Before the study bell rang, Harry Gilmore came to my room. “Have you a moment to spare, Marston?”
“Yes, a moment for you,” I answered.
“And you will not call it so much lost time?” drawing his chair to the table, and placing his feet on the fender. “To tell the truth, I am ashamed of the life I am leading this winter; the deception we practise is outrageous.”
“You do not deceive any one, Harry. Mr. Harlan may not know all of your nightly wanderings; but he knows who studies and who does not, and so do all the teachers.”
“Then why don’t they scold us as we deserve, send us home, or expel us?”
“Perhaps you would not do any better at home. They do all they can, both by precept and example; and they hope that time and your own good sense will at length compel you to do better.”
“And I am determined that I will. I have been led by Richard long enough. I am resolved to study for the rest of the term; and if I do, will you be my friend?” and he looked at me earnestly.
“You forget how poor I am. I pay my board by waiting on the household.”
“So much the more honor for you. My father was once a poor man. He’s rich now; worth half a million, I suppose. But that only makes me think meaner of myself. Only think of the money I spend every week, flinging it away, and you have none. You say you have a sister; so have I; and such good letters she writes me, telling me to use my time profitably, and not to be led away by ease-loving, indolent companions. I am going to try now, and you must help me.”
His look and tone touched me, and my words leaped out, “As far as I can I will help you to do right, Harry.”