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There was a veiled insinuation in this, for all the good-natured, teasing tone, and Irving did not like it. “No,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t let you go swimming to-night.—I’m glad to have met you all.” And so he took his departure, and presently the sound of banjo and singing rose again from Westby’s room.
Irving returned to his platform. His hands were trembling, and he felt weak. When he spoke, he hardly knew his own voice. But he struggled to control it, and said,— “Scarborough, please go to the board and demonstrate your theorem.” There was no more disorder in class that day; in fact, after Westby’s disappearance the boys were exceptionally well behaved.
And it was Westby’s view of the matter which most of the boys heard and credited. So the improvement in the general attitude for which Irving had hoped was hardly to be noticed.
For they were loitering close on that side, not expecting any such manœuvre; the sharp turn drove the bow of Carroll’s canoe straight for the waist of Scarborough’s, and Westby with an excited laugh undertook to fend off with his pole, lost his balance, and trying to recover it, upset both canoes together. Irving felt himself going, heard Westby’s laughing shout, “Look out, Mr.
There was a loud burst of laughter from a room in which several boys had gathered. It was followed by the remark in Westby’s pleasant, persuasive voice,— “Look out, fellows, or we’ll have Kiddy Upton down on us.” “Kiddy Upton!” another voice exclaimed in delight, and there was more laughter. Kiddy Upton! So that was to be his name.
Westby seated himself with his banjo across his knees and looked at Irving wonderingly. “The fellows seem pretty cheerful after their defeat, don’t they?” said Irving. A shadow crossed Westby’s face. “They’ve been very decent about it,” he answered. Irving put his hand on Westby’s arm. “Do you know why they’re so decent? It’s because you’ve cheered them up yourself.
Westby’s aim missed, his sponge-tipped lance slid past Collingwood’s shoulder, and the next instant Collingwood’s sponge—well weighted with water—smote Westby full in the chest and hove him overboard. For one moment Carroll struggled to keep the canoe right side up, but in vain; it tipped and filled, and with a shout he plunged in head foremost after his comrade.
But some hours later, when Irving came up to the dormitory before supper, he heard laughter in the west wing, where Collingwood and Westby and Scarborough had their rooms. Then he heard Westby’s voice, raised in an effeminate, pleading tone: “Less noise, fellows, less noise—or I shall have to report you—I shall really!” There was more laughter at the mimicry, and Irving heard Collingwood ask,
He met Westby’s coldness with coolness. But on the morning of the St. John’s game, after breakfast, he drew Westby aside. He held a letter in his hand. “Westby,” he said, “I don’t know that you will care to hear it, but I have a message for you from my brother.”
When he drew himself up, dripping, on the bank, Baldersnaith, Dennison, and Smythe were all on the broad grin, and from the water floated the sound of Westby’s merriment. Irving stood for a moment, letting himself drip, quite undecided as to what he should do.
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