When the Trojan came down the steps, Sam was waiting for him. They walked away together, both keeping silence until they had left the yard. Then, as they turned into a quiet side street, Sam spoke.
“Trojan, there’s just one thing I want you to understand. If I’d dreamed I was getting you into this fix, they couldn’t have pried a word out of me.”
“I know that, Sam,” said the other, evenly.
“But I did get you into it. Somehow, the way things happened, I couldn’t have done more harm if I’d schemed a week! That part of it’s up to me, all right!”
The Trojan kept his eyes straight before him. “Oh, I’m not blaming you,” he said. “What’d be the use? What’s the use now of—of anything?”
“Here, drop that talk!” Sam counseled. “Keep a stiff upper lip! See you don’t get rattled!”
The Trojan stopped short. He turned to his comrade.
“Rattled!” he cried. “Sam, you know what they’ve done to me? It is practically throwing me out of the class! My term marks in Latin are smashed. Pretty chance I’d have to keep up the work outside, even if they’d let me take the final examination! And a clean flunk in Latin would put me down and out. I’d better quit altogether. I’ve been thinking it over. I don’t see anything else to do.”
“It’s the one thing you can’t do—you shan’t do!” Sam protested.
The Trojan’s manner changed; he spoke dully but with a sort of determination.