It must not be thought, however, that disillusionment had soured him. At twenty-four, given a sane mind and a healthy body, one can bear with equanimity more disenchantment than had fallen to the lot of John North. And John, being the possessor of twenty-four years, sanity and health, dismissed memories of the olden visions with a sigh, shrugged his very broad shoulders and looked about for a pipe.
It was necessary to uncover most of the furniture before the pipe was found. And then he remembered that his tobacco pouch was in his kit-bag, that his kit-bag was outside the door, and that the door was twenty feet away. So after a moment of hesitation he stuck the empty pipe between his teeth and returned to his contemplation of the world outside.
“I wish Davy would come,” he muttered.
A tall youth in a torn straw hat encircled by a faded orange-and-black ribbon came out of the hardware store beneath and started hurriedly across the square. John leaned out over the sill.
“Ay-y-y-y, Larry!” he called.
The other turned and retraced his steps.
“Hello, Johnnie! When’d you get back?”
“Half-hour ago. Come up.”
“Can’t.” Laurence Baker removed the straw hat and, holding it by its broken rim, fanned his perspiring face. “I’m frightfully busy. My kid brother’s come up from Exeter and I’m helping him fix his room; he’s got a joint in Thayer. I’ve been running errands for the little brute all day. It’s carpet tacks this time, and a roll of picture wire.” He held up his purchases wearily for the other’s inspection. John grinned.
“Poor old Larry!” he said, sympathetically. “You’ll have to settle down now and behave yourself; younger brothers, especially Freshies, are the very deuce for looking after you.”