It was a disagreeable morning, dully lowering and overcast, with now and then a flurry of snowflakes bearing promise of a heavier fall to come, but a crowd of boys and girls lingered in the school yard.
There seemed to be a curious constraint upon everybody. There was no shouting, no practical joking, no horse-play; but there was much low-toned talk in the groups, in which the classes appeared to have gathered unconsciously. Now and then, when late comers hove in sight, there was a stir of expectancy, and necks were craned as eager glances were directed toward the gate. Sam Parker, arriving with Poke Green, was greeted by a murmur of applause; and, flushed with embarrassment, made his way to a party of his chums, who chanced to be standing near the steps leading to the big door.
“Come on—let’s go in!” he said. “What’s everybody waiting for?”
Step Jones laughed harshly. “Ho, ho! This is a reception committee, Sam—reception committee and committee of the whole. It’s for T. Orkney’s benefit.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Sam protested.
“Humph! I may be, but if I am, I’m not lonesome.”
“That makes the thing all the worse.”
“Can’t be much worse than it is.”
Sam shook his head. “Oh, be fair!” he urged. “Remember, Orkney held on to Little Perrine like a good fellow.”
“Yes—after he’d driven him into the water!” growled Step.