allowed him to discover the newcomers. Heads turned and other greetings
followed. It was evident to Clint that his room-mate was a popular chap,
for everyone seemed thoroughly glad to see him.

"Come here, Amy," called a big fellow who was sprawled in a Morris
chair. Amy good-naturedly obeyed the summons and the big fellow pulled
up a leg of the other boy's trousers. "They're grey, fellows," he
announced sorrowfully. "Someone's gone and died, and Amy's in mourning!"

"Grey!" exclaimed another. "Never. Amy, tell me it isn't true!"

"Shut up! I want to interdoodle my most bosom friend, Mr. Clinton
Thayer, of Vay-gin-yah, sah! Clint, take off your hat."

The merriment ceased and the occupants of the room got to their feet as
best they might and those within reach shook hands.

"That large lump over there," indicated Amy, "is Innes. He's one of your
hosts. The other one is Mr. Still; in the corner of the bed; the
intelligent-looking youth. The others don't matter."

"Glad to know you, Thayer," said Jack Innes in a deep, jovial voice.
"Hope you can find a place to sit down. I guess that bed near you will
hold one more without giving way."

Clint somewhat embarrassedly crowded on to a corner of the bed and Amy
perched himself on an arm of the Morris chair. A smallish,
clever-looking fellow across the room said: "You're a punk introducer,
Amy. Thayer, my name's Marvin, and this chap is Hall and the next one is
Edwards, and Still you know, and then comes Ruddie, and Black--"