if he did an awful lot of work, Chick.”
“Great Scott, I didn’t say he handled freight! He probably works in the office. Some sort of a clerk, I dare say. I guess you don’t like him, from the way you talk.”
“I don’t know enough about him,” replied the other evasively. “I’ll own up, though, old chap, that I wasn’t strangely attracted to him this evening.”