“Who is he? Tell me about him.”
“Well, he’s Phin Dorr, Phineas Dorr, though no one ever calls him that. He comes from Lowell, and is working his way through; looks after furnaces, cuts grass, mends everything he can find to mend, and, in winter, shovels snow. He’s a wonder as a Jack-of-all-trades, is Phin. He entered last year. He’s in your class. He managed to get a scholarship last year, and I guess he’ll get another this year; if he don’t, I fancy he’ll be up against it pretty hard. Every fellow knows Phin—and likes him; in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had more influence than any chap here. He’s one of the best fellows ever made.”
“Has he folks?”
“A mother only; poor as poor, they say. His father had money once, I heard, and lost it. He’s dead now. I shall have to fake up something for him to do for me, though goodness knows I don’t need any shelves.”
“I do,” said Hansel. “I want a big, long one.”
Harry observed him smilingly.
“Well, don’t let him suspect you are doing it for charity, old man; Phin won’t stand for that. Besides, I thought—” He paused in some embarrassment.
“Thought I was poor, too, you mean? So I am, but he’s a heap sight poorer. And—and I like him.”
“Every fellow does. Phin, in spite of his old patched clothes, is one of the best things we have here. And, by the way, Hansel, you tell Phin about the crusade. He’s sort of peculiar himself.”
“I will,” said Hansel.