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"Where's your room?" asked West. "Thirty-four Masters Hall," answered Joel March; for now that we have twice been introduced to him there is no excuse for us to longer ignore his name. "Mine's in Hampton House," said West. "Number 2. I have it all to myself. Who's in with you?" "A fellow named Sproule." "'Dickey' Sproule? He's an awful cad. Why didn't you get a room in the village?
I lived here and there, most of the time looking to Eben Sproule as a prop and support, as a boy must look to some one, or fall into bad and dangerous ways and even then, maybe he will.
Richard Sproule was at his best, and strove to do his share of the entertaining, succeeding quite beyond Joel's expectations. When the conversation drew around to the subject of the upsetting on the river, Clausen seemed willing enough to tell his own experiences, but became silent when Cloud's name was mentioned. "I've changed my room, and haven't seen Cloud since to speak to," he said.
All these I got, for Captain Sproule, while stern and strict with us, enforced only those rules which were for the good of the boat, and these seemed like perfect liberty to me after I whipped Ace. As for my old tyrant, he recovered his spirits very soon, and took the place of an underling quite contentedly. I suppose he had been used to it. I ruled in a manner much milder than his.
Joel had lots to tell about the Hillton fellows whom he had not lost sight of: of how Clausen was captain of the freshman Eleven and was displaying a wonderful faculty for generalship; how West was still golfing and had at last met foemen worthy of his steel; how Dicky Sproule was in college taking a special course, and struggling along under popular dislike; how Whipple and Cooke were rooming together in Peck, the former playing on the sophomore class team and going in for rowing, and the latter still the same idle, good-natured ignoramus, and liked by every fellow who knew him; how Digbee was grinding in Lanter with Somers; how Cartwright had joined the Glee Club; and how Christie had left college and gone into business with his father.
And on the ground where he had fallen lay Joel March. "But how did it all happen?" asked Outfield West breathlessly. He had just entered and was seated on the edge of the bed whereon Joel lay propped up eating his Thanksgiving dinner from a tray. It was seven o'clock in the evening, and Dickey Sproule was not yet back.
They found Sproule in the room, and to him West spoke as follows: "Hello, Dickey! You're not studying? It's not good for you; these sudden changes should be avoided." Sproule laughed, but looked annoyed at the banter. "Joel and I have come up for a chat, Dickey," continued West. "Now, you take your Robinson Crusoe and read somewhere else for a while, like a nice boy."
Then West, still smiling, seized the unobliging youth by the shoulders, pinioning his arms to his sides, and pushed him away from the table and toward the door. Joel rescued the lamp at a critical moment, the chairs went over on to the floor, and a minute later Sproule was on the farther side of the bolted door, and West was adjusting his rumpled attire.
I looked forward more longingly than ever to the time when I should be able to drop off the boat at Tempe, and run up to see my mother; and I fixed it up with Captain Sproule so that when we made our return trip I was to be allowed to stop over a day with her, and taking a fast boat catch up with our own craft farther east.
He found his roommate reading at the table when he entered Number 34. Sproule looked up and observed: "I saw you with Outfield West a moment ago. It looks rather funny for a 'grind, as you profess to be, hobnobbing with a Hampton House swell." "I haven't professed to be a 'grind," answered Joel quietly, as he opened his Greek. "Well, your actions profess it.
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