"Hello, yourself! Take that!"
But suddenly, in the midst of these savage greetings, that gentle pressure of an arm about him, and Peter's voice:
"Hello, old man!"
Bertram would whirl at that, his face beaming; they had met but yesterday—it was as years ago—"Hello, old man! Look, Peter!"
But a gong clanged. Then all about them was the hurry and tramp of feet upon the stairs. Lost in the precious pages, they climbed together, arm in arm, drifting upward with the noisy current and through the doors of the assembly-hall.
"See, Bertram—the cricket-bats on the wall!"
"Yes; and the High Street—and Sallie Harrowell's!"
"And the doctor's door!"
Through another door just then their own masters were slowly filing, their own doctor last and weightiest of all, his smooth, strong face busy with some chapel reverie.
"The Professor's like Arnold," Bertram told Peter as they slipped together into their double seat.