They found the door of the matron’s office wide open and boys coming and going every minute. It was a good deal like a reception, Evan thought, as Rob, taking him by the arm, guided him into the room. The matron was a small, plump, middle-aged woman with red cheeks and very black hair, whom every fellow liked at first glance and usually worshiped devotedly by the end of his first term. Old boys returning to school made a bee-line from the stage to Number 1 First House, and shook hands with Mrs. Crow before they thought of anything else. Her sitting-room, or office as she preferred to call it, was a veritable museum of gifts from boys or their parents, gifts ranging from sea-shells to the mahogany arm-chair presented to her by last year’s graduating class. And there wasn’t a thing so tiny and trivial that she couldn’t tell you at once the name of the giver. She had very pleasant, kindly black eyes and a sweet voice, and loved a joke better than her afternoon tea. Rob wormed his way into the group about her, dragging Evan after him.

“How do you do, Mrs. Crow?” he cried, seizing her hand and shaking it violently. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Why, Rob, how you do grow! Oh, my poor hand! Of course I’m glad to see you, even if you did forget to come and say good-by to me last June.”

“I tried to, really, Mrs. Crow, but I couldn’t stand the—the ordeal. It would have saddened my whole summer. I want you to know my brother Evan. Evan, this is Mrs. Crow, of whom I talked incessantly all summer.”

“How do you do?” asked Evan, taking the hand held out to him. Mrs. Crow gazed from Evan to Rob doubtfully. Some one sniggered. Evan felt somewhat embarrassed and looked appealingly at Rob’s beaming countenance.

“I don’t believe it,” said the matron, finally. “He’s never your brother, Rob Langton; he doesn’t look the least bit like you. Now is he?”

“My foster-brother, Mrs. Crow.”

“He’s just fooling,” said Evan. “My name’s Evan Kingsford, Mrs. Crow—I mean Mrs.—”

“Never mind,” she laughed; “they all call me that. I’m very glad to meet you, Mr. Kingsford. I hope you’ll like us. Let me see, you’re in Holden, aren’t you, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Yes, ma’am. I was sent there at first.”

“I remember; number 36.”

“Wrong, Mrs. Crow; he’s with me in 32,” said Rob.

“Really? But I’m sure my list says 36.”

“They had him down for there, but he’s very delicate, and 36 is such a cold room that I rescued him. I’m going over to explain to the Doctor about it now. Come on, Evan.”

“Well, I hope he will let you make the change,” said Mrs. Crow, dubiously. “But you know he doesn’t like to have the rooms empty.”

“Then you tell him to let us have 36 for a parlor,” laughed Rob, dragging Evan away.

“You must come to my teas, Mr. Kingsford,” called the matron. “Any Friday between four and six. Don’t forget, please.”

“I think,” said Rob, when they were outside again, “that I’d better see the Doctor alone. You go on over to the room and get your things unpacked. I’ll be along in a few minutes. There you are, over there, the last building. Don’t get lost.”

Rob turned toward Academy Hall and the office, while Evan picked his way through the twilight across the yard under the elms. When he reached the second floor he found the door of 24 open and a group of fellows, among whom he instantly recognized Frank Hopkins and the tall youth, standing around it. The conversation, which had been eager and animated, died down as he came into sight. It was rather an ordeal to pass that group, but he made the best of it, viewing them calmly and casually as he took the last few stairs and turned down the corridor. To his surprise, some three or four of the fellows nodded to him, and he returned the greeting in like manner. But Hopkins only stared disdainfully, while the tall youth grinned annoyingly and began to hum in time to Evan’s footsteps. The latter was glad when he was in 32 with the door closed behind him. Through the open transom, however, he heard the talk and laughter begin again, and caught the words, “Mighty well built, though, Hop. You’d better nab him for the team.” He couldn’t hear the foot-ball captain’s reply, but it was evidently humorous, judging from the laughter it summoned.

With reddening cheeks and a rather lonesome feeling he began the unpacking of his trunk, which, with Rob’s, stood in the center of the room. His mother had placed a letter on top of the till, and, although it was a very sweet and dear letter, it rather increased his homesickness as he read it. He went on with his unpacking, feeling a little bit choky about the throat, and was glad when there came a knock at the door.

“Come!” he called.

The boy who entered paused in surprise when he saw Evan.

“Hello!” he said. “Oh, beg pardon. Where’s Rob?”

“He’s over at the office,” answered Evan. “He will be up in a few minutes. Won’t you wait?”

“Thanks.” He glanced doubtfully about the room and then closed the door behind him and sat down. “Are you going in with Rob?”

“Do you mean am I going to room here?” asked Evan. “Yes; that is, I expect to. They gave me 36, but Langton asked me to come in with him, and he’s trying to fix it up for me with the principal. That’s what he’s doing now.”

“Oh, I see,” murmured the other. He seemed rather disappointed, Evan thought, and wondered why. “I suppose you and he are old friends?” asked the stranger.

“No; I never saw him until this afternoon. It—it was very decent of him to ask me, I think.”

“Yes,” said the other, thoughtfully. “Don’t let me stop you, please. I’ll just wait a minute for Rob.”

Evan went on with his unpacking, catching now and then as he went to and fro between trunk and closet and bureau a glimpse of the caller. He was a very good-looking fellow, with dark hair and eyes and a softness about mouth and chin that was almost girlish. He sat with elbow on knee, and chin in hand, looking dreamily across the room, evidently quite forgetful of Evan’s presence. After a while the silence grew oppressive.

“My name’s Kingsford,” announced Evan. The other looked up slowly and nodded.

“Thanks. Mine’s Warne.” Then he went back to his rapt study of the opposite wall. Evan was distinctly relieved when he heard Rob’s footsteps in the hall.

“Well,” said Rob, as he came in, “it’s all— Hello, Mal! Where’d you come from? Been waiting long? Kingsford, let me make you acquainted with Mr. Warne, a particular friend of mine. Mal, this is Mr. Kingsford. He and I are going to try it together.”

Malcolm Warne shook hands with a smile which displayed a set of very white teeth. It was a nice smile and lighted up the somewhat serious face very pleasantly.

“Happy to meet you,” said Warne. Then, to Rob, “So he was just saying. I hope you will—like it—both of you.” He had a very soft voice, spoke slowly, and had a way of chopping off the ends of his words that was unfamiliar to Evan.

“Oh, we’ll get on all right, I think,” said Rob, easily. “Sit down, Mal, and tell us what you did all summer. By the way, though, Kingsford, it’s all right about the room. Doctor agreed with me that a chap with any tendency toward colds, grippe, pneumonia, and consumption ought not to live in 36. He got rather interested in your case, and I shouldn’t be surprised if he sent the doctor around to-morrow to report on you. If he comes, please cough for my sake! Well, I’ve got to get my trunk unpacked. Go ahead and talk, Mal.”

“No, I reckon I’ll go on. I just dropped in to say howdy to you.”

“What? ‘Go on’ nothing! Sit down, you idiot, and tell me what’s been happening with you.”

“Oh, nothing much. I had a very quiet summer. I was at home most of the time, although we went down to Virginia Beach in August for a couple of weeks. I’ll see you to-morrow, Rob. Good night, Mr. Kingsford. Pleased to have met you. Get Rob to bring you over to see me soon. So long, Rob.”

“Well, if you insist on going,” said Rob, following the caller to the door. “What’s the matter, Mal? Anything wrong?” They passed out, Rob drawing the door shut behind him. Evan heard their low voices outside in the hallway for several minutes. Then Rob reappeared, looking worried.

“Now there’s a crazy idiot,” he said, with a frown, thrusting his hands into his trousers pockets and spreading his long legs apart.

“Why?” asked Evan.

“He wanted to come in here with me, and he never said a word about it. Says he was waiting to make sure I hadn’t any one in view. He’s too blamed sensitive.”

“Well, that’s easily fixed,” said Evan, lightly. “It won’t take me ten minutes to move across to 36. That’s where I belong, anyway, Langton. I’d rather do it, really.”

“Not much! But I’ve got an idea.”

He hurried out, crossed the hall, knocked on the opposite door, and threw it open.

“Hello, Spalding!” Evan heard him say. “Want to use your window a second. Oh, Mal! Come back a minute, will you?” Evidently Warne heard, for Rob only sent one hail across the yard.

“Here’s the idea,” he went on, as he returned to 32. “We’ll get Warne to move into 36. He never knows whether he’s hot or cold, and he’s dead anxious to get out of the room he’s in. He’s in First House with a chap named Gammage; decent chap enough, but he and Warne don’t hit it off. Mal’s a Southerner, from North Carolina—or South, I’ve forgotten which. Where is Wilmington, anyway?”

“Wilmington? In Delaware, isn’t it?”

“Is it? Then I guess Wilmington isn’t the place; I’m pretty sure he’s from one of the Carolinas. Anyway, he’s an awfully nice fellow, and I want you to like him. Here he comes. Say, Mal, I’ve thought of a great scheme. Sit down and I’ll unfold it. Kingsford here was booked for 36. So that leaves 36 empty. You see the Doctor and get him to let you move into it. You don’t mind rooming alone, do you? Besides, you can make this room home if you like to.”

“I shouldn’t mind that a bit,” said Warne.

“Good! But I ought to tell you that 36 is a cold old hole; there’s something wrong with the pipes—some bronchial trouble, I guess. Anyway, in cold weather you’ll pretty nearly freeze. But you can always study over here, you know.”

“I don’t mind a cold room. That’s one thing Gammage and I are always scrapping about. He likes it about eighty. Do you think the Doctor will let me change?”

“I don’t see why not. Tell him that you don’t get on with what’s-his-name; tell him you like a cold room. He ought to be glad to have some one in 36 that won’t kick all the time for heat. He’s over at the office now. Go ahead and tackle him before he gets any one else down for the room. And come right back and let’s hear what he says.”

Malcolm Warne was back in ten minutes, looking very pleased.

“He said yes, Rob. My, but I’m tickled. I’d sleep in an ice-chest to get rid of Gammage.”

“That’s fine, Mal. I told Kingsford that you were disappointed about rooming in here, and he offered to get out. But I knew you wouldn’t want him to do that.”

“No, indeed,” said Malcolm, warmly, glancing gratefully across at Evan. “It was very good of you, though, Kingsford.”

“Not a bit,” murmured Evan.

“I say, you chaps,” began Rob. Then he paused doubtfully. The others waited, looking inquiringly at him where he stood rumpling his mutinous locks with a paper-cutter.

“Why, just this,” he went on presently. “Here are three of us, all pretty good fellows—speaking for the rest of you, that is. Now let’s cut out this surname nonsense. My name’s Rob, yours is Malcolm, or Mal for short, and yours is Evan. There, that’s settled.” He tossed the paper-knife down. “Now I want to show you fellows a little idea that occurred to me coming back from the office a while ago. Bring up your chairs.”

“What is it?” asked Evan, exchanging an amused glance with Malcolm.

“It’s an improved foot-scraper for doorsteps. It’s all well enough to get the mud off the soles of your shoes, but why not clean it off the uppers, too? Now, look here. Where’s my pad? Either of you got a pencil? Thanks. Now then!”