“I’m sure you don’t, my boy. To be frank, there’s something in Brewton’s indictment, I fancy, but not enough to trouble about. I’d prefer to call it self-dependence, which, up to a point, is an admirable attribute of youth.”
“Well, he’s always getting off something like that,” said Stuart. “I don’t mind him.”
“I wouldn’t. I’d just make certain that his charge is incorrect, Harven.”
“Yes, sir.” Then: “Gosh, I was almost forgetting what I came to see you about! You know Neil Orr, Mr. Moffit. He’s eligible for a society this year, and I’d like mightily to get him into Lyceum. I’m pretty sure he can make Manning if he wants to, but I’d rather have him with us, and I guess he’d rather, too.”
“Orr is a splendid fellow in my judgment,” answered Mr. Moffit, “and I’d be glad to have him in Lyceum, but you know, Harven, I’m only the faculty director and have no vote.”
“Yes, sir, I know that, but I thought you might speak a good word for him when the time comes. I’m going to put him up right off.”
“Gladly, if my opinion is asked, but I can’t promise more than that, my boy. You wouldn’t want me to, I’m sure.”
“No, sir, of course not.” Stuart agreed, but not very fervently. After a moment he added, “I think some of the fellows won’t want him on account of his being like he is, and I don’t think that’s fair.”
“I doubt that,” answered the instructor. “I can’t imagine any of our fellows objecting to Orr on account of physical—ah—disabilities, Harven. I’d dislike to think it was so.”
“Maybe I’m wrong,” said Stuart. “Only, something was said last spring that made me think that way. Well, I must be off to supper. Jack is probably as mad as a hornet by this time. Good-by, sir.”