“She’s plucky, all right,” answered Chub with a grin. “Fancy having the cheek to try and—”
“Pluck a brand from the burning,” suggested Roy.
“Exactly! Suppose we run over to the Cottage and see if he’s shown up?”
“Oh, he hasn’t come,” answered Roy, glancing at his watch. “It’s two minutes of six now.”
“What of it? He might have come half an hour ago and—” Chub, who was facing the dormitory door, stopped and stared over Roy’s shoulder. “Hello!” he ejaculated. Roy turned and followed his gaze.
Just inside the doorway stood a big, broad-shouldered, blond-haired youth of apparently sixteen years of age. He wore a fur cap, a gray sweater and dark knickerbockers, while in one hand was a suit case and in the other a pair of skates. In spite of the fact that the entire hall was observing him silently and curiously he appeared not the least bit embarrassed; in fact his self-possession was then and afterward something to wonder at. After a slow glance about the hall he had turned his gray eyes on Chub and Roy. There was a careless, good-humored smile on his singularly homely and at the same time perplexingly attractive face.
[“Where do I live, do you suppose?” he asked.]
“I don’t know,” answered Roy, rising to go to him. “But I guess you belong on the next floor. Did the Doctor tell you which dormitory you were to go to?”
“Haven’t seen the Doctor,” was the calm reply. “I just got here. What time is it, anyway?”