“No, I don’t know as there is; at least, nothing special. No, there isn’t really,” answered Stanley, who had a curious habit of thinking aloud, whenever he was much absorbed.
“What is it, Stanley?” asked Lieutenant Wilde quite seriously.
“It really isn’t anything; honestly, Lieutenant Wilde,” said Stanley, supporting his chin on his hands and looking straight into his teacher’s face. “I truly hadn’t any business to say anything, for I’ve most likely imagined it all; but you caught me by taking me by surprise.”
“You’ve gone so far, Campbell,” said Lieutenant Wilde, as he moved to light the gas under another flask; “that it isn’t quite fair to Max not to talk it over and let me judge whether or not you have imagined some trouble that isn’t there. Come,” he added persuasively; “you ought to be able to trust me with it, Stanley. Have you boys been having a quarrel, or has Max been shirking his work?”
“Neither,” replied Stanley. “It can’t do any harm to talk about it to you, Lieutenant Wilde; it’s only this, have you noticed how Max is getting in with Osborn and his set, lately?”
Lieutenant Wilde suddenly became very grave, and frowned a little, as he sat with his eyes fixed on the rain-streaked window across the room. Of late, Osborn and his friends had been causing Dr. Flemming more anxiety than all the rest of his pupils. Their increasing disregard of discipline and reckless extravagance threw little credit upon the school, while their influence upon the other boys was far from helpful. As they did just enough work to keep their place in their classes, and were wary enough to avoid any open outbreak, there seemed to be no reasonable excuse for sending them away from Flemming. But though the doctor always hesitated about open expulsion, since he knew well how difficult it would be for a pupil whom he had dismissed, to gain admission anywhere else, yet he was only waiting till the end of the year, to give them a quiet hint to leave Flemming, in search of another school.
“I hadn’t thought of it,” Lieutenant Wilde answered, after considering the matter for a moment. “Isn’t Max with your set, as much as he used to be?”
“I don’t know but he is,” replied Stanley; “only ’tisn’t in just the same way. He’s all the time running off to see some of them. I’m not a bit jealous, Lieutenant Wilde,” and Stanley laughed uneasily; “but they aren’t a good kind of fellows for Max to be with.”
“That’s very true, Stanley,” responded Lieutenant Wilde quickly; “they’re the worst possible friends for an impulsive, good-natured boy like Max, for he’s easily led, and before he knows it, they’ll get him into trouble. How long has it been going on?”
“All this term. He’s with us a great deal of the time; but he and Osborn are both training for the ninety-two crew, and besides, since the boys started the quartette, that takes Louis and Leon and Paul and Alex, with Harry for the banjo, and it sort of leaves Max by himself. Then he doesn’t have to study nearly so much as the rest of us do; that gives him more chance for fun, and so he takes up with them. They’re a jolly set and make it lively for him; you see, they want to hang on to him, for they know he’s in with the Arnolds and Alex and those fellows that won’t have anything to do with them. I don’t think Max is to blame; but he may get into a scrape, for all that, for they’re a reckless crowd, and Max is always ready for a joke,” explained Stanley, not very lucidly.