At the foot of the stairs groups collected, discussing the ordeal pessimistically. As he started to walk through, several spoke to George.
"How did you hit it, Morton?"
Already he was well spotted. He paused and joined the apprehensive chatter.
"It's a toss-up with me," Rogers admitted. "Don't tell me any answers. If ignorance is bliss, I want to stay dumb."
He caught George's arm.
"Have you met Dicky Goodhue? Hello, Goodhue!"
Goodhue gave the impression of not having met Rogers to any extent. He was a sturdy young man with handsome, finely formed features. George looked at him closely, because this young man alone of the Freshmen he had met remained unmoved by his fame.
"Would like you to meet Morton, Goodhue."
Goodhue glanced at George inquiringly, almost resentfully.
"George Morton," Rogers stumbled on, as if an apology were necessary. "Stringham, you know, and Green——"