“Piffle! Lots of your class are thick as thieves with upper middle chaps. Look at young Whatshisname—Stiles. He’s always traveling with upper middlers—Ordway and Blake and that bunch.”
“Ned Stiles has more cheek than I have. Besides, I don’t think fellows like him particularly, Jimmy. He sort of toadies, doesn’t he?”
“He’s a perfect ass, if you ask me. But they seem to stand for him.”
“Well, but I don’t want to be ‘stood for’; I want fellows to—to want me.”
“All right. Give ’em a chance then. You’re all right, Dud, only you’re shy. That’s what’s the matter with you, old chap, you’re just plain shy! Never thought of it before. Look here, now, I’ll tell you what you do. You forget all about your dear little self and get over being—being—gee, what’s the word I want? Being self-conscious! That’s it! That’s your trouble, self-consciousness.” Jimmy beamed approval at himself. “Best way to do it is to—to do it! Tell you what, we’ll make a start tonight, eh? Let’s go out and visit someone. Who do you know that you’d like to know better?”
“I’d like to know Hugh Ordway, for one,” said Dud hesitatingly. “But I guess he wouldn’t care about knowing me, and so——”
“Stow it! That’s just what you mustn’t do, do you see? You mustn’t ‘wonder’ whether a fellow wants to know you or not. You just take it for granted that he does. Say to yourself, ‘I’m a good feller, a regular feller. I’m as good as you are. Of course you want to know me. Why not?’ See the idea?”
Dud nodded doubtfully. “Still, Hugh Ordway’s a bit——”
“A bit what?” demanded Jimmy impatiently.
“I mean he’s awfully popular and has piles of friends and he wouldn’t be likely to—to want to know me.”