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One was the slim, tall fellow who had called him “new kid.” For a moment at Irving’s table, after the boys had rattled into their seats, there was silence. In front of Irving were a platter of cold tongue and a dish of beans, and he began to put portions of each on the plates piled before him.
He addressed the remark to the totally unprovided side of his table; he turned his head just in time to catch Westby’s humorous mouth and droll droop of an eyelid. The other boys smiled, and Irving’s cheeks grew more hot. “You’ll excuse me, Mr. Upton, if I don’t wait, won’t you?” said Westby. “Don’t get impatient, fellows.”
“Westby,” Irving’s voice had a nervous thrill that for the moment quieted the laughter, “did you cause those erasers to be pulled down?” “Did I cause them to be pulled down? I don’t understand, sir. How could I, sir? Six of them all at once!” “Bring me one of those erasers, please.” Westby stooped; there was a sound of snapping string. Then he came forward and presented the eraser.
So they collected Dennison and Smythe and Allison and Carroll and Scarborough, and marched up the corridor—humorously tramping in step—to Irving’s door. There Westby, newspaper in hand, knocked. Irving opened the door. “Mr.
Irving’s low laugh of exultation sprang from the heart. “Maybe I am—and maybe you were right about me, too. A fellow changes. A month ago, I was wondering what use there could ever be in my studying law—trying to practise, mixing with men—when I couldn’t hold my own with a handful of boys.
“No!” Briggs, one of the substitutes, was saying. “Was that Kiddy Upton’s brother? He’s a whirlwind, isn’t he?” “Looked to me as if he was trying to lay Lou Collingwood out,” returned Westby sourly. At once Irving’s cheeks flamed hot. He put out his hand and touched Westby’s shoulder; the boy turned, and then the blood rushed into his cheeks too.
They came prancing up to him, all smiles and twinkles; they were boys of seventeen or eighteen. They confronted him, blocking his path; and the one in the middle, a slim, straight fellow in a blue suit, said,— “Hello, new kid! What name?” A blush of embarrassment mounted in Irving’s cheeks; feeling it, he conceived it all the more advisable to assert his dignity.
If he could only be for the moment the little Fourth Former there, Price—now flying on in the lead yet casting many fearful backward glances!—Poor child, even Irving’s inexperienced eyes told him that he could never keep that pace.
The cook smiled and promised, and he extravagantly left her contemplating a dollar bill. Shortly after he had returned to his room the bell on the Study building rang, announcing the end of the morning session. There was half an hour before luncheon; soon the boys came tramping up the stairs and past Irving’s closed door.
He noticed later in the day when he went up to the dormitory that the boys tiptoed about the corridors and conversed in whispers; there was an extravagant air of quiet. When they went down to supper, they tiptoed past Irving’s room in single file, saying in unison, “Sh! Sh! Sh!” They all joined in this procession—from Collingwood to Allison.
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