his name? Oh, yes, Carl. . . . The registrar had written that Peters had gone to Kane School. . . . Must be pretty line. Ought to be first-class to room with. . . . Hugh hoped that Peters would n’t think that he was too country. . . *
Hugh was a slender lad who looked considerably less than his eighteen years. A gray cap concealed his sandy brown hair, which he parted on the side and which curled despite all his brushing. His crys¬ talline blue eyes, his small, neatly carved nose, his sensitive mouth that hid a shy and appealing smile, were all very boyish. He seemed young, almost pathetically young.
People invariably called him a nice boy, and he did n’t like it; in fact, he wanted to know how they got that way. They gave him the pip, that’s what they did. He guessed that a fellow who could run the hundred in io:% and out-box any¬ body in high school was n’t such a baby. Why, he had overheard one of the old maid teachers call him sweet. Sweet! Cripes, that old hen made him sick. She was always pawing him and sticking her skinny hands in his hair. He was darn glad to get to college where there were only men teachers.
Women always wanted to get their hands into his hair, and boys liked him on sight. Many of those who were streaming up the hill before and behind
