The others laughed patronizingly, as befitted those who had “points” to their credit on preliminary certificates, and knew Cæsar and algebra only as outgrown acquaintances—friends they had never been.
“He’s playing off,” said Todd, suspiciously. “I don’t doubt he drew an ‘A’ on his last examination.”
For one member of the group, the conversation was taking an unpleasant turn. John Curtis talked as unwillingly about examinations or entering college as the family of a convict on prison discipline. John had been captain of the football team, a player with a record, already courted by college committees on the lookout for good material for Varsity elevens. The glory of victory still rested full and bright upon him, but neither the adulation of comrades nor his own consciousness of achievement could make up to him for his failure to be recommended for preliminaries at the last college examinations, and his present gloomy outlook.
“Let’s see what they’re doing out in the yard,” he said abruptly, lifting his two hundred pounds from a creaking chair.
Bang, bang, bump, bang! went a heavy object down the stairs. Melvin jerked the door open in season to hear a scurry of feet at the end of the corridor, and the slam of two or three doors.
“This thing must stop, do you hear?” he shouted in the direction from which the sound had come.
The corridor was silent. No one answered; no one appeared. Yet behind the cracks of doors ajar were uttered low chucklings that the monitor rather suspected than heard. From a door at the end emerged an innocent head adorned with a green shade.
“Who are you bawling at, anyway? A fellow can’t study in this place, however much he tries. First a chump fires a bowling ball downstairs, and then the monitor curdles your blood with his Apache yells. I’d rather hear the ball, a good sight. It isn’t so hard on the nerves.”
“You tell those fellows to stop that thing right off, or I’ll report every one of them.”
“Tell them yourself!” retorted the green shade; “I’m not their grandmother.”