“Should think it would be,” James agreed after he had let his eyes wander critically around the room. “But you can't afford to save that way. Get a good suite. And for heaven's sake see a tailor, my boy. In college a man is judged by the company he keeps.”
“What have my room and my clothes to do with that?” Jeff wanted to know, with a smile.
“Everything. You've got to put up a good front. The best fellows won't go around with a longhaired guy who doesn't know how to dress. No offense, Jeff.”
His cousin laughed. “I'll see a barber to-morrow.”
“And you must have a room where the fellows can come to see you.”
“What's the matter with this one?”
A hint of friendly patronage crept into the manner of the junior. “My dear chap, college isn't worth doing at all unless you do it right. You're here to get in with the best fellows and to make connections that will help you later. That sort of thing, you know.”
Into Jeff's face came the light that always transfigured its plainness when he was in the grip of an idea. “Hold on, J. K. Let's get at this right. Is that what I'm here for? I didn't know it. There's a hazy notion in my noodle that I'm here to develop myself.”
“That's what I'm telling you. Go in for the things that count. Make a good frat. Win out at football or debating. I don't give a hang what you go after, but follow the ball and keep on the jump. I'm strong with the crowd that runs things and I'll see they take you in and make you a cog of the machine. But you'll have to measure up to specifications.”
“But, hang it, I don't want to be a cog in any machine. I'm here to give myself a chance to grow—sit out in the sun and hatch an individuality—give myself lots of free play.”