“I didn’t bring much. I didn’t quite know what was wanted. But I suppose I can get things here, can’t I? I’d like to do my share.”
“You can’t get much here,” answered Harry. “You’ll have to go to Boston, I guess. But I don’t see that you two need much else.”
“We need another easy chair,” said Bert, “and a rug or two wouldn’t look bad. If we’ve got to live in a garret like this we might as well be as comfortable as we can.”
“All right,” he answered quietly. “I’ll see what I can do.” He went to the window and stood there a moment looking out over the sunlit landscape and peeling off a pair of very proper tan gloves. Harry and Bert exchanged glances. Presently he turned and, tossing his gloves aside, sat down on the window seat, took one knee into his hands, and looked about the room with frank interest.
Hansel Dana was seventeen years old, a tall, clean-cut boy with very little superfluous flesh beneath his neat, well-fitting gray suit. Despite his height he looked and was heavy. His hair was brown and so were his eyes, and the latter had a way of looking straight at you when he talked that was a little bit disconcerting at first. Harry Folsom, who, being quite out of the running himself, had a deep liking for good looks, mentally dubbed Dana the handsomest fellow in school. His nose was straight, his mouth firm without being thin, and his chin was square and aggressive. There was a liberal dash of healthy color in each cheek. As for his attire, there was little to confirm Bert’s prophecies. He wore a white negligee shirt, a suit of gray flannel, low tan shoes, and when he had entered had worn a gray cloth cap. The clothes were not expensive, but, as Harry ruefully acknowledged to himself, looked better than did his own garments, for which he had paid possibly three times as much. Altogether Hansel Dana made a very presentable appearance. And his manner, a pleasing mixture of self-possessed ease and modesty, was not the least of his charm.
“He looks to me,” mused Harry, “like a chap who knows his own mind and won’t be afraid to let somebody else know it. And if he can play football the way he took his gloves off and set that bag down, I fancy there’ll be something doing. Also, unless I’m much mistaken, 22 Prince Hall has got a new boss!” And he smiled to himself at the idea of Bert Middleton knuckling under to anybody.