on, as I understand the
situation," he continued mildly, "you failed to prepare your lesson
because you were ill in consequence of a spread which it was against the
rules to indulge in. Is that it?"

"Y--yes, sir."

"Professor is very much opposed to--illicit spreads, as you
know"--("Professor" was the Headmaster)--"I am afraid this will mean
about thirty demerits, therefore. You have other demerits?"

"Yes, sir."

"How many?"

"Twenty."

Mr. Beaver closed his little book and stood a moment by his desk looking
quietly over at Harrington. His face was serious, but even his victim
could not help feeling that there was a certain affectionate sympathy
behind the quiet sternness.

"Look out, Harrington," he said at last with a return of that curious
smile of his. "Broad is the way that leadeth to destruction and the
milestones are always spreads--of one sort or another. You may sit
down."

The boy sat down and the work of the class proceeded. Two boys, for
widely divergent reasons, heard the other boys go through their paces as
though it were all a bad dream of wriggling _x_'s and _y_'s like snakes
darting in and out of the placid waters of Mr. Beaver's endless
questioning.

The bell clanged at last, indicating the end of the period. Three or
four boys went forward to confer with Mr. Beaver about certain vexing
algebraic problems. Needless to say, neither Burton nor Harrington was
among these. They drifted out into the cloister with the rest of the
class, having certain problems of their own, not algebraic. One or two
boys addressed Burton and were rebuffed with a curt word, which was
unusual, as Burton was almost painstakingly friendly to everybody.

"Say!" whispered one to the other, "Burton's got a grouch on. He's sour
at Beaver, I guess."

"Beaver is awfully fresh sometimes. After all, Bill Burton's captain of
the football team."

"He's a good deal more important to the school than Beaver'll ever be."

"That's no joke either."

The two boys parted. Neither ventured to intrude again upon Burton's
sacred resentment. For Burton was a very great man at The Towers.

No one spoke to Harrington. No one cared whether he had a grouch or not.
For Harrington was a new boy who had as yet failed to "fit in." He was
emphatically not an athlete. But he was not a "sissy" either. He was
quite as emphatically not a student nor a literary light; but he was as
quick as a jack rabbit in his physics "lab" work and not to