“Well, I'm blowed!” said Larry. “That's where the stuff came from! But it was mighty effective, and certainly you put it to us, Mr. Allen. You made us all feel like fighting. Even Scuddy, there, ran amuck for a while.”
“What?” said Mr. Allen, “you don't really mean to say that Scudamore, our genial Y. M. C. A. Secretary, was in that scrap? That cheers me greatly.”
“Was he!” said Ramsay Dunn, whose flushed face and preternaturally grave demeanour sufficiently explained his failure to appear at Dr. Brown's dinner. “While Mr. Smart's life was saved by the timely upper-cut of our distinguished pacifist, Mr. Gwynne, without a doubt Mr. Scudamore—hold him there, Scallons, while I adequately depict his achievement—” Immediately Scallons and Ted Tuttle, Scudamore's right and left supports on the scrimmage line, seized him and held him fast. “As I was saying,” continued Dunn, “great as were the services rendered to the cause by our distinguished pacifist, Mr. Gwynne, the supreme glory must linger round the head of our centre scrim and Y. M. C. A. Secretary, Mr. Scudamore, to whose effective intervention both Mr. Smart and Mr. Gwynne owe the soundness of their physical condition which we see them enjoying at the present moment.”
In the midst of his flowing periods Dunn paused abruptly and turned away. He had caught sight of Jane's face, grieved and shocked, in the group about him. Later he approached her with every appearance of profound humiliation. “Miss Brown,” he said, “I must apologise for not appearing at dinner this evening.”
“Oh, Mr. Dunn,” said Jane, “why will you do it? Why break the hearts of all your friends?”
“Why? Because I am a fool,” he said bitterly. “If I had more friends like you, Miss Brown,” he paused abruptly, then burst forth, “Jane, you always make me feel like a beast.” But Larry's approach cut short any further conversation.
“Jane, I want to talk to you,” said Larry impetuously. “Let us get away somewhere.”
In the library they found a quiet spot, where they sat down.
“I want to tell you,” said Larry, “that I feel that I treated you shabbily to-day. I have only a poor excuse to offer, but I should like to explain.”
“Don't, Larry,” said Jane, her words coming with hurried impetuosity. “I was very silly. I had quite forgotten it. You know we have always told each other things, and I expected that you would come in this morning just to talk over your medal, and I did want a chance to say how glad I was for you, and how glad and how proud I knew your mother would be; and to tell the truth really,” she added with a shy little laugh, “I wanted to have you congratulate me on my prize too. But, Larry, I understand how you forgot.”