seat.

He deposited the pad on the wide armrest and looked up inquiringly as
though he had not fully comprehended the question. Mr. Beaver, the
algebra teacher, was smiling his friendly and slightly irritating smile.

"I asked you, Burton," he repeated gently, "whether you had prepared.
Did you?"

"Yes, sir," answered Burton.

"Thank you," said Mr. Beaver. He opened a certain terrifying little
black book and made a dot in the lower left-hand corner of a certain
square opposite the name of Burton. "Perhaps," he added, "you had
better go over it again," and smiled the same smile, which would have
been sardonic but for the mildness of his tone.

Burton sank glumly back in his seat.

Mr. Beaver regarded his little book studiously for a moment. Then he
looked up. The smile was gone. The alert face, adequately adorned by a
reddish beard fading into gray, was now solicitous.

"Harrington," he said.

A Fourth Former in the middle row stood up. He was slight and rather
pallid, and it was evident that he should begin shaving without further
delay, for there was already a shadow of fuzz on his cheeks and chin
that made him look unwashed and rather weak. His mother, who was vain,
had insisted that he postpone shaving. She could not bear to think that
she was the mother of a son who was almost a man, she always said. It
made her feel so old.

Harrington, sallow and unshorn, was not an inspiring sight. Mr. Beaver
evidently thought so. His eyes were unquestionably serious.

"Harrington," he said, "it seems that you are another of our weak
brethren this morning. Did you prepare your lesson?"

Again, the second's hesitation. Harrington turned a shade paler, if
possible. Then, with an effort, he spoke.

"No, sir."

"I was afraid not," said Mr. Beaver making another cryptic dot. Then he
smiled. Harrington writhed and the rest of the class, except Burton,
laughed. "Why not?"

"I--I was ill."

Mr. Beaver was at once sympathetic, though serious. "Did you report to
Dr. Stevens?"

"No, sir."

"Why not?"

"I knew he had already gone."

"You were ill after ten o'clock?"

"Yes, sir."

Again Mr. Beaver smiled. "But surely you might have done your algebra
before ten o'clock?"

"I was--busy, sir."

"With other lessons?"

Harrington hesitated.

"With other lessons?" Mr. Beaver repeated.

"No, sir."

"Well?"

"I had a spread."

There was a roar from the other boys.

"Quiet!" said Mr. Beaver. "Now, Harringt