“Come on, Kitty,” said the eldest youth. “Introduce your friend.”
“Eh?” Kitty looked vaguely around the room until his eyes encountered Rodney, still standing at the chiffonier. “Oh, yes. Beg pardon. This chap’s name is—er—” Kitty paused at a loss and turned inquiringly to Rodney. “What is it, now?”
“The same as it was a few minutes ago,” laughed Rodney. “It’s Merrill, Rodney Merrill.”
“Glad to know you,” replied the older boy. “My name’s Billings. This grinning ape is Mudge. Mr. Greenough is the thoughtful gentleman at your left. Over there are Hoyt, Trainor and Trowbridge. There’s no use waiting for Kitty to introduce. He’d fall into a trance in the middle of it.”
Kitty smiled untroubledly. The others, having nodded, or, if near enough, shaken hands, laughed. The irrepressible Mudge—Tad, for short; Theodore Middlewich for long—removed the last vestige of restraint.
“Welcome, Merrill, to our happy little home,” said Tad. “Hope you’ll like us and our quaint ways. Pete, get up and give Merrill a seat, you impolite loafer.”
“Thanks, but I don’t want to sit down,” replied Rodney. “I was putting my things away.”
“Don’t let Kitty impose on you,” advised Tom Trainor, a slender, light-complexioned chap. “If you don’t watch him he will have his things all over the place. Sometimes he forgets which is his own bed and goes to sleep in the other one. You got here early, Merrill.”
“I came on the boat from New York. It was very nice.”
“It’s nice enough once—or even a couple of times—” said Hoyt, a short chap with a snub nose and a bored expression. “After that it’s monotonous.”