"I know you're glad, Dink, old man," said Gimbel, shaking his hand with a confidential look. "We all know how you stood."
"It's for the best," said Stover slowly; then he added: "But Gimbel, the fight's over; the big thing now is for the class to get together—be careful how you fellows take it."
Strangely enough, in the hour of defeat the instinct of caste came back to him—he was again the sophomore society man. He walked over to his rooms with a curious feeling of resentment at the rejoicing on the campus, where the news was being shouted from window to window. Bob Story, leaving the fence, came over and took him by the arm.
"Dink, old fellow, I've been waiting to see you."
"I've just heard the news," said Stover, when they reached his room.
"That's not what I came about," said Story, "though it fits in all the better. Dink, you won't mind our clearing up a little past history?"
"I wish you would, Bob," said Stover earnestly. "I know you never saw things my way."
"No, I didn't. I don't say you were wrong. It was a question of different temperaments. You did a braver thing than I would have done—"
"Oh, I say—"
"Yes, I mean it. Of course I think it was all a rotten mistake, and that if you'd talked the matter out as you've done with me, Le Baron and Reynolds would have seen your side."