He need have felt no uncertainty. Wolcott’s cheeks flushed, not from anger, but with pride that, with all the school to choose from, this fellow had come to him, a new boy, for advice and help; and instantly, under the generous impulse that animates every true man when a weaker cries for protection, he had adopted Salter’s cause as his own. If he hesitated, it was only for effect; he knew immediately what he wished to say.
“If you want my advice, here it is: go to Marchmont and tell him the thing has got to end, and end now; that if he goes through your room again, you won’t be responsible for what happens.”
“But what can happen?”
“You could lock him out, if you wanted to, and let him shift for himself. But it won’t come to that. Tell him you won’t have it! Put up a stiff front, and he’ll back down. I’ve seen him do it before now.”
Salter looked discouraged. “I’m not good at stiff fronts. He’d know it was a bluff, and talk me out of it before I’d been there two minutes. When it comes to talking, I’m no match for the fellow at all.”
“I’ll go with you,” cried Wolcott, springing up. “You’ve got to make a stand, or he’ll run over you completely. Spunk up and take your medicine; it’s the only way.”
Marchmont was at home, and obviously puzzled as the pair filed into his room, the shrinking Salter pushed forward by the more aggressive Lindsay. As Salter never had ventured to visit his classmate of the second story, while Lindsay until recently had been a frequent visitor, Marchmont naturally looked to the latter for an explanation of the call.
“I’m here only as a friend of Salter’s,” said Wolcott, significantly. “He has something to say to you.”
“I just wanted to say that I was called up to-day to explain how some one came through my window at half-past twelve last night; and it seems to me high time for the closet business to stop.” Salter got through with this very well.
“But you got off easily enough, didn’t you? Of course the man who thought he saw you was mistaken.” Marchmont’s tones were smooth and persuasive.