“Why, she’s playing a couple of weeks early in October at Poli’s. You want to look her up.”
“I sure will. You saw the mackinaw she sent me?”
“Yes, it’ll come in handy for Yale. I wish I was with you, but I’m wished on to Cornell—I yell!”
“Oh, well, we can’t all go to the same place, but it sure would be fine if we could.”
Then they began to talk of the old days at Milton, until the shadows lengthened over the lake and it was time to paddle back to the cottage.
Andy took a run down to New Haven the next week, and made his final arrangements. He was walking about the now deserted quadrangle, looking up at the window of the room he had selected in Wright Hall, when he was aware that a youth of his own age was doing the same thing.
Something seemed to attract Andy to this stranger. There was a frank, open, ingenuous look in his face that Andy liked. And there was that in the air and manner of the lad which told he came of no common stock. His clothing betokened the work of a fashionable tailor, though the garments were quiet, and just a shade off the most up-to-date mode.
“Are you a student here?” asked the stranger of Andy.
“No, but I expect to be. I’m going to start in.”
“So am I. Chamber is my name—Duncan Chamber, though I’m always called Dunk for short.”