“It’s just as if some one were to give you a thousand dollars to keep for him and you agreed to take care of it, and then spent it for your amusement.”
To this Tompkins said nothing at all. The senior paused a minute for a reply, and then continued: “And the worst thing about you is that you have no sense or conscience and never will have any. You aren’t bad; you’re just childish and selfish. But you have apparently set your heart on getting expelled, and your best friend can’t stop you. It’s really foolish in me to stand here talking to you at two o’clock in the morning. You can’t reform, or if you can, you won’t.”
With disgust stamped on every feature, Melvin turned to look at his watch. When he raised his eyes again, Tompkins was on his feet.
“Yes, I’m a fool, Dick Melvin, I don’t deny it; but I’m not a hopeless case. I can’t become a school balance wheel like you, but you won’t catch me in another scrape this year.”
“Do you mean it?” demanded the senior, with a sharp glance at the speaker’s face.
“I do. I’ll make it right with Littlefield,—and you see if I get into trouble again.”
Dick held out his hand, and gave the other a cordial clasp, but all he said was: “Clear out, then, and let me go to sleep. I’ll believe in the reform when I see it.”
Next morning Melvin waked to find Littlefield standing at his bedside.
“Come, get up,” said the boy, with a grin, “it’s only ten minutes to breakfast. What did you do with the water pitchers?”
On his way to chapel half an hour later Melvin suddenly felt Varrell’s grip on his arm.