Harry Merrow’s remark was quite true, true in what it said and in what it implied. When he smiled Kendall Burtis was a different looking chap entirely, but he didn’t often smile, and when he didn’t it was no exaggeration to call him homely. He was sixteen years of age, of average height, with a figure that seemed to have more than the usual allowance of corners. He had the rugged appearance of a boy who has lived out of doors, and worked there, too. He had ashy-brown hair, dark gray eyes, a nose which was almost a pug, and a broad mouth. Add plenty of brown freckles to a face well tanned, and you have a fair idea of Kendall’s physiognomy. But the mouth was kindly, the nose suggested a sense of humor, and the gray eyes were clear and honest, and somehow, in spite of its homeliness, the face was attractive.

He sat at the table in 21 Clarke Hall after supper that evening, with his books open before him and a lead pencil protruding from a corner of his mouth. And as he conned his lesson, muttering to himself at times, the pencil wobbled about ludicrously. The room was on the second floor and at the back of the building. It was plainly furnished and had a somewhat threadbare look. What few pictures adorned the walls were mostly on one side of the room, the side sacred to the roommate who had not yet returned.

There was a knock on the door and in response to Kendall’s invitation Gerald Pennimore entered. “You know you said I might call, Burtis,” he announced, “but if you’re busy——”

“I’m not, Pennimore. I was just having a go at Latin. Sit down, won’t you?” And Kendall arose and pushed forward a chair with eager shyness. “This is Harold’s; I don’t own anything as comfortable.”

Gerald seated himself in the Morris chair and looked about him. He was a decided contrast to his host. Rather tall, slim and lithe, with a graceful carriage and easy manners, fair-haired, blue-eyed, eager and alert, he was quite different from the almost delicate youngster who had entered Yardley Hall School three years before. To-day, in his senior year, he was Class President, captain of the Cross-Country Team, a valuable member of the Track Team, a hockey player of some ability and a power in the school. In age he was a year older than Kendall.

“Towne hasn’t shown up yet?” he asked.

“Not yet. They say at the Office that he is expected, but I have a notion he isn’t coming back.”

“You’ll be heart-broken about it, of course,” said Gerald, sympathetically. But there was a smile in his blue eyes.

Kendall looked across gravely. “Well, I got sort of used to him,” he answered. “Maybe they’d put some other fellow in I wouldn’t get along with as well. I suppose you miss Vinton a good deal, Pennimore. He was an awfully fine chap, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. Yes, I miss him a lot. You see, we were together three years here in school and we spent some of our vacations together, too. I’ve traveled with older fellows ever since I came here and now they’re about all gone. I suppose it’s a mistake not to pick your friends from your own class, but I couldn’t very well help myself. I had rather a hard time of it when I first struck this place.” Gerald smiled reminiscently. “You see, Burtis, I was handicapped by having a father so wealthy that everyone knew about him. Then, too, I’ve lived in the summer right here within a mile of the school. So when I came a lot of the fellows were down on me. They used to call me ‘Miss Nancy’ and ‘Money-bags’ and things like that, and I was pretty miserable for a while. If it hadn’t been for Dan and two or three other fellows, fellows like Alf Loring and Tom Dyer, I’d have given it up, I guess. Well, I’m glad I didn’t. How are the football prospects this year, Burtis? Are we going to do the usual thing to Broadwood?”

“I don’t know much about them. I hear that we’ve only got two or three first-string men left from last year, though.”

“Yes, but we’ve got a lot of good subs and fellows from last year’s Second. I suppose you’re fairly certain of a place, Burtis.”

“I don’t know,” replied Kendall slowly. “I haven’t had much experience, you see.”

“Experience! Great Scott, you had experience enough to go in in the last minute and land a goal from the forty-yard line!”

“That wasn’t hard. You see, Fogg made a fine pass and Simms aimed the ball just right, and all I had to do was kick it.”

“Yes, with the whole crazy Broadwood team charging through on you like a lot of madmen! Sure, it was dead easy—I don’t think!” Gerald laughed. “I saw you to-day, too, Burtis, and all I’ve got to say is that if you can kick as well as you did last year and run as well as you did to-day they’ll have an awfully hard time keeping you off the First Team! Of course, I’m not a football player—never had time for it except with a scrub team one year—but you can’t live with a fellow who has football on the brain for three years without getting the critical eye. And I’m going to tell you something that Dan said last Spring. Maybe I oughtn’t to, but I guess you’re not the sort to get a swelled head. Dan said, ‘That fellow Burtis is a born football player, and if he had got started earlier he’d have most of us looking like amateurs. They’ll make him captain before he gets through, see if they don’t!’”

Kendall colored with pleasure and embarrassment. “That’s—that’s awfully kind of Vinton,” he murmured, “but—but I guess he was mistaken——”

“Yes, he was always making mistakes about football things,” replied Gerald dryly. “Dan is stupid like a fox. Anyway, I hope he’s right, Burtis.”

“Thank you. Maybe if I had gone to a school where they played football before I came here I’d know more about it. There’s—there’s a lot to learn, you see.”

“You’ll learn it,” affirmed Gerald heartily. “Well, you’ve got studying to do and I guess a little of it won’t hurt me any, so I’ll run along. Hold on, though! I very nearly forgot what I came for. I applied for a room in Dudley last Spring; you know, I guess, that Seniors have the privilege of rooming there if they want to; and I got my room—Number 14; I was to share it with a fellow named Kirk.”

“George Kirk? Captain of the Golf Team? I know him.”

“That’s the fellow. I’ve nothing against Kirk; rather like him, in fact; what I know of him, which isn’t very much; but afterwards I sort of hated the idea of giving up my old room here, and when I got back the other day and saw it I hiked around to the Office and begged Mr. Forisher to let me keep it. He kicked a lot, but finally said I might. Seems he had a couple of fellows down for it and had to switch them somewhere else. So, as it is, I’m alone in 28. Now, what I was going to suggest was this—why—hello!”

Gerald stopped and listened. In the hall above there was a slamming of doors and a scurry of feet. “They’d better cut that before they get downstairs or Collins will nab them!” The clamor increased. Through the partly open door they could hear someone taking the stairs at bounds, while above there was the clamor as of a pursuing mob. The quarry, whoever he was, reached the bottom of the flight with a final jump, and then, in a twinkling, the room door crashed wide open and a tall, lank youth plunged in. He was out of breath and the smile he summoned was too agitated to seem genuine.

“Say, let me hide here a minute, will you?” he whispered to Gerald hoarsely.

Gerald motioned to the further bed. “Slide under there,” he said quietly. The boy flew around the table, dropped to the floor and squirmed quickly from sight. Gerald stepped to the door to close it, but the pursuit was already at the bottom of the stairs, laughing and calling. Gerald left the door ajar, scurried back to his chair and, thrusting his hands into his pockets, leaned carelessly back.

“Yes, when it came to doing it, Burtis, I just couldn’t give up the old place. You get terribly fond of a room after——”

There was a hurried knock and the door was pushed open, revealing a half-dozen laughing faces beyond.

“Hello, Pennimore! Is he in here?” The spokesman was a big fellow named Johnson, a Second Class boy, who roomed on the floor above.

“Hello,” returned Gerald with a display of mild curiosity. “Is who here?”

“The Rabbit! Cotton-Tail! Didn’t he slide in here?” Johnson looked suspiciously around.

“Of course he did,” cried another of the crowd. “He didn’t go downstairs and this is the only door that’s open! Where is he, Pennimore? We’ve got to have him! We need him in our business!”

“I don’t know the gentleman,” replied Gerald with a smile.

“Well, he’s in here just the same,” declared Johnson.

“Oh, sure! I’ve got him in my pocket!”

“He’s in a closet,” whispered another fellow audibly.

“Under a bed, probably,” growled a third. “Say, whose room is this, anyway?”

“This room belongs to my friend, Mr. Burtis,” returned Gerald amiably. “If you ask him nicely he will probably allow you to come in and search it to your heart’s content. Mind if this committee of thugs looks around, Burtis?”

“N-no, I suppose not,” answered Kendall. “But I don’t see why they should.”

“I don’t see any reason myself,” agreed Gerald, carefully avoiding a glance toward the further bed. “Johnson, on the whole, I guess you’d better run away. And you might close the door after you.”

“Then he isn’t here?” asked Johnson doubtfully.

“Who isn’t here?” demanded Gerald with a fine show of irritability. “Can’t you see he isn’t here? Who the dickens do you want, anyhow?”

“Maybe he did sneak downstairs, after all,” someone suggested. “We’ll get him when he comes back, fellows.”

“All right,” said Johnson. “Abject apologies for disturbing you, Pennimore, but the law must be enforced, you know.”

“Oh, certainly,” replied Gerald carelessly. “Go as far as you like, but close the door after you.”

The door closed and the footfalls died away up the stairs. After a minute:

“Come out, Mr. Rabbit,” said Gerald softly. “The hounds have gone.”

There was a scuffling under Kendall’s bed and, feet first, the quarry emerged. “Much obliged,” he panted. “Are you sure they’ve gone?”

“Mm; fairly sure. I’ll lock the door, anyhow. Sit down and recover your savoir faire, whatever that is. You must be a newcomer, Mr. Rabbit. I don’t recall your features.”

“Yes, I—I came last week,” replied the other, seating himself on the foot of the bed and brushing the dust from his clothes. He had eyes that, for want of a better word, might be called hazel, and the rims were inflamed; Gerald decided, however, that the redness was not from too much poring over text-books, for the youth didn’t look like that sort. He was lanky, ungainly and none too attractive. His mouth was unpleasant and his face didn’t look quite clean. And the red-rimmed eyes had a sly look in them very unlike a rabbit’s. In age he seemed about seventeen.

“May I ask,” continued Gerald, “why the gentlemen were so eager to discover you?”

The boy’s eyes shifted and dropped. “They—they were hazing me,” he muttered.

“Hazing you! Oh, surely not! Hazing isn’t indulged in here. Mister—er—what did you say the name was? Rabbit?”

“My name’s Cotton. I don’t care what you call it, but they were trying to make me hold my head in a basin of water.”

“In a basin of water? What an odd thing to do! Why, Mr. Cotton?”

“They said”—Cotton gulped angrily—“they said they wanted to see if I was absorbent.”

“Absorbent? Oh, I see; absorbent cotton.” Gerald laughed and even Kendall had to smile a little. “Well, were you?”

“I got away from them,” he growled.

“Oh, well, that wouldn’t have hurt you any, you know. In fact”—and Gerald smiled slightly—“in fact a little water might be beneficial, Cotton.”

Cotton scowled. “Well, they needn’t think they can do that sort of thing to me. I’m too old a bird. I’ve been to school before. And if they try any more of their funny stunts, someone will get hurt!”

“I don’t like your attitude,” said Gerald coldly. “A little fun doesn’t hurt anyone, and as you’re a newcomer, Cotton, you must expect a certain amount of ragging. I think you’ll find the coast clear now.”

“Besides,” went on Cotton aggrievedly, disdaining the hint, “they wanted to put ink in the water.”

“You should have reminded them that you were not blotting-paper; merely absorbent cotton,” replied Gerald with a smile.

There was a knock on the door and Gerald looked inquiringly at Kendall. Cotton slipped to the floor, prepared to again seek the refuge of the bed.

“Who is there?” asked Kendall.

“Wellington. May I come in a moment?”

“It’s all right, I guess,” said Gerald. “It’s The Duke.” He arose and unlocked the door and the newcomer slipped in. He had a round, merry face above which a tousled head of red-brown hair glinted in the light like copper. He was about Gerald’s age, but heavier, rounder, softer. He grinned at Gerald as he closed the door softly behind him, and then observed the other two boys.

“Trouble’s over, Cotton,” he announced. “The enemy is dispersed. Keep quiet and you can make it all right. Lock the door if you want to. Better start along, though, before they get together again.”

Cotton moved doubtfully toward the door. “They’d better not touch me,” he threatened, “or——”

“Son,” said The Duke sternly, “you take my advice and don’t make any foolish remarks. I don’t care much whether they drown you in a basin. Rather wish they would. Beat it, Cotton!”

And Cotton “beat it,” only pausing long enough to cast a scowl at The Duke.

The latter watched him go and, when the door was closed behind him, turned with a comical look of despair to Gerald.

“Say, honest, Gerald, what would you do if you had a thing like that wished on you?”

“You don’t mean he’s rooming with you?” exclaimed Gerald.

“’Tis true, O Solomon! My chum got away from me this year and that’s what I drew. When I first saw it I thought to myself, it’s no use, Duke, you can’t do it! It’s too much! Send in your resignation and pack your little hand-bag. But then I got to thinking that if I didn’t suffer someone else would have to, and my self-sacrificing nature prevailed. So that’s how. Say, you might introduce me to your friend, if you think he can stand it, Gerald.”

“I beg pardon! I thought you fellows knew each other. Burtis, this is The Duke of Wellington; Duke, this is Mr. Kendall Burtis.”

“Ah, he of the nimble toe? I’m glad to know you, Burtis. I saw you kick that goal last Fall. I need not say that I am one of your humble but sincere admirers.”

Kendall smiled shyly as they shook hands.

“Where does this Cotton chap come from?” asked Gerald as they seated themselves again. “Somehow he—he doesn’t quite look as though he belonged, Duke.”

“He comes from some place in ‘Maryland, my Maryland.’ He’s been at school somewhere down there, I think. Anyhow, he’s always comparing Yardley with his last place to the detriment of Yardley. That’s what started the trouble to-night. Lin Johnson and Billy Richards and two or three others happened in and in about twenty seconds Cotton was telling us what was wrong with the school. I don’t know where this other place he’s been at is located, but to hear him talk about it you’d think it was just outside of Paradise! Well, the fellows stood it for a while, looking sort of pained and surprised, you know, and then Lin got started and began to josh him. He doesn’t take a joke very well, and so—oh, I don’t know, but pretty soon they decided they’d find out whether he was absorbent cotton or just plain batting. And so they tried to get him to put his head in a bowl of water. Of course, I couldn’t interfere with the pleasure of my guests, and of course I couldn’t take a hand at ragging my roommate, so I was forced to maintain a difficult neutrality. I rather wished they’d drown him, but he got away and bolted down the hall. His name, by the way, is Charles, Charles Cotton.”

“That sounds familiar,” mused Gerald.

“You’re thinking of the chap who helped Izaak Walton write his ‘Compleat Angler,’ but I don’t think this is the same. I’m not sure, though; he looks a good deal like a fish. The worst I can say about him, fellows, is that he has an apparently insurmountable hatred of water when applied to the outer person. I hope, however, to overcome his aversion. Each evening I recite to him that charming little poem:

And The Duke, having arisen to deliver the poetical gem, bowed deeply and vanished through the doorway.

“What did you say his name is?” asked Kendall. “The Duke of Wellington?”

“His name,” laughed the other, “is Lester Wellington, but he’s been known as The Duke of Wellington ever since he came here. The Duke is a good sort, but he’s horribly lazy about study. He’s been here five years, I believe, and has just got into the Second Class. Everyone likes him, though, and he’s as kind-hearted as can be. It’s a shame he doesn’t do better with his studies. I’d hate to be in his place and have that Mr. Rabbit rooming with me!” Gerald shuddered. “I don’t know why I should take such an aversion to the chap, but—— Well, let’s forget him. What I started to say half an hour ago, Burtis, was this: I’ve got half a room that’s empty and I’d be glad to have you come and use it. What do you say?”

“You mean—share your room—with you?” stammered Kendall incredulously.

“Yes. Think it over. Let me know to-morrow, though, if you can. They are likely to plank someone down with me any moment, and with fellows like that Cotton chap floating around”—Gerald shook his head dubiously—“there’s no telling what might happen to me!”

“But—but I don’t see why you want me!” blurted Kendall.

“Great Scott, don’t be so modest!” laughed Gerald. “Why not? You are respectable, aren’t you? Well, think it over and——”

“But I don’t need to think it over! I’d—I’d like to do it very much if you are sure you really want me to.”

“Good! That’s fine! To-morrow we’ll go and see the Office. I don’t believe Forisher will mind if we double up, considering that we are each alone. Anyway, we’ll see. Good-night, Burtis. Sorry you’ve had so much interruption. All my fault, I fear. See you to-morrow.”