“Never you fear!” called back Melvin, as he plunged on down the stairs.
Bosworth was sitting at his desk with a book open before him. His thoughts, however, were not on his lesson, as was clearly shown by the moody, fitful way in which his eyes wandered from mantel to window. His face wore a gloomy and bitter look, as if he were brooding on some particularly disagreeable event of recent occurrence that still rankled deep. His expression brightened as Melvin opened the door in response to the usual “come in”; for as Varrell had said, the senior was a well-known man, and Bosworth, who valued popularity far more than the ordinary virtues, had a moment of gratified vanity in the thought that Melvin was honoring him with a call. The pleasure was of short duration.
“No, I think I won’t sit down,” said the visitor. “My business is a rather unpleasant one which I can perhaps better attend to standing.”
Bosworth’s face hardened.
“I understand that you have been gambling with some of the little boys and getting their money away from them.”
“I’d like to know who says that!” exclaimed Bosworth, indignantly. “It’s a lie.”
“I’m sorry to hear you deny it,” returned Melvin, calmly. “The information was pretty direct.”
“It’s a lie, just the same,” answered Bosworth, fiercely, his pale face becoming in spots still paler. “It’s no affair of yours, anyway.”
“That’s what I expected you to say. In one sense it isn’t; in another it is not only my affair but that of every fellow here who feels any responsibility for the moral condition and honor of the school. It’s a contemptible trick to teach these little fellows to gamble. The result can’t be anything but bad for them, even if they don’t get into trouble from it here in school. And you know what would happen if the Faculty got on to it.”
“I suppose you’re on your way to let them know,” sneered Bosworth.