and, grasping the clumsy valise, disappeared behind the door, hearing;
as he struggled up the stairs, the roar from without that greeted his
departure.

"The freshest of the fresh."

"Green all over."

"Will we tame him?"

"Oh, no!"

"And Butsey's got him."

"Humper--DINK!"

"Wow!"

As Stover reached the head of the stairs a door was thrown open and
Butsey White appeared in undress uniform. The next moment Stover found
himself in a large double room gorgeously decorated with flags,
pennants, sporting prints and souvenirs, while through the open window
came a grateful feeling of quiet and repose.

Butsey White, a roly-poly, comical fellow of sixteen or seventeen,
with a shaving-brush in one hand, held out the other with an
expression of lathery solicitude.

"Well, Stover, how are you? How did you leave mother and the chickens?
My name's White. Mr. White, please. I'm most particular."

"How do you do, Mr. White?" said Stover, recovering some of his
composure.

"There's your kennel," said Butsey White, indicating the bed. "The
washtrough's over here. Bath's down the corridor. Do you snore?"

"What?" said Stover, taken back.

"Oh, never mind. If you do I'll cure you," said White encouragingly.
"What did they fire you for?"

Stover, smarting at his humiliation below, seized the opportunity for
revenge.

"They fired me for drinking the alcohol out of the lamps," he said
with his most convincing smile.

Butsey White, who had returned to the painful task of shaving,
suddenly straightened up and extended the deadly razor in angry
rebuke.

"There's a little too much persiflage around here," he said sternly.
"We don't like it. We prefer to see young, unripe freshmen come in on
their tiptoes and answer when they're spoken to. Young Stover, you've
got in wrong. You're just about the freshest cargo we've ever had.
You've got a lot to learn, and I'm going to start right in educating
you. Savez?"

"It was only a joke," said Stover, looking down.

"A joke! I'll attend to any joking around here," said Butsey, with a
reckless wave of his razor. "There may be a few patent, nickel-plated
jokes roaming around here, soon, you hadn't thought of. Now, what did
they fire you for?"

"They fired me for kissing a teacher."

"A teacher?"

"The drawing teacher," said Stover hastily, perceiving the danger of
the new assertion.

The old boy looked at him hard, gave a sort of grunt and, turning his
back, took up aga