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Irving debated with himself the advisability of going to the two boys and voluntarily remitting part of their task. But he decided against this; to make the advances and the concession both would be to concede too much. At luncheon there was an unpleasant moment. No sooner had the boys sat down than Blake, a Fifth Former, called across the table to Westby,—
After some slight competition, the allotment, put up, I think, at the upset price of 300 pounds, was bought by Mr. Edmund Westby for 344 pounds. The amount is impressed upon me, because I wondered at the time that anyone should thus throw away so much good money.
Then he sped out to the middle of the bay; the two other canoes were separated by about fifty feet. “Charge!” cried Scarborough, and Morrill and Carroll began paddling towards each other, while in the bows Collingwood and Westby rose to their feet and held their spears in front of them.
Somehow in the start Westby’s foot slipped, and in trying to get clear he lunged against Flack. Irving saw it and instantly fired a second shot, and shouted, “Come back, come back!” The runners heeded the signal and the shout, but as they tiptoed up the track, they looked irritated. “Westby, you fouled Flack.” Irving spoke with some asperity. “I shall have to set you back a yard.”
“I thought I’d come down and see if you can run as fast as you can talk, Westby.” Irving drew out the revolver, somewhat ostentatiously. “I hope you won’t shoot any one with that; it looks to me as if you ought to be careful how you handle it, sir.” “Thank you for the advice, Westby.” Irving turned from the humorist, and raised his voice. “All ready for the mile now! On your marks! Set!”
He got scared. He knew he’d gone too far—and he was afraid to stand by his guns.” “I don’t think so. I think he’s just trying to do the right thing.” It was unfortunate for Irving that later in the afternoon Carter of the Fifth Form—who played in the banjo club with Westby—was passing the Study building just as Westby was coming out from his confinement.
Soon also a racketing began in the corridors; Irving suspected an intention to bait him still further; it was probably Westby once again. He waited until the noise became too great to be ignored—shouting and battering and scuffling; then he went forth to quell it. To his surprise Westby was not engaged in the disturbance—was, in fact, not visible.
But most of those who were privileged to be on the field stood at the farther side, where the start for the mile run was about to take place. Westby saw Randolph and Irving kneeling by the track, measuring off the handicap distances with a tape line; Barclay walked along it, and summoned the different contestants to their places.
Irving thereupon suggested to Westby that he refrain from reading his newspaper at table. “But all the fellows depend on me to keep them au courant, as it were.” Westby was fond of dropping into French in his arguments with Irving.
“I’d have shown you some strategy if you hadn’t blundered into us,” declared Carroll. “Blundered into you! There was no need for Wes to give us such a poke, anyhow.” Westby replied merely with an irritating chuckle—irritating at least to Irving, who felt that he should be showing more contrition.
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