"How many fellows have you got here?" he said all at once to Jimmy.
The Roman watched him from the corner of his eye, interested in his sudden shift of mood.
"What kind of a football team did they have?" said Stover.
"The Princeton championship team, too," said Stover, who was not deficient in historical athletics. "Say, how's the nine shaping up?"
All at once Jimmy extended his whip. "There it is, over there--you'll get the water tower first."
Stover stood up reverentially. Across the dip and swell of the hills a cluster of slated roofs, a glimpse of red brick through the trees, a touch of brownstone, a water tower in sharp outline against the sky, suddenly rose from the horizon. A continent had been discovered, the land of possible dreams.
"It's ripping--ripping, isn't it?" he said, still standing eagerly.
The Roman, gazing on it for the thousandth time, shook his head in musing agreement.
Across the fields came the stolid ringing of the school bell, ringing a hundred laggards across the budding campus to hard seats and blackboarded walls, ringing with its lengthened, slow-dying, never-varying note.
"That the bell?" said Stover, rebelling already at its summons.
Stover sat down, his chin in his hands, his elbows on his knees, gazing eagerly forward, asking questions.
"No, it ain't," said Jimmy, flicking the flies off the near horse; "but they've got a warm bunch of Indians all the same." Then, remembering the Wild-Western methods of driving, he added: "Don't forget about the ginger. Sock it to them. Fare, please."
"I'll sock it," said Stover with a knowing air. "I may be tender, but I'm not green."
He slapped a coin into the outstretched hand and reached back for the battle-scarred valise, to perceive the keen eye of Mr. Hopkins set on him with amusement.
"Well, Sport, ta-ta, and good luck," said Stover, who had mentally ticketed him as a commercial traveler. "Hope you sell out."
"Thanks," said Mr. Hopkins, with a twitch to his lip. "Now just one word to the wise."
"Discouraged!" said Stover disdainfully: "Why, old Cocky-wax, put this in your pipe and smoke it--I'm going to own this house. In a week I'll have 'em feeding from my hand."
He sprang down eagerly. Before him, at the end of a flagged walk, under the heavy boughs of evergreens, was a two-story building of stone, and under the Colonial portico a group curiously watching the new arrival.