“By George!” he kept saying. “I wouldn't have missed that—not for anything. They made my life a nightmare. I'll have to leave college—go somewhere else—but I don't care.”
Later, after dinner as he sat reading, he heard a door-bell ring, a man's voice, then footsteps in the hall. Some one tapped on his door. Ken felt a strange, cold sensation, which soon passed, and he spoke:
“Come in.”
The door opened to admit a short man with little, bright eyes sharp as knives.
“Hello, Kid,” he said. Then he leisurely removed his hat and overcoat and laid them on the bed.
Ken's fear of he knew not what changed to amazement. At least his visitor did not belong to the faculty. There was something familiar about the man, yet Ken could not place him.
“Well up in your studies?” he asked, cordially. Then he seated himself, put a hand on each knee, and deliberately and curiously studied Ken.
“Why, yes, pretty well up,” replied Ken. He did not know how to take the man. There was a kindliness about him which relieved Ken, yet there was also a hard scrutiny that was embarrassing.
“All by your lonely here,” he said.
“It is lonely,” replied Ken, “but—but I don't get on very well with the students.”