But Mr. Dean did not care to talk about himself; he questioned David concerning his mother and Ralph, expressed his sympathy for Mrs. Ives’s feeling of forlornness at her son’s return to St. Timothy’s and said he should think she would really hate the man who was responsible for it. “Oh, no,” David hastened to say; “she’s just as grateful to him as I am; only she couldn’t help being sorry, too.”
“Well, if it’s Dr. Wallace, it’s a pretty good investment, so far as his own boy’s concerned,” remarked Mr. Dean. “Lester slid off badly last term after you left us. Do you think you can take hold of him again and keep him going?”
David was willing to try; he found Wallace willing to submit. Indeed, Wallace seemed unwilling to make any independent effort with his lessons; he needed the stimulus of David’s interest and David’s prompting. Without them his mind was incorrigibly preoccupied with athletics; it did not matter what the season might be; his passion for athletics was universal. Now, in midwinter, snowballing, coasting, snowshoeing, and hockey were keeping his mind as active as his body; in study hours he was planning expeditions, arranging snowball fights and ambuscades, imagining himself the hero of exciting hockey games, in which he dodged brilliantly through the opposing forces, steering the puck always before him. Even when the weather was so bad that no form of outdoor sport was possible, Wallace’s attention was not more easily fixed on books. Then thoughts of the gymnasium engrossed him, of the brilliant feats that could be executed there.
Indeed, as the time of the spring exhibition drew near, he became more and more intent on qualifying himself for some prominent part in it. He and Monroe practiced together daily and became proficient in feats of ground and lofty tumbling. David, going into the gymnasium one afternoon, was much impressed by the quickness, sureness, and rhythm of their performance—somersaulting over each other, snapping each other up from the mat, giving each other a hand at just the right moment. “Pretty slick,” was David’s admiring comment. “You make a great team.”
That was the opinion of the gymnasium instructor, who looked forward to putting them on as one of the principal features of the exhibition. Wallace lived in the gymnasium not merely during playtime; his thoughts were there at all hours, and his studies suffered accordingly. He rejected David’s offer to help him with his Latin out of hours, and, as Mr. Dean did not see fit to renew the arrangement that had been so advantageous to him the preceding term, he no longer received any assistance from his friend. His Latin recitations grew more and more uncertain; frequently he attempted to bluff them through—seldom with any degree of success. A week before the gymnasium exhibition, Mr. Dean set the class an hour examination; David, glancing up from the task, which he found simple, observed Wallace lolling indifferently in his seat and tapping his teeth idly with his pencil. Later, when he looked again, Wallace was writing busily, and David felt encouraged; he relinquished hope, however, when he saw Wallace leave his seat half an hour before the full time allotted for the examination had expired, hand in his work at the desk, and depart jauntily from the room.
He did not encounter Wallace until after luncheon; then they met in the hall of the dormitory.
“Cinch, wasn’t it?” Wallace said, and in surprise David asked, “What?”
“Old Dean’s exam. I killed it. Did you see me get through way ahead of time?”
“Yes, I was afraid that meant you hadn’t been able to do much with it.”