“Just so. Now, do you not see that each of these boys to whom a nickname sticks has just the characteristic or foible the name indicates?”
“Yes, sir, that is true.”
“I am glad you recognize it. You have not as yet developed or shown any particular trait which would give the boys an opportunity of attaching any particular name to you. I should advise you to watch carefully, for, believe me, if they do give you a name, it will not be a pleasant one, and probably it will be one that will sting. At all events it will be one that will show to you your foibles pretty clearly. Watch yourself, therefore, and prevent it if you can.”
With this warning the prefect left the boy and went to ring the great bell as first warning for supper. Garrett remained in a “brown study” for some time. Had he taken the prefect's advice he might have saved himself many hours of subsequent regret and remorse.
CHAPTER V
A Pitching Cage
JACK BEECHAM and Tom Shealey were standing at a window in their classroom one dark afternoon in the late fall. They had their heads together, for both were reading from the same letter, which the former had just received. They were evidently much interested in its contents, for neither noticed the entrance of Rob Jones, nor were they conscious of his presence until he, boylike, gave them both simultaneously a thump on the back.
“You must be mightily interested, you two, not to hear me come in,” said Jones.