“I supposed of course it was your brother, sir. Or at least I should have supposed so, except that I didn’t know you had a brother at Harvard. Wasn’t it rather—what shall I say?—peu aimable not to have taken us, your friends, into your confidence? Would you mind telling us, sir, what your brother’s first name is?”
“My brother’s first name? Lawrence.”
“Hm!” said Westby, referring to his newspaper. “I find him set down here as ‘T. Upton.’ But I suppose that is a misprint, of course.”
“I suppose it must be,” agreed Irving.
“Newspapers are always making mistakes, aren’t they?” said Westby. “Such careless fellows! We’d like awfully to hear more about your brother Lawrence, Mr. Upton.”
The broad grin broke into a snicker.
“Why, I don’t know just what there is to tell,” Irving said awkwardly.
“What does he look like, sir? Does he resemble you very much?—I mean, apart from the family fondness for athletics.”
Irving’s lips twitched; Westby was enjoying so thoroughly his revenge! And the other boys were all stifling their amusement.
“We are said not to look very much alike,” he answered. “He is of a somewhat heavier build.”