“Acted as though he was humoring a couple of mild lunatics,” added Chub resentfully.
“But what objections did he make?” Dick asked.
“Objections? Oh, he wasn’t very—what do you call it?—specific. He thought at first we were fooling and then when we both told him we weren’t, that we’d started the scheme and that we’d made him honorary president, he—”
“Laughed as though he had a fit,” finished Chub, smiling broadly himself in recollection.
“But what did he say?”
“Oh, he said he guessed we wanted a dormitory, but that we’d better not force events—or something like that; said thirty thousand was a big sum to raise and that maybe we’d better wait awhile and see—see how things shaped themselves.”
“Whatever that means,” added Chub.
“Did he accept the honorary presidency?” Dick asked.
“I don’t know; he said something polite, but I don’t believe he was much impressed.”