“I understand,” said Sylvia, with a smile.
“Of course, the fact that you come from his home town, that’s excuse enough for his knowing you. But if you make it too conspicuous—that is—”
Harley stopped. “It’s all right, Harley,” smiled Sylvia; “you may be sure that Frank Shirley has too much of a sense of humor to want to get in our way.”
The other hesitated over the remark. It looked like deep water, and he decided not to venture in. “It’s not only that,” he went on—“there’s Frank’s crowd. They’re all outsiders, and one or two of them especially are impossible.”
“Well, there’s Jack Colton, Frank’s room-mate. He’s gone out of his way to make himself obnoxious to everybody. He’s done it deliberately, and I suppose he has his reasons for it. I only hope he has sense enough not to want to ‘queer’ you.”
“He’s a Western chap—from Wyoming, I think. Seems to have more money than he knows how to spend decently. He insisted on smoking a pipe in his Freshman year, and when they tried to haze him, he fought. He’s wild as anything, they say—goes off on a spree every month or two—”
“How does Frank come to be rooming with such a man?” asked Sylvia, in surprise.
“Met him traveling, I understand. They were in a train-wreck.”
“Oh, that’s the man! But Frank didn’t tell me he was wild.”
“Well,” said the other, “Frank would naturally stand up for him. I suppose he’s trying to keep him straight.”
There was a silence. Then suddenly Sylvia asked, “Harley, did you ever meet Douglas van Tuiver?”
“Nothing—only I heard of him, and I was thinking perhaps he’d be a good man to help you.”
“Small doubt of that,” said the boy, with a laugh. “But it might be difficult to meet him.”
“Well, he picks the people he meets. And he doesn’t come to public affairs.”
“Stop and think a minute. Is there nobody who might know him?”
“They’re great chums, I understand. I could get her to invite you.”
But Sylvia, after a moment’s thought, shook her head. “No,” she said, “I think I’ll let him take me to her.”
“By Jove!” laughed Harley. “That’s cool!” And then he asked, curiously, “What makes you pick him out?”
“I don’t know,” said Sylvia. “I find myself thinking about him. You see, I meet men like Mr. Harmon and the others last night—they’re all obvious. I’ve known them by the dozen before, and I can always tell what they’ll say. But this man sounds as if he might be different.