The next morning in the Latin class Wallace sullenly said, “Not prepared,” when his name was called. Mr. Dean looked at him for a moment and then said, “I will ask you to wait and speak to me, Wallace, after the hour.”
What that interview brought forth David was soon to learn. In the noon intermission he was walking up to the dormitory when Wallace joined him.
“He’s put me on probation,” Wallace announced, “because of my Latin flunk. If I’d passed my Latin, I’d have been all right.”
“It’s hard luck.” David could think of nothing more to say.
“It’s pretty tough because now I can’t take part in the gymnasium exhibition. It’s hard on Monroe because it cuts him out of a good half of his stunts.”
“Did you talk to Mr. Dean about it?”
“Oh, yes, but it did no good. When I tried to argue with him, he said he didn’t care to hear me. He has it in for me; that’s the size of it. There’s just one thing that might help.”
“What?”
“Well, if you went to him and told him that you thought he hadn’t been quite fair in his treatment of me, and if you’d show him how unfair to Monroe it all is, he might reconsider. He likes you, and he’d listen to anything you say.”