"Thanks," said young David, politely but not warmly, in a way that showed how used he is to being waited on. "Have a cigarette? I suppose we shall--er--room together. My name is Farnham."
"Mine is Knudsen," said the other. And then I appreciated the cause of his blondness.
"I'm from Harvard, class of 'sixteen," said young David. Well-grown as he is, I couldn't help thinking of him as young.
"I'm from Buffalo," said Knudsen shortly. "I run a foundry there." His blue eyes were unwavering and quite expressionless as he looked Farnham over.
"Farnham? Farnham?" said the man with the short pointed beard. The others turned and looked at him. "I remember now. You were in my section in English A, your Freshman year."
"Oh," said young David. "Professor Corder. Of course. How de do? I remember that