Max ran both hands through his soft yellow hair, until it stood rampant and disorderly on his head. Then he raised his eyebrows, rolled up his merry blue eyes and drew down the corners of his mouth into a mournful curve.
“That’s just about it, Hal,” laughed Paul. “Max kept doing that this morning when he was talking to us, and it was all we could do to keep from shouting.”
“What does he teach?” Harry asked.
“Latin and Greek, in Mr. Winston’s place. Mr. Winston is going to New York to study to be a doctor, and this man has come to take his classes. He isn’t as cross as Mr. Winston used to be; but he’s sort of dismal, perpetual mullygrubs, you know, and I don’t believe he’ll ever get much out of the boys.” And Louis slipped down from his chair-back and moved across the room to join Paul in the window.
“The seniors are all down on him,” added Max; “and most of the juniors don’t like him. If many more of the boys get to hate him, I don’t believe the doctor will keep him more than a term.”
“I wish the whole school would get after him, then,” remarked Paul vindictively. “He uses words a mile long, but I don’t believe he knows so very much, Stan; and even if he does, the boys won’t learn half as much from him as they would from somebody that was a little less like a walking funeral. For my part, I like a man that has some fun and life in him, like Lieutenant Wilde.”
“Who is there that isn’t back?” asked Harry, while he began to unpack his possessions, dropping his collars and cuffs in a pile on the floor, and carefully placing his tennis racket and bat on the bed.
“All our class are back but Williams and Sothern,” answered Jack. “How is it with the juniors, Stan?”
“There have five or six fellows dropped out of our class,” replied Stanley; “Boothby and Allen and Crane and the Vernons; not much loss, any of them except Crane, though. He was one of the best in ninety-two.”
Stanley’s remark ended in a most unmelodious croak, for he had just come to the age when his voice was changing, and the feats that his throat performed at times, surprised even its owner and covered him with confusion. It was not so trying when, as now, he was alone with his friends; but Stanley’s voice was no respecter of persons, and whether he was in the class-room or on the parade-ground, in the midst of a Greek exercise or giving some military command, his tone would suddenly change from a manly bass to a piping falsetto, and poor Stanley would blush and long to hide his diminished head in some safe retreat where he could not see the knowing smiles and glances of his companions.