"Well, let them suffer then, that's all I've got to say," remarked Laughlin. "I've no sympathy to waste on fools or fellows who won't own up when they're in the wrong."
The senior departed, leaving Owen comforted and reassured. He could afford to wait, he told himself after his caller had gone. Let them give Patterson to Borland if they wished. Borland couldn't manage him, Rob was convinced, and when the new combination failed, Patterson would come back to him, and the pair could start again and work up together. Then it would be clear which was the better catcher, and which battery was the more useful to the school. Yes, Laughlin was right; it was better to work one's way up than to claim a high place at the outset and afterward have to change to the lowest, like the man in the parable who was bidden to a feast. But it was hard on Pat!
In the meantime Simmons had disappeared. He came in again soon, and rather shamefacedly confessed that he had been laboring with the Pecks.
"What luck?" asked Rob; "did they bluff you?"
"That's just what they did. Duncan laughed at me and Donald said he wasn't afraid of anything Payner could produce, either fresh or canned. I told them I merely wanted to warn them of what was before them, and Donald said the chief thing before them was to wipe up the ground with Payner. Then I said they'd better look out, for Payner had a gun, and Donald said he'd need it. I didn't seem to be getting on, so I cleared out."
Owen laughed. "You may as well let them alone. They're looking for trouble, and if they find it it's their own fault."
That evening Duncan stopped Simmons on the way out to Front Street and thanked him for coming to warn them. "I didn't say anything while you were there," he added, "because I knew Don and I'd have a big row about it, and I thought our rows ought to be private. And we did have it after you went, red hot. I'll tell you on the fair, I'm dead sick of the whole thing; it's got on to my nerves and spoils all my fun. We have to keep the door locked all the time, we don't dare open the windows, some one has to be here when the chambermaid comes in, and we're always scared that something's going to happen,—that there'll be some crawly thing in the bed, or under it, or hidden in our pajamas, or tucked into our shoes, or coming down the chimney. I never open a bureau drawer without standing back as far as I can, for fear of something jumping in my face. It's terrible. The sword of Damocles was nothing to it. If Payner'd be satisfied with my apology, I'd go in a minute!"
"He wouldn't be," answered Simmons, with a sad shake of his head. The burden of anxiety for peace in the dormitory lay heavy on poor Simmons's shoulders!
Does some one ask why the teachers are not called in to adjudicate such differences, or how a feud like this could go on undetected by Dr. Mann on the floor below, and Mrs. Gray, the matron, making her daily rounds among the rooms? To such be it explained that except in story books and school circulars, or where small children are concerned, teachers and pupils live in two distinct worlds, between which there is lawful communication only by regular channels. No self-respecting boy above the primary age seeks faculty help against his fellows. He may consult a trusted teacher about his own affairs, his studies, his health, his morals, his religion; about his relations with other boys he may sometimes ask advice, but assistance never. In the school life he must fight fair, and the first rule of fair fighting is: No intervention, no tale-bearing, keep it among ourselves!