"Well, you go and see the matron; she'll find a room for you; there are
lots of rooms, I guess. Anyway, I'm not going to have you butting in here."

"You must be Joseph Brewster," said Kenneth. The other boy growled assent.
"The fact is, Brewster, they put me in here with you because you are such a
fine character. Dr. Whatshisname said you were the pride of the school, or
something like that. I guess they thought association with you would
benefit me."

Joe gave a roar and a rush. Over went the armchair, over went Kenneth, over
went Joe, and for a minute nothing was heard in Number 12 but the sound of
panting and gasping and muttered words, and the colliding of feet and
bodies with floor and furniture. The attack had been somewhat unexpected
and as a result, for the first moments of the battle, Kenneth occupied the
uncomfortable and inglorious position of the under dog. He strove only to
escape punishment, avoiding offensive tactics altogether. It was hard work,
however, for Brewster pummeled like a good one, his seraphic face aflame
with the light of battle and his yellow hair seeming to stand about his
head like a golden oriflamb. And while Kenneth hugged his adversary to him,
ducking his head away from the incessant jabs of a very industrious fist,
he realized that he had made a mistake in his estimation of his future
roommate. He was going to like him; he was quite sure he was; providing, of
course that said roommate left enough of him! And then, seeing, or rather
feeling his chance, he toppled Joe Brewster over his shoulder and in a
trice the tables were turned. Now it was Kenneth who was on top, and it
took him but a moment to seize Joe's wrists in a very firm grasp, a grasp
which, in spite of all efforts, Joe found it impossible to escape. Kenneth,
perched upon his stomach--uneasily, you may be sure, since Joe heaved and
tossed like a boat in a tempest--offered terms.