He arrived resolutely at the Dickinson, and started up the deserted stairs for his room. There was only one thing he feared; he did not want Mrs. Rogers, wife of the housemaster, to "mother" him. Anything but that! He was glad that after luncheon he would have to take his meals at the Lodge. That would avert embarrassing situations, for whatever his friends might think, he, the Great Big Man, was a runt in stature only. To express fully the excessive gaiety he enjoyed, he tramped to his room, bawling out: "'Tis a jolly life we lead, Care and sorrow we defy." All at once a gruff voice spoke: "My, what a lot of noise for a Great Big Man!" The Big Man stopped thunderstruck. The voice came from Butcher Stevens' room. Cautiously he tiptoed down the hall and paused, with his funny little nose and eyes peering around the door-jamb. Sure enough, there was Butcher, and there were the Butcher's trunks and bags. What could it mean? "I say," he began, according to etiquette, "is that you, Butcher?" "Very much so, Big Man." "What are you doing here?" "The faculty, Big Man, desire my presence," said the Butcher, sarcastically. "They would like my expert advice on a few problems that are _per_-plexing them." "Ah," said the Great Big Man, slowly. Then he understood. The Butcher had been caught two nights before returning by Sawtelle's window at a very late hour. He did not know exactly the facts because he had been told not to be too inquisitive, and he was accustomed to obeying instructions. Supposing the faculty should expel him! To the Big Man such a sentence meant the end of all things, something too horrible to contemplate. So he said, "Oh, Butcher, is it serious?" "Rather, youngster; rather, I should say." "What _will_ the baseball team do?" said the Big Man, overwhelmed. "That's what's worrying me," replied the crack first-baseman, gloomily. He rose and went to the window, where he stood beating a tattoo. "You don't suppose Crazy Opdyke could cover the bag, do you?" said the Big Man. "Lord, no!" "How about Stubby?" "Too short." "They might do something with the Waladoo." "Not for first; he can't stop anything below his knees." "Then I don't see how we're going to beat Andover, Butcher." "It does look bad." "Do you think the faculty will--will----" "Fire me? Pretty certain, youngster." "Oh, Butcher!" "Trouble is, they've got the goods on me--dead to rights." "But does the Doctor know how it'll break up the nine?" Butcher laughed loudly. "He doesn't _ap_-preciate that, youngster." "No," said the Big Man, reflectively. "They never do, do they?"