Football -- Juvenile fiction; Phillips Exeter Academy -- Juvenile fiction; Schools -- Juvenile fiction
Lindsay moved toward the door. He really had no reason for a call, and
many reasons for being at home at his desk.
“What’s your hurry? You can’t study after the dead strain of that kind
of a show. Let’s have a couple of hands of poker. We’ll make the ante
small.”
Marchmont opened a drawer for the cards, while Lindsay picked up his
hat.
“I really must go,” said the visitor, shamefacedly. “I’ve got work I
really ought to do.”
“Well, sorry you can’t stay,” replied Marchmont, smiling politely.
“We’ll try it some other day.”
Lindsay trudged home in ill humor, cursing himself for not having the
courage to say frankly that he did not play cards for money, and
conscious that Marchmont understood him full well. All together it had
been an afternoon of very mixed impressions.
CHAPTER VI
INDUSTRIES OF THE TWINS
On the Sunday after the gymnasium exhibition came a snowstorm. It began
long before dawn and piled the snow higher and higher all through the
hours of daylight, slackening only as the early twilight fell. Marchmont
was not the only student who found in the weather an excuse for staying
away from church; but he was possibly alone in preparing his luncheon at
home, and so establishing his excuse on a consistent basis. At his
boarding-house the Sunday dinner came fortunately at night.
Wolcott tucked his trousers into his high arctics and ploughed joyously
through the heavy drifts, his cheeks tingling, his heart beating strong,
his whole muscular system delighting in resistance to the elements.
There were few people at church. Tompkins presently came in and dropped
into a place at the end of the pew bestowing on Wolcott a nod and a
droll, friendly smile. In that droll smile of Tompkins, Lindsay could
measure the progress of his five weeks in school. Very different had
been its effect a month before, as it had flashed abruptly over the
Westerner’s puggy countenance in that same pew. Now Wolcott could
receive it as from a friend, and return it with some sense of equality.
Then his cheeks had burned deep red with humiliation at the trick which
had been played on him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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