For a moment there was silence. Kilts, leaning back in his chair, observed Dan steadily out of his sharp eyes. Dan stood the ordeal without a tremor. Then:
“And why have you told me this, Vinton?” asked Kilts suddenly.
“Because Moore is back here now, sir, and he intends to do the best he can in everything, especially algebra. And I wanted you to know, sir, that if he doesn’t get on very well it isn’t because he isn’t trying. I’m going to help him all I can, sir,” said Dan earnestly. “I was going over the lesson with him when you—”
Gerald’s pencil rolled to the floor and Dan brought himself up with a jerk. But the only sign from Kilts was a momentary twinkle of the deep-set eyes.
“And so he thinks the instructor is down on him, eh?” asked Mr. McIntyre.
“He did think so, but I—but his friend made him understand that he was wrong.”
“Really, and how did his friend do that? What did he say now, Vinton?”
“He said,” replied Dan gravely, “that the instructor was hard on fellows when he thought they weren’t trying to get on; that he was a good deal like anyone else, sir; had a temper—”
“Hum!” grunted Kilts.