"I mean," he explained, "are you going to this college?"
"The Lord," the young man answered, "and Squibs Bailly alone know. I'm told I'm not very bright in the head."
George smiled.
"Then I guess you can help me out. I'm not either. I want to enter in the fall, and I need a professor or something like that to teach me. I'll pay."
The other nodded.
"You need a coach. Bailly's a good one. I'm going there now to be told for two hours I'm an utter ass. Maybe I am, but what's the use rubbing it in? I don't know that he's got any open time, but you might come along and see."
George, his excitement increasing, walked beside his new acquaintance.
"What's your name?" the bored youth asked all at once.
"Morton. George Morton."
"I'm Godfrey Rogers. Lawrenceville. What prep are you?"