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I guess he was lecturing him on those reports; I guess he told him he’d have to take off a couple of sheets.” “I shouldn’t wonder,” said Westby. “I don’t believe old Hoopo would have interfered much on my account,—but I guess he couldn’t stand for Lou Collingwood getting three sheets. And Kiddy, the fox, tried to make us think he was being magnanimous!”
And pretty soon there woke in him along with this courage a gentler spirit; it was all very well for Westby, a boy and therefore under discipline, to exhibit a stiff and haughty pride; but it was hardly admirable that a master should maintain that attitude.
“We didn’t know whether you’d shake hands with two such reprobates or not,” said Westby. “We thought it wasn’t quite safe to come up alone—so we’ve brought a bodyguard.” Irving did not smile, though, all the boys were grinning. He shook hands formally with Collingwood, then with Westby, then with the others, saying good-night to each; as they left him, they tiptoed to their rooms.
Upton?” said Westby. “I thought for a moment we might have to dive for you.” Irving clutched at the stern of the capsized canoe and said, rather curtly, “I’m not dressed to enjoy swimming.” “I’m awfully sorry,” said Scarborough. “But I never thought they were going to turn that way; I don’t know what Carrie thought he was doing—”
Westby bestowed on his confederates—quite indifferent as to whether Irving detected it or not—his slow, facetious wink. He returned then to his victim and in his most gamesome manner said,— “I supposed of course it was your brother, sir. Or at least I should have supposed so, except that I didn’t know you had a brother at Harvard.
That seems to be what he wants.” “A month ago he wouldn’t have asked more than that of you,” observed Carroll. “And you didn’t feel like obliging him then.” The implication that Irving had worsted him galled Westby. “Oh,” he retorted, “the best of jokes will wear out. Kiddy was a perfectly good joke for a while—” Carroll annoyed him by laughing.
Westby stood looking after him with a worried frown, and then because there was a sudden shout, he turned to look at the others. There, on the farther side of the field, Collingwood had at last extricated himself from the pocket; he was running abreast of Bolton; Edwards had fallen behind.
The official communication arrived; Collingwood rushed with it to the bulletin board in the Study building and posted it for all eyes to see. The same day he posted the School eleven, as it would line up in that game. Westby was to be first substitute for Dennison at right half back.
“Hello, Wes!” said Carter. “Thought you were in for three sheets; how do you happen to be at large so soon?” “Kiddy made it one and a half—without my asking him,” said Westby. “And Collingwood the same?” “He made his only a sheet.” “That’s it,” said Carter shrewdly. “I was waiting to see the rector this morning; the door was open, and he had Kiddy in there with him.
And he’s apt to be just a shade late in starting—just as Dave Pratt is apt to be just a shade previous,” said Westby. “It ought to be a close race between those two.” “How much does Pratt get over Morrill?” “Five yards. And if he steals another yard on the start—” “Dave wouldn’t steal it,” exclaimed Blake indignantly. “You Corinthians would accuse a man of anything!”
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