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“Oh, that’s the sort,” muttered Rodney. “Well, she can’t be a mother to me! Say, what sort of a chap is Watson? Know him?”

“Guy Watson?” Matty recovered her composure and her equilibrium and frowned. “You won’t like him, I guess. We don’t, do we, May? He’s—” she paused, searching for a word—“he’s coarse!”

“And ungentlemanly,” added May, nodding decisively.

“But I suppose,” said Matty, “we should also say that he is a very good football player. And he is on the track team, too. He’s a Third Form boy. Do you know him?”

“Not very well.” Rodney smiled. “I met him on the way up here. He and three others.” Then he recounted the incident in the drug store and the twins clapped their hands with delight.

“How perfectly splendid!” cried Matty. “Think of anyone getting the best of Guy Watson like that!”

“He will be awfully angry, though,” said May. “I think you should look out for him, Rodney. He won’t be satisfied until he gets even with you, will he, Matty?”

“No, I’m afraid he won’t.” She regarded Rodney gravely and shook her head. “I’m afraid you’ll have trouble with him. But perhaps—Who do you room with?”