Phillip struggled into an old coat, performed Maid’s toilet—removed her collar and rubbed her neck—and took up a book. But study didn’t appeal to him, and presently he turned the volume face down in his lap, stretched his legs in front of him, clasped his hands back of his head and reviewed the evening. For the first time since he had reached Cambridge he felt that he really belonged there; that he was a part of the college. Yesterday he had been a separate atom circling around the outer rim of things, occasionally touching other atoms for a space, only to be borne off again. To-day he had suddenly been drawn into the vortex; had jostled and overlapped others of his kind, and had, in fact, become a particle in the coherent body. He was sensible of a certain elation that bordered on excitement; he wanted to tell some one about it. To that end he lighted a pipe, seated himself at the table, drew paper and ink to him and wrote steadily for an hour. The letter was inscribed, “Dear Little Mamma and Margey,” and in it he set forth all that had happened since his last writing on Friday. He told of the theatre party of the previous evening, of attending church that morning, and then of John North’s appearance on the scene and their walk.
“I wish you could see North,” he wrote. “He’s a fine fellow every way. He’s over six feet high, I reckon, with very broad shoulders. I feel pretty small alongside him. But of course it isn’t his size that makes you like him so right away, though I reckon that has something to do with it, but the way he looks and what he says and the way he does things. I can’t explain just what I mean, although I know myself. He’s mighty good-looking; awfully manly and honest; that kind of handsome, you know. He has nice dark eyes that always seem as though they were smiling at you, and a straight nose and a square chin that makes you feel that you wouldn’t care to have him right angry at you. He has a funny, quiet way of talking, and you can’t help feeling that if you were in a fix he’s just the fellow you’d like to have come along. And of course he’s awfully smart, only he isn’t the sort of man that tries to make you know it. That’s where he’s different from Guy Bassett. He’s not as handsome as Bassett, but you like his looks better somehow.
“Talking about looks, mamma, he saw your photograph and those of father on my mantel when he was here, and Margey’s, too. He said ‘we Ryersons’ were a good-looking lot and—but Margey mustn’t see this or she’ll get conceited—that my sister was a beauty. It sounds kind of cheeky, but it really wasn’t, the way he said it.”
Phillip described the walk to the extent of three pages and promised to send a book of views which showed some of the places they had seen. Then,
“I met his roommate, David Meadowcamp; isn’t it a funny name? He’s almost as funny as his name, too. But he was awfully nice, as I was sure he would be if he was North’s friend. He was all sprawled out on a Turkish couch thing when we went in and North woke him up and introduced me. I was a bit uncomfortable at the queer way he looked me over, just as though I were a horse he was thinking of buying, but he shook hands and was very pleasant and kind.
“He and North had a sort of ‘scrap,’ as they say here, just in fun, you know. I didn’t understand what it was about exactly, but I had to laugh to see them falling over the chairs and things, for Meadowcamp is just about as big as John North and heavier, I reckon. Meadowcamp told North that he had seen an article in the Sunday paper on the care and feeding of infants, or something like that, and that he had cut it out and saved it for him to read, and North looked kind of queer and threw a book at Meadowcamp and then they had it, and Meadowcamp finally got North back of the couch and sat on him and made him make all kind of funny speeches of apology, and made him apologize to me for ‘misbehaving in the presence of an honoured guest.’
“They have splendid rooms and the study is full of jolly things to look at. The walls are just covered all over with rugs and pictures and there are book-cases that come half-way up them filled with expensive books. And North said I was to help myself whenever I wanted. He showed me the pictures when he found I was staring at them, and said that a lot of them were originals by a fellow named Remington who does Indian drawings in the magazines. They were great. And there were a lot of water-colours and oil paintings and a lot of steins—those German beer mugs, you know—hanging on hooks. And I counted fifteen ‘shingles,’ too. A shingle is a framed paper, like the diplomas, saying that you belong to a club or society. They must belong to a lot.
“They took me to dinner at their boarding-place which is called The Inn. North said that some of the fellows at their club table weren’t there because it was Sunday. Some go home if they live near here. There were eight of us at table and I was introduced to every one. They are all seniors and so of course I felt rather young and insignificant at first. But everybody acted just as if I was one of them and after awhile I forget about being a freshman and talked back. North told them that I was from Virginia and was in college preparing for the Presidency, and Meadowcamp asked me to make him Secretary of State when I was elected, and that started them to forming a cabinet. North wanted to be Secretary of Agriculture because it was a nice, restful position, but Meadowcamp said no, they would have a new portfolio and make him Secretary of Education. North seemed to think that was very funny and so did everybody else, but of course I didn’t know what the joke was. We had a fine dinner and the walk had made me hungry and I ate like a woodchopper. North says I should go to The Inn and join a general table there. I think I will, because the place that Chester Baker recommended is much more expensive and I just can’t stand the restaurants any longer. I had two helpings of beef and two of rice and two of pudding. And after dinner we sat around a long while and smoked and talked about football and theatres and lots of things that I didn’t know much about. When the fellows said good-night they most all asked me to come and see them. I asked North if he thought they really meant it and he said they did and that I should go. And so I reckon I’ll have to, although I’m a bit scared.
“When we went back to Little’s—that’s where North and Meadowcamp room—we pulled easy-chairs up together and North put a little table with pipes and cigars and tobacco in the middle and we smoked and talked some more. North said I was to talk fast so as to keep Davy—that’s Meadowcamp—awake. They asked me a lot about Virginia and Elaine, and I told them about the horses and the fox hunts, and Meadowcamp says he is going to come down and spend the summer with me. But of course that was just a joke. And I am to be sure and always go to their room every Sunday night and whenever else I have time. And North is going to see about my getting board at The Inn. It is six dollars a week, but he says you can’t get good food in Cambridge for any less, unless you go to Memorial or Randall, and that if I go there I’ll end by starving to death.
“I said good-night at nine o’clock and came back to my room. North said I mustn’t go so early, but I noticed that Meadowcamp was nodding and reckoned he wanted to get to bed. Maid had a fine time to-day when we went to walk and chased sparrows and things all the time. Cambridge is beautiful now and the leaves are beginning to fall. I wish you and Margey could see how lovely it is. But I get kind of homesick sometimes for you all and Elaine. Please tell Bob to ride Ruby twice a week and to look after her feet well. I will write again soon. With heaps of love,