"As though any one couldn't eat a necktie," he said in righteous disgust.
Unacclaimed he went through the crowd toward the Upper—he who had risked life and limb to amuse them for a week!
From a tower window in the Upper the Triumphant Egghead, lolling on the cushioned window-seat, called down lazily:
"Oh, you—Ironsides!"
That was the answer. Let popularity run after a dozen unworthy lights. Other boys would come who would eat neckties, no one ever would go the way he had gone. He had nothing to do with transitory emotions. He must be superior to the voice of the hour. He, Ironsides, belonged to history. That, nothing could take from him!
