"Got a great spread this time," he declared, setting forth his spoils on
two chairs alongside the couch. "Hot oyster stew! Sit by, fellows! Cooky
wrapped it up in newspapers to keep it from getting cold. There's bowls
and spoons in the basket. Nelly, get 'em out! Here, Pat, take that
bundle out from under my arm. That's celery and crackers. Here's a pail
of hot coffee with cream and sugar all mixed. Lookout, Pat! That's
jelly-roll and chocolate eclairs! Don't mash it, you chump! Why didn't
you come with me?"
It was pleasant to lie there in that warm, comfortable room with the
familiar sights all around, the pennants, the pictures, the wild
arrangements of photographs and trophies, and hear the fellows talking
of homely things; to be fed with food that made him begin to feel like
himself again; to have their kindly fellowship all about him like a
protection.
They were grand fellows, each one of them; full of faults, too, but true
at heart. Life-friends he knew, for there was a cord binding their four
hearts together with a little tenderer tie than bound them to any of
the other fellows. They had been together all the four years, and if all
went well, and Bill Ward didn't flunk anything more, they would all four
go out into the world as men together at the end of that year.
He lay looking at them quietly as they talked, telling little foolish
jokes, laughing immoderately, asking one another anxiously about a tough
question in the exam.
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