“In a way, because of your father,” David answered. “My father is a doctor in Rosewood, and he wants me to be a surgeon like yours. He thought that, since your father came here to school, I had better come here, too.”
“I must write and tell dad about it: he’ll be awfully pleased. I guess he’ll think you’re more of a credit to him than I am.”
“Oh, I guess not,” said David. Then, prompted by Wallace’s friendliness, he went on to tell of his meeting with Dr. Wallace and of hoping that Wallace would come up to him—just as he had done.
“Dad forgot all about it,” said Wallace. “I’m glad you told me. You room in the north wing, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m in the south. Come and see me sometime.”
Apparently Henshaw had not poisoned Wallace’s mind, whether he had tried to do so or not, and for his cousin’s sake David was for a little while more kindly disposed toward Henshaw.
But the era of good feeling could not last. Two days later, as David and Monroe were passing after breakfast from the dining-room into the outer hall, Henshaw thrust his way up to them.
“Ives,” he said, “we’ve all got mighty sick of that necktie. Is it the only one you have?”