"We both room
in Hampton, but Digbee's a grind, you know, and doesn't care to waste
his time on us idlers." Digbee smiled.
"It isn't inclination, West; I don't have the time, and so don't attempt
to keep up with you fellows." He shook Joel's hand. "I'm glad to meet
you. I've heard of you before."
Then the quartet drew chairs up to the blaze, and, as Remsen talked,
Joel examined his new acquaintance.
Digbee was a year older than West and Joel. He was in the senior class,
and was spoken of as one of the smartest boys in the school. Although a
Hampton House resident, he seldom was seen with the others save at the
table, and was usually referred to among themselves as "Dig," both
because that suggested his Christian name and because, as they said, he
was forever digging at his books. In appearance Albert Digbee was a
tall, slender, but scarcely frail youth, with a cleanly cut face that
looked, in the firelight, far too pale. His eyes were strikingly bright,
and though his smiles were infrequent, his habitual expression was one
of eager and kindly interest. Joel had often come across him in class,
and had long wanted to know him.
"You see, boys," Remsen was saying, "Digbee here is of the opinion that
athletics in general and football in particular are harmful to schools
and colleges as tending to draw the attention of pupils from their
studies, and I maintain the opposite. Now, what's your opinion, West?
Digbee and I have gone over it so often that we would like to hear some
one else on the subject.
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