“Oh, yes, this is Leon. Leon, Leon, this is Lieutenant Wilde,” he added, eagerly pulling his brother by the sleeve.
Lieutenant Wilde looked at the lad with interest. Harry Arnold was one of his favorites, and on that account he was the more curious to see Harry’s younger brother. Very different were the two boys who were standing there in the glare of the September sun, under their teacher’s gaze. Harry’s broad shoulders, round face, quiet gray eyes and firm lips seemed to tell of a more lasting strength than the thin, wiry figure of Leon, his laughing, restless brown eyes and mobile mouth; but the boyish hearts were the same in their quick, impulsive generosity, in their firm adherence to a strict code of honor, and in their keen sense of fun. Though apparently the more yielding of the two, Leon ruled his brother with an iron rod, and in spite of the difference in age, he was respected and admired by Harry, who willingly became his abject slave.
“And so you are Leon,” Lieutenant Wilde was saying. “I am glad to welcome you to Flemming Hall, and I hope you may stay with us as long and like us as well as Harry has done. The doctor is waiting for me now, and I must go; but bring your brother to my room this evening at eight, Harry; I want to have a talk with him, so I can tell into what class he is to be put.”
“All right, sir.”
And as Lieutenant Wilde walked away, the boys all gave him the stiff military salute.
“Well done, young Arnold,” remarked Jack Howard condescendingly. “You do that very respectably for a new fellow.”
Leon laughed outright.
“That’s Hal’s work. He’s been coaching me all summer, so I shouldn’t disgrace him when I came. It’s been nothing but salute, present arms, recover arms and all that, till I could do it to suit him.” And the boy made a few quick turns with his tightly-rolled umbrella, in place of a more dangerous weapon.
“There, Leon,” interposed his brother good-naturedly, “you’re telling family secrets. Come and see our quarters now. Don’t go off, Paul,” he continued, as one of the group started to turn away; “there’s room for you all and more too, and I have some fine grub in my trunk.”
What boy could withstand such an invitation? With one consent, the lads followed Harry as he led the way up the steps, into the broad hall and up the oak stairs that wound along three sides of the wall.