“I’ve seen your private way to Marchmont’s room,” remarked Lindsay, as they walked down the street. “It’s not mine!” returned Salter, with an emphasis quite unnatural to him. “If it were, I’d nail it up so tight it never could be opened again.” “But you let March use it,” pursued Wolcott. “I let him use it because I can’t help myself, not because I like it. It’s bound to get me into trouble sooner or later, but that’s nothing to him.” “He probably doesn’t think you really object,” suggested Wolcott. “I’ve told him twenty times at least that I do object,” responded Salter, almost tearful. “I don’t see what more I can say. Of course I can’t report him, and I’m not strong enough to fight him. If I were as big as you, I’d know what to do fast enough! As it is, some one is likely to see him going through my window ’most any time, and then I shall get it.” “I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Wolcott. “You aren’t supposed to see him.” “I don’t see him, you can depend on that, and I try not to hear him; but I know who’s going through the window just the same, and I can’t say I don’t without lying.” Wolcott climbed the stairs to his room, feeling very sorry for Salter and very much grieved with Marchmont. It seemed hardly possible that March could be so inconsiderate. If the grieving friend could have heard a conversation which took place in Marchmont’s room that same evening, other and stronger feelings might have mingled with his grief. Wolcott had been gone scarcely ten minutes when a timid knock evoked from Marchmont a surly “Come in!” and Haynes White’s gaunt figure edged its way into the room. Marchmont nodded coolly. “Good evening.” “Good evening,” returned White. “I’ve come to ask about that money.” “I haven’t got it yet,” replied Marchmont, testily. “I told you I’d pay you when I got the money; you won’t lose it.” “But I need it now,” continued White, insistently. “I really need it.” Marchmont laughed. “So do I, and I’ve never seen the time when I didn’t. I can’t keep a dollar two days. If I could, I never should have borrowed that twenty. Don’t worry, you’ll be paid. I’m not trying to cheat you.” “I don’t suppose you are,” returned White, “but I want the money now. It’s mine and I propose to have it.” “Oh, you’re going to report me, are you?” exclaimed Marchmont, in a different tone. “That’s about what I might have expected. Here I tutored with you for several weeks at your own price, though you didn’t teach me a blamed thing; and now you come and threaten to report me because I don’t pay spot cash. Why, there are people in New York who could buy up this whole town, who only pay their bills once a year and then merely as a favor. If you report me, you’ll never get a cent out of me; I’d leave school first.” “I’ve got to have something or I’ll starve,” said White, solemnly. “Pay me that twenty you borrowed, anyway. That was my own money that I had earned and saved. I must have that.”