At five o'clock he felt the need of hearing his own voice, so he retreated to his house to see if any one else had arrived. Having climbed the rickety stairs he scrutinized his room resignedly, concluding that it was hopeless to attempt any more inspired decoration than class banners and tiger pictures. There was a tap at the door.
"Come in!"
A slim face with gray eyes and a humorous smile appeared in the doorway.
"Got a hammer?"
"No--sorry. Maybe Mrs. Twelve, or whatever she goes by, has one."
The stranger advanced into the room.
"You an inmate of this asylum?"
Amory nodded.
"Awful barn for the rent we pay."
Amory had to agree that it was.
"I thought of the campus," he said, "but they say there's so few freshmen that they're lost. Have to sit around and study for something to do."
The gray-eyed man decided to introduce himself.
"My name's Holiday."
"Blaine's my name."
They shook hands with the fashionable low swoop. Amory grinned.
"Where'd you prep?"
"Andover--where did you?"
"St. Regis's."
"Oh, did you? I had a cousin there."
They discussed the cousin thoroughly, and then Holiday announced that he was to meet his brother for dinner at six.
"Come along and have a bite with us."
"All right."
At the Kenilworth Amory met Burne Holiday--he of the gray eyes was Kerry--and during a limpid meal of thin soup and anaemic vegetables they stared at the other freshmen, who sat either in small groups looking very ill at ease, or in large groups seeming very much at home.
"I hear Commons is pretty bad," said Amory.
"That's the rumor. But you've got to eat there--or pay anyways."
"Crime!"
"Imposition!"
"Oh, at Princeton you've got to swallow everything the first year. It's like a damned prep school."
Amory agreed.
"Lot of pep, though," he insisted. "I wouldn't have gone to Yale for a million."
"Me either."
"You going out for anything?" inquired Amory of the elder brother.
"Not me--Burne here is going out for the Prince--the Daily Princetonian, you know."
"Yes, I know."
"You going out for anything?"
"Why--yes. I'm going to take a whack at freshman football."
"Play at St. Regis's?"
"Some," admitted Amory depreciatingly, "but I'm getting so damned thin."
"You're not thin."