"Glad to meet you," Goodhue said, indifferently.
"Thanks," George acknowledged as indifferently, and turned away.
Goodhue, it came upon him with a new appreciation of difficulties, was the proper sort. He watched him walk off with a well-dressed, weak-looking youth, threading a careless course among his classmates.
"How long have you known this fellow Goodhue?" George asked as he crossed the campus with Rogers.
"Oh, Goodhue?" Rogers said, uncomfortably. "I've seen him any number of times. Ran into him last night."
"Good-looking man," George commented. "Where's he come from?"
"You don't know who Dicky Goodhue is!" Rogers cried. "I mean, you must have heard of his father anyway, the old Richard. Real Estate for generations. Money grows for them without their turning a hand. Dicky's up at the best clubs in New York. Plays junior polo on Long Island."
George had heard enough.
"If I do as well with the other exams," he said, "I'm going to get in."
With Freshmen customs what they were, he was thinking, he could appear as well dressed as the Goodhue crowd. He would take pains with that.