“That’s Frank Osborn,” he answered. “I don’t see what makes Max so wild to be with him.”
“Why not?” inquired Leon, surprised at his change of tone.
“Because he’s the worst friend Max can have,” said Alex abruptly. “He’s a Southerner with plenty of money and brains; but he’s no dig and he gets Max into scrapes the whole time. He’s not really bad, only a little fast, and getting worse; but he laughs at Max for being slow and makes him think it’s manly to just steer clear of being expelled. He’s not ugly, though, like Winslow, the fellow you saw at breakfast. He’s nothing but a bully, and you don’t want to have much to do with him. But you have Hal to look out for you, and he’s steady as a deacon, so you’re all right.”
The shadows were stretching out in long lines from the western hills, as Leon turned away from the mirror after a prolonged season of prinking, and rather nervously followed his brother down the stairs, out of the house and down the hill to the doctor’s door. In spite of Harry’s delight at the invitation, Leon was dreading the prospect of dining with the master of Flemming. However, such an invitation was not to be refused, and he was soon being ushered into a cosy parlor, where a little girl of six was sitting alone in front of a crackling fire. She was a dainty maiden, with a tangle of long brown curls and a pair of roguish brown eyes that shone with excitement, as she came bounding forward to meet Harry, with a patient-looking gray cat so doubled up over her arm that its lank tail and pointed ears met below.
“Hullo, Gyp!” exclaimed Harry, catching her up, as she reached him.
“Hullo!” she answered, returning his caress as a matter of course. “Papa told me to stay here till you came, so I could call him d’reckly. I kept Mouse for company, you see.”
“Is this the same old Mouse?” inquired Harry, laughing. “I thought the rats ate her up, long ago.”
“No, course not,” responded Gyp, in a tone of contempt for Harry’s mistaken idea. “Mouse āted all the rats up; that’s the way ’twas. Now I’ll call papa.” And she vanished, carrying the long-suffering Mouse head downward in her arms.
“Gyp is a great institution,” laughed Harry. “She and Mouse make no end of fun for us, and she’s as bright as Mouse is stupid. That cat must have been damaged in her infancy, I know.”
At this point, Gyp reappeared, triumphantly leading by the hand a gentleman whom she introduced as “papa.” Dr. Flemming might have been forty or forty-five years old, and though his tall, slight figure and thin face with its silky, yellow moustache and deep-set blue eyes, suggested delicate health, yet, there was no air of languor in either his words or manner. He welcomed both boys cordially, and at once set about entertaining them in a pleasant, friendly way that delighted Leon as much as did the quaint, dry wit which came into almost every remark he made. A few moments later, Mrs. Flemming entered the room, and Leon found her a bright, motherly little woman with a delightfully long memory for the different boys of the school, and the pet hobbies of each one of them.