“Mr. Higgins. The boys call him the Pirate because he looks like one. I know he did, though, because he’s put your trunk as near the door as he could. He says he doesn’t get paid to handle trunks inside the house. Did you say your name was Albert?”
“Yes; Bert, though, usually.”
“I like that better,” she responded, seating herself on the arm of a chair and continuing to examine him calmly. “I shall call you Bert, though I suppose the boys will find a nickname for you pretty soon. Funny you came after Christmas recess. Why didn’t you come in the fall?”
“I was going to, but I got sick in September, and when I was well again it was too late. And mother thought I’d better wait and get quite well.”
“You don’t look sick now,” she said critically.
“I’m not. I never was sick before, not really sick, that is.”
“You’re to room with Ben Holden. I hope he will like you. He’s a senior.”
“Why don’t you hope I’ll like him?” laughed Bert.
Nan Merton raised her eyebrows. “Oh, that isn’t so important. You see, if Ben shouldn’t like you he might make your life a veritable burden.” (Bert soon discovered that Nan was fond of using queer phrases which she got out of the stories she read.) “He—he’s that sort, you know.”
“Is he? Well, I shouldn’t like to have my life a burden,” replied Bert with a smile. “How old is this chap?”