As a matter of fact Tony did not get over to Standerland all that day. He had waited for Lawrence after that first curious hour in the schoolroom and the subsequent recitation in Cæsar with Mr. Gray, generally known as “Pussie,” a clever, sarcastic young master, who mercifully however paid him no attention. Instead then of running over to the dormitory to wash up, Jimmie led him down a flight of back stairs in the Schoolhouse, and through a series of subterranean passages, to a remote little room, in which stood a stationary washstand in official disuse, which had probably been designed for the use of the servants. This Jimmie announced with pride to be his private luxury. “It saves a deal of time and trouble to wash here,” he explained. Tony could not see that it really did, but he felt at once a boy’s pleasure in doing the irregular thing. In this makeshift of a washroom they found another boy, already washing his hands. He was a bright-eyed, fair-headed, stockily-built youth, whose face sparkled with good nature. “Hello, Jim,” he cried, as they came up, “who is your new friend?” “Deering was his father’s name,” Jimmie answered facetiously, “Anthony was bestowed upon him by his sponsors in baptism.” “So! Well, fellow Christian, where do you hail from?” “I?—I come from Louisiana.” “Louisiana! that’s a heck of a way to come. Well, Deering Anthony, lace my boots while I dry my hands.” “Go to the deuce, Kit!” Lawrence broke in. “Deering’s in the Third. Take your sloppy boots to the First Form locker-rooms, and don’t brag here. Swat him, Tony, if he gets fresh.” Kit burst into a ripple of delicious, infectious laughter. “Oh, that’s the ticket! Well, Tony, my darling, will you condescend to dip your lily fingers in this humble basin? The attar of roses unfortunately is ‘all,’ as the excellent Ebenezer Roylston has been known to put it. Permit me to offer you a towel.” With the words he deftly extracted Jimmie’s handkerchief, and thrust it at Deering. There was a laugh and scuffle between the two boys, quickly over as a distant bell sounded; they grabbed their coats, and fled unwashed toward the great dining-hall, which occupied the same relation to the Old School on the east as the Chapel did on the west. “Can you play football?” asked Kit, as they ran along the terrace. “I don’t know—” began Tony. “Well, come out this afternoon, and find out. Report to me in football togs at three, and I’ll give you a chance on the Third Form squad.” “Thanks awfully.” “Cut that out! Scoot now after Jimmie, or you’ll be late. Good-boy Bill hates a laggard, and you’re at his table.”