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“Sam, I want you to know Mr. Faulkner,” said Pollock. “Faulkner, this is Sam Craig. Sam’s our baseball captain and a gentleman of much wisdom.” The two shook hands, Joe a trifle embarrassedly, Sam Craig with a slight lifting of one corner of his serious mouth and an accompanying lighting of the gray eyes.

“How are you, Faulkner? I’ve seen you around school, I think. Glad to meet you.” The clasp was a very hearty one, almost painfully hearty, and Joe worked his fingers afterwards to see that they were still whole.

“Faulkner,” continued Pollock, completing the lacing of the boot, “is a stranger in our midst, Sam. He’s just come from Akron. He says he hasn’t got acquainted much yet. What’ll we do about it? Our fair city has a world-wide reputation for hospitality, you know, and it mustn’t be marred.”

“I’ve only been here since last Monday,” said Joe. “I guess a fellow can’t expect to make many acquaintances in that time.”

“Going skating?” asked Sam.

“Yes. He says the pond is better than the river.”