They all listened intently, and he thought they must be surprised to see how thoughtful he was, and how earnest, and what a splendid speaker he was. When he finished, he knew that he had done well.
He felt almost joyful when he returned to his room. He dreamed that night that certain men came up to him as he was walking alone, and tried to become intimate with him, as he had seen it done at college with fellows who had suddenly become prominent.
The next morning he was joined on the way to the campus by the principal of the academy. Stacy thought he was going to compliment him upon his admirable talk. But he was mistaken. He even hinted about it indirectly, though ashamed of himself for so doing; but this had no effect. At last, in desperation, he was going to say, "Professor Thorne, may I ask you whether my talk last evening met your approval," but while he was trying to invent some excuse for such a question they reached the academy building.
As he took his seat on the platform waiting for morning prayers to begin (the academy had prayers as well as evening chapel), he looked around at the preps. and studied their faces carefully.
Professor Thorne that morning spoke on one aspect of character-moulding, namely, "Independence." He did not directly mention the address of the evening before, but Stacy thought he might just as well have, as he sat there beside the principal before the eyes of the whole academy without changing his gaze from the floor or moving a muscle, except once, when the principal made some reference to the sturdy New England character; then the little tutor made a slight involuntary gesture, but no one noticed it.
That morning in the class-room the little tutor did not seem himself, and his pupils watched him curiously. And if the conduct and appearance of the little tutor was unusual that morning, what was it in the afternoon!
At one o'clock, when nearly every one went down to get the mail, the little tutor was casually noticed by some of them in the post-office. "Anything for Horatio B. Stacy?" he asked at the window in a high voice. Then they noticed him excitedly tear open the one letter he had received and, as he ran over the contents, he said excitedly, in a voice loud enough to be heard, "Just in time—just," but at that point he seemed to notice that he was being observed. His dazed expression was a curious mixture of surprise and, perhaps, pleasure.
Then he came in late to his recitation at three o'clock and seemed to be barely able to keep his attention on the work, and now and then he would look up and smile and stare at them in an indescribably queer way. And in the midst of the next recitation he suddenly arose and, motioning the young man that was reciting to take his seat, he said, in a husky voice, "Here, stop! the class will please excuse me," and bowing politely, even grandly, he hurried out of the room, not seeming to care that his pupils had not got their money's worth. The little tutor was not himself.
At half-past seven o'clock that evening he came promptly to the faculty meeting and quietly took his customary seat by the door. None of the faculty were aware of anything unusual until after they had transacted the ordinary business and had decided one or two cases that came up, and the president had arisen, as usual, and said, in his clear tones, "Gentlemen of the faculty, is there further business of any nature to come before this meeting?" and the white-headed old professor as usual had turned his head sedately around to see if there was anything, and then settled down in his chair again with his disappointed look, as was his custom. At this point the little tutor arose.
No one saw him at first, and the president was beginning to say "Then the meeting stands adjourned," but before he reached the last word the little tutor cleared his throat with a loud, forced sound, which made them all, young and old, turn their eyes upon him. He was smiling, they thought.