“Typhoid. Mr. Randolph told me.”
“Who’s taken his place?” It was another voice that asked this question.
“A new man—named Upton. I haven’t laid eyes on him yet.”
“Wouldn’t it be a joke—!” The speaker paused to laugh. “Suppose it should turn out to be the new kid!”
“‘I am not a new kid; I am a master.’”
The mimicry was so accurate that Irving winced and then flushed to the temples. In the laughter that it produced he closed his door quietly and sat down to think. He couldn’t be courageous now; he felt that he could not step out and face those fellows who were laughing at him. Of course they were the ones who ought to be embarrassed by his appearance, not he; but Irving felt they would lend one another support and brazen it through, and that he would be the one to exhibit weakness. He decided that he must wait and try to make himself known to each one of them separately—that only by such a beginning would he be likely to engage their respect.
It was the first time that he had been brought face to face with his pitiable diffidence. He was ashamed; he thought of how differently Lawrence would have met the situation—how much more directly he would have dealt with it. Irving resolved that hereafter he would not be afraid of any multitude of boys. But he refrained from making his presence known in the dormitory that afternoon.
At half past five o’clock he went downstairs to the rooms of Mr. Randolph, who had charge of the Upper School. Mr. Marcy, the Fifth Form dormitory master, and Mr. Wythe, the Fourth Form dormitory master, were also there. They were veterans, comparatively, and it was to meet them and benefit by what they could tell him that Irving had been invited. All three congratulated him on his good fortune in obtaining the Sixth Form dormitory.
“The older they are, the less trouble they are,” said Wythe. “My first year I was over at the Lower School, looking after the little kids. Half the time they’re sick and whimpering and have to be coddled, and the rest of the time they have to be spanked.”
“It hardly matters what age they are,” lamented Marcy, pessimistically. “There’s bound to be a dormitory disorder once in so often.”