The fraternity's personnel was apt to include crew captains and baseball pitchers and All-American backs whenever possible; but although predominance in sports was an aid to membership, it was not necessarily a requisite. Save for golf, at which he was extremely proficient, Jock Hamill was no athlete, yet he had been pledged Zeta Kappa speedily and with mutual exultation. He was a gentleman, he had money, he played the banjo, he wrote for Blah-Blah, the college humorous publication, and everyone liked him. These were ample reasons; the last in itself would have been ample.
On this night the brothers welcomed Jock into the gray stone house with overwhelming ceremony. They opened the door and yanked him in. They surrounded him like bees and buzzed greetings in his ears. They pummeled him joyously. They mentioned Eunice grinning, and elbowed him slyly in the ribs. They thrust at him tall tinkling glasses, and bade him toast the fraternity, the chapter, the college and the world at large.
When the tumult and the shouting had somewhat subsided he separated from the throng one Bones Allen, especially dear to his heart, and together they ascended to the second floor to acquaint themselves anew with the room they were jointly to occupy. Despite the fact that it now resembled a storage warehouse more nearly than anything else, they found much in it of which to approve. It had big windows, and an open fireplace, and the beds in the alcove, they agreed after experimental pokes, were as comfortable as could be expected. "She's a lulu, that room," said Bones as they went downstairs again. "Tomorrow we'll rig her up right." In a sudden ebullience of spirits he threw an arm across Jock's shoulders and hugged him. "Boy, it's going to be a great year!"
