So, desirous to have it over as soon as possible, he went to Crawford’s rooms the next day after the trouble in section D. He found the boy stretched out in a big easy-chair, a cigarette in his mouth and a novel in his hand.
“Faugh!” the lawyer exclaimed in a tone of disgust, as Crawford sprang up; “do throw away that vile-smelling thing. A good cigar is bad enough, but how anybody can abide the smell of cigarettes, is more than I can understand.”
Crawford tossed the objectionable roll into the grate, as he said, with a laugh, “Pity you don’t smoke, sir. You don’t know how much you miss.”
“Pity you do, I should say,” replied Mr. Chase, sternly. “You’ll ruin your health and spoil your brains if you don’t stop it. In short, my boy, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s high time for you to turn over a new leaf. I am not at all pleased with the reports I have from your teachers.”
“Oh, you know, then,” exclaimed Crawford, in a tone of relief.
“Know what? That you’ve been idling away your time and playing silly tricks here, as you have at the other schools you’ve attended? George, there must be an end of this. You are not a little boy any longer. Here you are seventeen—nearly eighteen years old—almost a man. It is time that you showed some ambition, and set to work to make something of yourself.”
Crawford laughed lazily and indifferently, as he asked:—
“Did you get a note from Keene, to-day?”
“No,” said Mr. Chase, briefly.
“Well, you will to-morrow then, and I’ll tell you beforehand, the contents of it. Prof. Keene will write to inform you that I am suspended for two weeks. At the end of that time I may have the privilege of returning, provided I will make a sufficiently humble apology, and promise to be a good little boy for the future. Much I’ll apologize!” he added, with a scornful laugh. He was wholly unprepared for the way in which his news was received.