to hide his embarrassment. “Maybe you ’ll need a little of God’s help yourself.” Diffident and un¬ sure, he smiled—and Peters liked him on the spot.
“Chase yourself,” Peters said easily. “I know a good guy when I see one. Sit down somewhere —er, here.” He brushed a pile of clothes off a trunk to the floor with one sweep of his arm. “Rest yourself after climbing that goddamn hill. Christ! It’s a bastard, that hill is. Say, your trunk’s down-stairs. I saw it. I ’ll help you bring it up soon’s you’ve got your wind.”
Hugh was rather dazzled by the rapid, staccato talk, and, to tell the truth, he was a little shocked by the profanity. Not that he was n’t used to pro¬ fanity; he had heard plenty of that in Merrytown, but he did n’t expect somehow that a college man— that is, a prep-school man—would use it. He felt that he ought to make some reply to Peters’s talk, but he did n’t know just what would do. Peters saved him the trouble.
“I’ll tell you, Carver—oh, hell, I’m going to call you Hugh—we ’re going to have a swell joint here. Quite the darb. Three rooms, you know; a bedroom for each of us and this big study. I’ve brought most of the junk that I had at Kane, and I s’pose you’ve got some of your own.”
“Not much,” Hugh replied, rather ashamed of what he thought might be considered stinginess.
