There was no response at first; then, a sleepy grunt. The time was yet an hour or more before the first rising bell, so this early summons might properly be resented. But when Lambert called in a low voice: “I have a message from Doctor Field,” the Italian’s roommate, Johnston, a morose, dull-witted chap whose whole mind was bent on keeping up with his classes, made reply:
“Both of you,” said Lambert, which was true, for he knew he could not enter without seeing Johnston also.
At that Johnston got up, opened the door and Lambert entered, in his hand a paper which he made a pretense of consulting, as though it were a memorandum of his errand, his real purpose being to hold off until Gus appeared. Somehow the senior had faith in this quiet, smiling, precise freshman.
Then Gus came swiftly along the hall and through the room door, advancing near the bed still occupied by the Italian. Lambert, rather inclined to dodge trouble, stepped back a little. Said Gus:
“Malatesta, Doctor Field wants to see you at once. He wants no fuss, Johnston, he said, so please let on to know nothing about it. Come on!”—this to the Sicilian.
“What to see me about?” demanded the Italian, angrily. “Well, I will presently see him—go tell him that! It is not yet the time for school. I am yet wishing to sleep a little. Good day to you.”
“You get up and into your duds! This is no joke.” Gus advanced a step.
“And who are you to so order of me? Get out of this room!”
“Come on, you! If you don’t slide out of there in about three shakes we’ll drag you out and take you up as you are.”