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“Your roommate,” said Mrs. Westcott, beaming again, “is Phineas Kittson. Such a dear boy! You’ll like him, I know. He is a year older than you, and in the Second Form. I hope you will be great friends. Phineas is—” Mrs. Westcott paused and seemed searching for just the right word. Finally, “so interesting!” she ended triumphantly. “Not exactly like my other boys, you know, rather—rather exceptional. We all expect great things from Phineas some day. He has such a—a remarkable mind! Now perhaps you’d like to unpack and arrange your things. The rest of my boys will be along very shortly. Two have come already, but they’ve gone out. If you want anything, Rodney, you’ll find me downstairs. Make yourself at home, my dear boy.”

When Mrs. Westcott had gone Rodney subsided into a chair and grinned at the empty chiffonier. “She’s going to make me happy if it kills me, isn’t she?” he inquired of the chiffonier. Then, with a chuckle, he arose and again made the circuit of the room, testing the bed by punching it, pulling open the drawers of the chiffonier, and pausing at each window to take in the view.