“I’d be afraid he’d put poison in my coffee. A fellow that’ll stand by and see a person drown before his eyes without making a move at helping him might do anything. For my part— What? Who is?” There was an instant’s pause. Then, “Well,” continued the speaker in slightly lowered tones, “there’s an old proverb about listeners—” The rest trailed off into silence.
King was still talking volubly and seemingly at random. In spite of his almost overmastering anger, Jack recognized King’s good-hearted attempt to spare him pain, and was grateful. His hands trembled so that he could scarcely tie his broken string, and the tears were very near the surface; he had to gulp hard once or twice to keep them back. The temptation to kick off the unlaced shoe, dash recklessly around the corner, and knock Gilberth down, to fight him until he could no longer stand, was strong. He kept his head bent and his blazing eyes on the floor and fought down the impulse. He had promised Anthony to keep silence; to lose command of himself now would be to waste all those weeks of self-repression which, he believed, and was right in believing, had made a favorable impression upon his fellows. He tried to think of other things, of his luck in being taken on to the varsity, of how pleased Anthony would be at hearing about it. Presently he finished lacing his shoes, stood up and calmly donned his coat. Then, in spite of himself, he hesitated.
The thought of passing through the locker-room under the staring, antagonistic eyes of a score or so of men, of running the gantlet of whispers and low laughter, for the moment appalled him. Then, as he slowly buttoned the last button, he heard a voice at his side.
“Ready, Weatherby? If you don’t mind, I’ll walk back with you.”
He looked around into the pleasant face of King and, after a moment of surprise, muttered assent. The central aisle was filled with fellows in various stages of attire and the two had to worm their way through. Jack went first, doing his level best to look unconcerned and at ease, and King followed close behind him, talking over his shoulder all the way. At the door King stepped ahead and threw open the portal, guiding Jack through with a friendly push on the back. When they had disappeared, one or two witnesses of the affair exchanged surprised or amused glances. But only Gilberth commented aloud.
“Very touching!” he laughed. “King to the rescue of Insulted Innocence!”
“Oh, forget it!” growled some one from the depths of a twilit alley.
Outside, on the porch, Jack turned to King with reddened cheeks. “Thank you,” he said.
“All right,” answered the other carelessly. “Fair play, you know.”