“I thought you had Torrington,” said Jim Trivett.
“No,” said Eugene, “I wasn’t English enough. Young and crude. I changed, thank God! What is it you want, Jim?” he asked.
“I’ve got a long paper to write. I don’t know what to write about,” said Jim Trivett.
“What do you want me to do? Write it for you?”
“Yes,” said Jim Trivett.
“Write your own damn paper,” said Eugene with mimic toughness, “I won’t do it for you. I’ll help you if I can.”
“When are you going to let Hard Boy take you to Exeter?” said Tom Grant, winking at Jim Trivett.
Eugene flushed, making a defensive answer.
“I’m ready to go any time he is,” he said uneasily.
“Look here, Legs!” said Jim Trivett, grinning loosely. “Do you really want to go with me or are you just bluffing?”
“I’ll go with you! I’ve told you I’d go with you!” Eugene said angrily. He trembled a little.
Tom Grant grinned slyly at Jim Trivett.
“It’ll make a man of you,’Gene,” he said. “Boy, it’ll sure put hair on your chest.” He laughed, not loudly, but uncontrollably, shaking his head as at some secret thought.
Jim Trivett’s loose smile widened. He spat into the wood-box.
“Gawd!” he said. “They’ll think Spring is here when they see old Legs. They’ll need a stepladder to git at him.”
Tom Grant was shaken with hard fat laughter.
“They sure God will!” he said.
“Well, what about it,’Gene?” Jim Trivett demanded suddenly. “Is it a go? Saturday?”
“Suits me!” said Eugene.
When he had gone, they grinned thirstily at each other for a moment, the pleased corrupters of chastity.
“Pshaw!” said Tom Grant. “You oughtn’t to do that, Hard Boy. You’re leading the boy astray.”
“It’s not going to hurt him,” said Jim Trivett. “It’ll be good for him.”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning.
