“I should think he’d have let that out.”
“Well, he let it out to me. I suspect—though he hasn’t told me—that he’s helping to put his brother through college. And his success in doing that will naturally depend largely on his success or failure here as a master.”
Barclay nodded. “Yes. Oh, I don’t suppose there’s any real doubt about that. He’s a perfectly competent teacher, isn’t he? You know; you have a class with him.”
“Ye-es,” said Louis, slowly. “The trouble has been, the fellows horse him a good deal—though not quite so much as they did.”
“They’ll get over that when they know him better,” remarked Barclay.
He knew that Louis Collingwood went away feeling much impressed, and he was pretty sure he had done Irving a good turn.
It was in the noon half-hour, while Collingwood was holding this interview with Mr. Barclay, that Westby, reading the Harvard news in his Boston paper, went giggling into Morrill’s room.
“There’s a fellow named Upton playing on the Freshmen.” He showed Morrill the name. “Let’s get a crowd and go in to Kiddy; I’ll get him rattled.”
“How?” asked Morrill.