Arthur Thompson, a boy of about Gerald’s age and a member of the Second Class, was rather a chum of Gerald’s. Arthur had secured second place in the pole-vault last spring, and was expected this year to get first. Arthur was rather heavily built for pole work, and his success in the event had been a surprise to most every one save possibly himself and Andy. He had very dark hair, a somewhat sallow complexion, and even his dearest friends would not have called him handsome. Gerald had started out by detesting him, but, as so often happens in such cases, had ended by liking him thoroughly. He and Gerald left the gymnasium together and walked across the Yard to a back entrance of Whitson. Here they climbed the stairs, and Arthur led the way into Number 20. At a table, bending absorbedly over a big stamp album, sat a youth of thirteen.
“Look here, Harry,” said Arthur, sternly, “what have I told you about those silly stamps? Haven’t I given you fair warning?”
“Please, Arthur, I was only pasting a few――――”
“I’ve told you I’d pitch it out of the window if you didn’t let it alone for a minute. And I will, too. Now shove that out of sight and speak to our guest.”
Harry Merrow grinned as he closed the book.
“Hello, Gerald,” he said. “Isn’t he a fussy old thing?”
“Fussy!” exclaimed his roommate. “My word, kid, the first thing I see in the morning is you sitting up in bed with that idiotic book, and the last thing I see at night is the same. And you’re at it all day! You’ve got stampitis, that’s what you’ve got, Harry.”
“Don’t you ever go outdoors?” asked Gerald.
“Oh, yes, lots! I was out this afternoon. But I just got eight new stamps and they’re dandies. One’s a――――”
“Shut up!” commanded Arthur, sternly. “I’ve told you you are not to talk about them. I’m so blamed sick of cancellations and superimposed this and that and first issues and second issues and――and―― Honest, Harry, for two cents I’d pitch the whole fool collection out into the mud!” Arthur flung his cap across the room with a gesture of despair.
“I know a fellow in Merle,” began Harry, addressing Gerald, “who’s got the dandiest lot of old revenues you ever saw, and he says if I’ll――――”
But Arthur was upon him, and Harry found himself lifted bodily from his chair and set on his feet.