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OFFICERS OF THE NATIONAL COUNCIL.
Honorary President, THE HON. WOODROW WILSON
Honorary Vice-President, HON. WILLIAM H. TAFT
Honorary Vice-President, COLONEL THEODORE ROOSEVELT
President, COLIN H. LIVINGSTONE, Washington, D. C.
Vice-President, B. L. DULANEY, Bristol, Tenn.
Vice-President, MILTON A. McRAE, Detroit, Mich.
Vice-President, DAVID STARK JORDAN, Stanford University, Cal.
Vice-President, F. L. SEELY, Asheville, N. C.
Vice-President, A. STAMFORD WHITE, Chicago, Ill.
Chief Scout, ERNEST THOMPSON SETON, Greenwich, Connecticut
National Scout Commissioner, DANIEL CARTER BEARD, Flushing, N. Y.
NATIONAL HEADQUARTERS
BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA
THE FIFTH AVENUE BUILDING, 200 FIFTH AVENUE
TELEPHONE GRAMERCY 546
NEW YORK CITY
FINANCE COMMITTEE
John Sherman Hoyt,
Chairman
August Belmont
George D. Pratt
Mortimer L. Schiff
H. Rogers Winthrop
GEORGE D. PRATT,
Treasurer
JAMES E. WEST,
Chief Scout Executive
ADDITIONAL MEMBERS OF THE EXECUTIVE BOARD
Ernest P. Bidwell
Robert Garrett
Lee F. Hanmer
John Sherman Hoyt
Charles C. Jackson
Prof. Jeremiah W. Jenks
William D. Murray
Dr. Charles P. Neill
George D. Porter
Frank Presbrey
Edgar M. Robinson
Mortimer L. Schiff
Lorillard Spencer
Seth Sprague Terry
July 31st, 1913.
TO THE PUBLIC:--
In the execution of its purpose to give educational value and moral
worth to the recreational activities of the boyhood of America, the
leaders of the Boy Scout Movement quickly learned that to effectively
carry out its program, the boy must be influenced not only in his
out-of-door life but also in the diversions of his other leisure
moments. It is at such times that the boy is captured by the tales of
daring enterprises and adventurous good times. What now is needful is
not that his taste should be thwarted but trained. There should
constantly be presented to him the books the boy likes best, yet always
the books that will be best for the boy. As a matter of fact, however,
the boy's taste is being constantly vitiated and exploited by the great
mass of cheap juvenile literature.
[Footer: "DO A GOOD TURN DAILY." "over"]
To help anxiously concerned parents and educators to meet this grave
peril, the Library Commission of the Boy Scouts of America has been
organised. EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY is the result of their labors. All the
books chosen have been approved by them. The Commission is composed of
the following members: George F. Bowerman, Librarian, Public Library of
the District of Columbia, Washington, D. C.; Harrison W. Graver,
Librarian, Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh, Pa.; Claude G. Leland,
Superintendent, Bureau of Libraries, Board of Education, New York City;
Edward F. Stevens, Librarian, Pratt Institute Free Library, Brooklyn,
New York; together with the Editorial Board of our Movement, William D.
Murray, George D. Pratt and Frank Presbrey, with Franklin K. Mathiews,
Chief Scout Librarian, as Secretary.
In selecting the books, the Commission has chosen only such as are of
interest to boys, the first twenty-five being either works of fiction or
stirring stories of adventurous experiences. In later lists, books of a
more serious sort will be included. It is hoped that as many as
twenty-five may be added to the Library each year.
Thanks are due the several publishers who have helped to inaugurate this
new department of our work. Without their co-operation in making
available for popular priced editions some of the best books ever
published for boys, the promotion of EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY would have been
impossible.
We wish, too, to express our heartiest gratitude to the Library
Commission, who, without compensation, have placed their vast experience
and immense resources at the service of our Movement.
The Commission invites suggestions as to future books to be included in
the Library. Librarians, teachers, parents, and all others interested in
welfare work for boys, can render a unique service by forwarding to
National Headquarters lists of such books as in their judgment would be
suitable for EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY.
Signed
[Signature: James E. West]
Chief Scout Executive.
[Illustration: LAWRENCE LAUNCHED HIMSELF AND HURLED THE RUNNER BACKWARD
(p. 194)]
EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY--BOY SCOUT EDITION
THE JESTER OF
ST. TIMOTHY'S
By
ARTHUR STANWOOD PIER
AUTHOR OF
BOYS OF ST. TIMOTHY'S,
HARDING OF ST. TIMOTHY'S. ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY ARTHUR STANWOOD PIER
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published September 1911_
CONTENTS
I. Irving sets forth on his Adventure 1
II. He achieves a Name for Himself 26
III. Westby's Amusements 53
IV. The Baiting of a Master 75
V. Master turns Pupil 96
VI. The Penalty for a Foul 120
VII. The Worm begins to turn 142
VIII. The Harvard Freshman 166
IX. Westby in the Game 183
X. Master and Boy 205
ILLUSTRATIONS
Lawrence launched himself and hurled the
runner backward (p. 194) _Frontispiece_
The canoes swung about and made for Each Other 52
As to who had won, Irving had not the Slightest Idea 140
A Shadow crossed Westby's Face 220
_From drawings by B. L. Bates_
THE JESTER OF ST. TIMOTHY'S
CHAPTER I
IRVING SETS FORTH ON HIS ADVENTURE
In the post-office of Beasley's general store Irving Upton was eagerly
sorting the mail. His eagerness at that task had not been abated by the
repeated, the daily disappointments which it had caused him. During the
whole summer month for which he had now been in attendance as Mr.
Beasley's clerk, the arrival of the mail had constituted his chief
interest. And because that for which he had been hoping had failed to
come, his thin face had grown more worried, and the brooding look was
more constantly in his eyes.
This afternoon his hand paused; he looked at the superscription on an
envelope unbelievingly. The letter came from St. Timothy's School and
was addressed to him. He finished distributing the other letters among
the boxes, for people were waiting outside the partition; then he opened
the envelope and read the type-written enclosure. A flush crept up over
his cheeks, over his forehead; when he raised his eyes, the brooding
look was no longer in them, but a quiet happiness instead, and his lips,
which had so long been troubled, were smoothed out in a faint, contented
smile. He read the letter a second time, then put it in his pocket, and
stepped round behind the counter to sell five cents' worth of pink
gumdrops to little Abby Lawson.
When she had gone and the callers after mail had been satisfied, Irving
sat down at the table in the back of the store. He read the letter again
and mused over it for a few moments contentedly; then, with it lying
open before him, he proceeded to write an answer.
After finishing that, he drew from his pocket some papers--French
exercises, done in a scrawling, unformed hand.
It was the noon hour, when the people of the village were all eating
their dinners; Mr. Beasley had gone home, and Irving was undisturbed.
He helped himself to the crackers and dried beef which were his luncheon
perquisites, and with these at his elbow and nibbling them from time to
time he set about correcting his brother's French.
He sighed in spite of the happiness which was pervading him; would
Lawrence always go on confusing some of the forms of _etre_ and _avoir_?
Would he never learn to know the difference between _ils ont_ and _ils
sont_?
Irving made his corrections in a neat, pretty little hand, which of
itself seemed to reprove the student's awkward scrawl. He turned then to
his own studies, which he was pursuing in a tattered volume of
Blackstone's Commentaries on the English Common Law. He did not get on
very fast with this book, and sometimes he wondered what bearing it
could have on the practice of the law in Ohio at the present time. But
he had been advised to familiarize himself with the work in the interval
before he should enter a law school--an interval of such doubtful
length!
Mr. Beasley's entrance caused him to look up.
"I shall be leaving you in less than a month now, Mr. Beasley," he said.
"Got a job to teach, have you?" asked the storekeeper.
"Yes--at St. Timothy's School."
"Where may that be?"
"Up in New Hampshire."
"Quite a ways off. But I suppose you don't mind that much--having been
away to college."
"No, I think I'll like it. Besides,--now Lawrence will be able to go to
college this fall, and he and I will be pretty near each other. We'll be
able to spend our holidays together. I think it's fine."
"It does sound so," agreed Mr. Beasley. "Well, I'll be sorry to lose
you, Irving. The folks all like to have you wait on 'em; you're so
polite and tidy. But I know clerking in a country store ain't much of a
job for a college graduate, and I'm glad you've found something better."
"I'm glad if I've been of any use to you," replied Irving. "I know you
didn't expect I would be when you took me in. And your giving me this
chance has meant that I could stay on here and tutor Lawrence this
summer and at the same time pay all my living expenses. It's been more
of a help than you know--to Lawrence as well as to me."
"You're both good boys," said Mr. Beasley. "But it seems like you're too
shy and quiet ever to make much of a lawyer, Irving--or a teacher," he
added, in candid criticism.
Irving blushed. "Maybe I'll get over that in time, Mr. Beasley."
"You had better," observed the storekeeper. "It's of no manner of use to
anybody--not a particle. Lawrence, now, is different."
Yes, Lawrence was different; the fact impressed itself that evening on
Irving when his brother came home from the haying field with his uncle.
Lawrence was big and ruddy and laughing; Irving was slight and delicate
and grave. The two boys went together to their room to make themselves
ready for supper.
"We finished the north meadow to-day," said Lawrence,--"the whole of it.
So don't blame me if I go to sleep over French verbs this evening."
"I'll tell you something that will wake you up," Irving replied. "I'm
going to teach at St. Timothy's School--in New Hampshire. So your going
to college is sure, and we'll be only a couple of hours apart."
"Oh, Irv!" In Lawrence's exclamation there was more expressiveness, more
joy, than in all his brother's carefully restrained statement. "Oh, Irv!
Isn't it splendid! I think you're the finest thing--!" Lawrence grasped
Irving's hand and at the same time began thumping him on the back. Then
he opened the door and shouted down the stairs.
"Uncle Bob! Aunt Ann! Irv has some great news to-night."
Mrs. Upton put her head out into the hall; she was setting the table and
held a plate of bread.
"What is it, Irv? Have you--have you had a letter?"
There was an anxious, almost a regretful note in her voice.
"Yes," said Irving. "I'll tell you about it when I come down."
At the supper table he expounded all the details. Like Mr. Beasley, his
uncle and his aunt had never heard of St. Timothy's School. Irving was
able to enlighten them. At college he had become familiar with its
reputation; it was one of the big preparatory schools in which the
position of teacher had seemed to him desirable almost beyond the hope
of attainment.
He recited the terms which had been offered and which he had accepted:
nine hundred dollars salary the first year, with lodging, board, washing
all provided--so that really it was the equivalent of fourteen or fifteen
hundred dollars a year. And then there would be the three months'
vacation, in which he could prosecute his law studies and earn
additional money.
"Sounds good," said Mr. Upton.
"Of course I'm very glad," said Mrs. Upton. "But how we shall miss you
boys! I've got used to having Irving away,--but to be without Lawrence,
too--"
"Yes," said her husband with a twinkle in his eyes, "we certainly shall
miss Lawrence--especially in haying time. I'm glad you didn't get this
news till most of the hay crop was in. No more farming for you this
year, Lawrence."
"Why, but there's all the south meadow uncut--"
"I'll handle that. As long as there was so much doubt as to whether
you'd be able to go to college or not, I felt that you might be making
yourself useful first of all and studying only in the odd moments. Now
it's different; you've got to settle down to hard study and nothing
else. And Irving had better devote himself entirely to you, and leave
Mr. Beasley to struggle along without any college help."
"I don't believe he'll miss me very much," Irving admitted. "And you're
right, Uncle Bob; I can accomplish a great deal more working with
Lawrence this next month. I ought to be able to get him entered in
regular standing."
"If I can do that," cried Lawrence, "perhaps I'll be able to earn my way
as Irv did--tutoring and so on--and not have to call on you or him for any
help."
"What on earth should I do with nine hundred a year?" Irving exclaimed.
"Save it for your law school fund," said Lawrence.
Irving shrugged his shoulders grandly. "Oh, I can earn money."
Lawrence gave him an affectionate push. "Tut!" he said. "Be good to
yourself once in a while."
It was a happy family that evening. The uncle and the aunt rejoiced in
the good news, even while regretting the separation.
Mr. Upton, the younger brother of the boys' father, who had been the
village clergyman, shared his brother's tastes; he read good books, he
would travel to hear a celebrated man speak, he had ideas which were not
bounded by his farm. He had encouraged Irving as well as Lawrence to
seek a university education. The two boys were proud, eager to free
themselves from dependence on the uncle and aunt who, after their
father's death, had given them a home. Irving had worked his way through
college, hardly ever asking for help; he had been a capable scholar and
the faculty had found for him backward students in need of tutoring.
Meanwhile, Mr. Upton had been busily engaged in developing and
increasing his farm; that he was beginning to be prosperous Irving was
aware; that he did not more earnestly insist upon helping his nephews
stimulated their spirit of independence. They knew that they had been
left penniless; Irving sometimes suspected his uncle of parsimony, yet
this was a trait so incongruous with Mr. Upton's genial nature that
Irving never communicated the suspicion to his brother. Irving felt,
too, that his uncle cared less for him than for Lawrence. Well, that
was natural; Irving was humble there.
When the dean of the college had said that it would be inadvisable for
Lawrence to make a start unless he had at least three hundred dollars at
command, it had seemed to Irving a little narrow on his uncle's part not
to have come forward at once with that sum. Instead he had merely given
Lawrence the opportunity to work harder in the hay-field and so increase
his small bank account. And it had soon become apparent to Irving that
unless he and Lawrence could between them raise the money, they need not
look to their uncle for help beyond that which he was already giving.
Therefore Irving went into Mr. Beasley's store, and hoped daily for the
letter which at last had come.
Day after day the two brothers worked together. Irving, quick,
impatient, sometimes losing his temper; Lawrence, slow, calm, turning
the edge of the teacher's sarcasm sometimes with a laugh, sometimes with
a quiet appeal. Irving always felt ashamed after these outbreaks and
uneasily conscious that Lawrence conducted himself with greater
dignity. And Lawrence forgot Irving's irritations in gratitude to him
for his help. "It must be a trial to teach such a numskull," Lawrence
thought; and at the end of one particularly hard day he undertook to
console his brother by saying, "Never mind, Irv; it won't be long now
before you have pupils who aren't country bumpkins and don't need to
have things pounded into their heads with an axe."
It had been a rather savage remark that had called this out; Irving
threw down his book and perching on the arm of his brother's chair, put
his arm around his neck and begged his forgiveness.
"As if I could ever like to teach anybody else as much as I like to
teach you!" he exclaimed. "I'm sorry, Lawrence; I'll try to keep a
little better grip on myself."
Sometimes it seemed to Irving odd that Lawrence should be so slow at his
books; Irving did not fail to realize that with the neighbors or with
strangers, in any gathering whatsoever, Lawrence was always quick,
sympathetic, interested; he himself was the one who seemed dull and
immature.
It had been so with him at college; he had been merely the student of
books. Social life he had had none, and only now, with the difference
between his brother and himself enforcing a clearer vision, had he
become aware of some deficiency in his education. In silence he envied
Lawrence and wished that he too possessed such winning and engaging
traits.
He realized the contrast with especial keenness on the afternoon when he
and Lawrence began their eastward journey. There was a party assembled
at the station to see them off,--to see Lawrence off, as Irving
reflected, for never on his own previous departures had he occasioned
any such demonstration.
Lawrence was presented on the platform with various farewell gifts--a
pair of knit slippers from Sally Buxton, who was the prettiest girl in
the valley and who tried to slip them into his hand when no one else was
looking, and blushed when Nora Carson unfeelingly called attention to
her shy attempt; a pair of mittens from old Mrs. Fitch; a pocket comb
and mirror from the Uptons' hired man; a paper bag of doughnuts from
Mrs. Brumby.
There were no gifts for Irving; indeed, he had never cared or thought
much, one way or the other, about any of these people clustered on the
platform. Only this summer, seeing them so frequently in Mr. Beasley's
store, he had felt the first stirrings of interest in them; now for the
first time he was aware of a wistfulness because they did not care for
him as they did for Lawrence.
Mr. Beasley came up to him. "So you're off--both of you. Funny thing--I
guess from the looks of you two, if a stranger was to come along, he'd
pick Lawrence out for the teacher and you for the schoolboy. Lawrence
looks as old as you, and handles himself more grown up, somehow."
"He's bigger," Irving sighed.
"Yes, 't ain't only that," drawled Mr. Beasley. "Though 't is a pity
you're so spindling; good thing for a teacher to be able to lay on the
switch good and hard when needed."
"I don't believe they punish with the switch at St. Timothy's."
"Then I guess they don't learn the boys much. How you going to keep
order among boys if you don't use the switch?"
At that moment the train came whistling round the bend. Irving caught up
his bag, turned and grasped Mr. Beasley's hand, then plunged into the
crowd which had closed about his brother. His aunt turned and flung her
arms about him and kissed him; his uncle gave him a good-natured pat on
the back and then stooped and said in his ear, "Irv, if you ever get
into trouble,--go to Lawrence."
There was the merry, kindly twinkle in his eyes, the quizzical, humorous
smile on his lips that made Irving know his uncle meant always, deep in
his heart, to do the right thing.
In the train he pondered for a few moments that last word of advice,
wondering if it had been sincere. It rather hurt his dignity, to be
referred to his younger brother in that way--and yet it pleased him too;
he was glad to have Lawrence appreciated.
Irving spent a day in Cambridge, helping his brother to get settled in
the rooms which he himself had occupied for four years. Then he bade
Lawrence good-by and resumed his journey to New Hampshire.
It was a pleasant September morning when he presented himself, a sallow,
thin-cheeked, narrow-shouldered, bespectacled youth, before Dr.
Davenport, the rector of St. Timothy's School. The sunlight streamed in
through the southern windows of the spacious library, throwing mellow
tints on the bindings of the books which lined the opposite wall from
floor to ceiling. It was all so bright that Irving, who was troubled
with weak eyes, advanced into it blinking; and perhaps that was one
reason for the disappointment which flitted across the rector's face--and
which Irving, who was acutely sensitive, perceived in his blinking
glance. He flushed, aware that somehow his appearance was too timorous.
But Dr. Davenport chatted with him pleasantly, told him how highly the
college authorities had recommended him, and only laughingly intimated
a surprise at finding him so young-looking.
"I hope that teaching won't age you prematurely," he added. "You will
probably have some trying times with the boys--we all do. But it oughtn't
to be hard for you--especially as you will be thrown most of all with the
older boys. Mr. Williams, who has had charge of the Sixth Form dormitory
at the Upper School, is ill with typhoid fever and will probably not
come back this term. So I'm going to put you in charge there. You will
have under you twenty fellows, some of them the best in the school. But
just because they are in some ways pretty mature, don't be--don't be
self-effacing."
"I understand," said Irving. He sat on the edge of his chair, and
crumpled his handkerchief nervously in his hands. And all the time--with
his singular clearness of intuition--he was aware of the doubt and
distrust passing through Dr. Davenport's mind.
"Don't be afraid of the boys or show embarrassment or discomfort before
them," continued Dr. Davenport, "and on the other hand don't try to
cultivate dignity by being cold and austere. Be natural with them--but
always be the master.--There!" he broke off, smiling, for he saw that
Irving looked worried and seemed to be taking all this as personal
criticism--"that's the talk that I always give to a new master; and now
I'm done. Here is a printed copy of the rules and regulations which I
advise you to study; you must try to familiarize yourself with our
customs before any of the boys arrive. To-morrow the new boys will come,
and you will report for duty at the Gymnasium, where the entrance
examinations will be held. You will find your room in the Sixth Form
dormitory, at the Upper School. I hope you will like the life here, Mr.
Upton--and I wish you every possible success in it."
The rector gave him an encouraging handshake and another friendly smile.
But Irving departed feeling depressed and afraid. He had seen that the
rector was disappointed in him--in his appearance, in his manner. And
the rector's little speech had given him the clue. Until now, he had not
much considered how large a part of his work would be in the management
and the discipline of the boys; the mere teaching of them was what had
been in his mind, and for that he felt perfectly competent. In college,
that was all that the tutoring, in which he had been so successful,
meant. But, confronted by the necessity of establishing and maintaining
friendly human relations with a lot of strange boys, Irving for the
first time questioned his qualifications, realizing that the rector too
was questioning them.
He became more cheerful the next day, when the new boys began to arrive
and he found himself at once with work to do. He had mastered pretty
thoroughly the names of the buildings and the geography of the place,
and it was rather pleasant to be able to give information and directions
to those younger and more ignorant than himself.
It was pleasant, too, to have one mother who was wandering round vaguely
with her small son and to whom he shyly proffered assistance, show such
appreciation of his courtesy and end by appealing to him to keep always
a friendly eye on her little forlorn Walter. As it turned out, Irving
never afterwards came much into contact with the boy, who lived in a
different building and was not in any of his classes; he asked about him
from time to time, and discovered that Walter was a mischievous person,
not troubled by homesickness.
But most agreeable and reassuring was it to take charge of the
examination-room, where the new boys were undergoing the tests of their
scholarship. Most of them were candidates for the Second, Third, and
Fourth Forms, and their ages ranged from twelve to fifteen; Irving sat
at a desk on the platform and surveyed them while they worked, or
tiptoed down the aisle in response to an appeal from some uplifted hand.
He had come so recently from examination-rooms where he had been one of
the pupils that this experience exhilarated him; it conferred upon him
an authority that he enjoyed. He liked to be addressed by these
nice-mannered young boys as "sir," and to be recognized by them so
unquestioningly as a person to whom deference must be shown. Altogether
this first day with the new boys inspired him with confidence, and at
the end of it he attacked the pile of examination books
enthusiastically.
Mr. Barclay aided him in that task; Mr. Barclay was a young master also,
comparatively, though he had had several years' experience. Irving was
attracted to him at once, and was grateful for the way in which he made
suggestions when there was some uncertainty as to how a boy should be
graded.
Irving liked, too, the genial chuckle which preceded an invitation to
inspect some candidate's egregious blunder; Irving would read and smile
quietly, unaware that Barclay was watching him and wondering how
appreciative he might be of the ludicrous.
Two nights Irving spent all alone in the Sixth Form dormitory; it amused
him to walk up and down the corridors with the list of those to whom
rooms there had been assigned. "Collingwood, Westby, Scarborough,
Morrill, Anderson, Baldersnaith, Hill"--some of them had occupied these
rooms as Fifth Formers, and Irving had asked Mr. Barclay about them.
Louis Collingwood was captain of the school football team; Scarborough
was captain of the school crew.
"Neither of them will give you any trouble," said Barclay. "Scarborough
used to be a cub, but he has developed very much in the last year or
two, and now he and Collingwood are the best-liked fellows in the
school. They have a proper sense of their responsibility as leaders of
the school, and are more likely to help you than to make trouble.
Morrill is their faithful follower, though a little harum-scarum at
times. Westby--" the master hesitated over that name and looked at Irving
with a measuring glance--"Westby is what you might call the school
jester. He's very popular with the boys--not equally so with all the
masters. Personally I'm rather fond of him. He's almost too quick-witted
sometimes."
That evening Barclay took the new master home to dine with him. Mrs.
Barclay was as cordial and as kind as her husband; Irving began to feel
more than satisfied with his surroundings.
"Pity you're not married, Upton," Barclay said, half jokingly. "You'd
escape keeping dormitory if you were--which you'll find the meanest of
all possible jobs. And then if your wife's the right kind--the boys have
to be pretty decent to you in order to keep on her good side."
Mrs. Barclay laughed. "I suppose that's the only reason they're pretty
decent to you, William!--You'll find it easy, Mr. Upton,--for the reason
that they're a pretty decent lot of boys."
The next day at noon the old boys began to arrive. Irving was coming out
of the auditorium, where he had been correcting the last set of
examination papers, when a barge drew up before the study building and
boys clutching hand-bags tumbled out and hurried into the building to
greet the rector.
Irving stood for a few moments looking on with interest: other barges
kept coming over the hill, interspersed with carriages, in which a few
arrived more magnificently.
It occurred to Irving that perhaps he had better hasten to his dormitory
in order to be on hand when his charges should begin to appear; he was
just starting away when three boys arm in arm rushed out of the study
building. 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. So he said
without a smile, in a constrained voice,--
"I am not a new kid. I am a master."
The three boys who had been beaming on him with good humor in their
eyes stared blankly. Then the one in the middle, with a sudden whoop of
laughter, swung the two others round and led them off at a run; and as
they went, their delighted laughter floated back to Irving's ears.
His cheeks were tingling, almost as if they had been slapped. He
followed the boys at a distance; they moved towards the Upper School.
His heart sank; what if they were in his dormitory?
He entered the building just as the last of the three was going up the
Sixth Form dormitory stairs.