“You get up from there and I’ll teach you a lesson in manners,” cried Clif. He plunged up the intervening steps and stood threateningly above his enemy. The latter looked up almost eagerly. “Mean it?” he asked. “Get up!” thundered Clif. But the momentary gleam of animation faded in the face below and the boy shook his head. “Can’t be done,” he said regretfully. “I’ve got a date with one of the instructors at two-thirty, and it’s twenty-eight after. How about to-morrow?” “To-morrow!” jeered Clif. “You’re scared!” “You bet I am, but not of you,” answered the other dispiritedly. “I’m scared of Mr. Wyatt. Met him yet?” Clif shook his head, suspiciously. “No, but what’s he got to do with――with you getting your nose punched?” “Plenty,” was the gloomy reply. “He’s the English shark here, and he’s going to give me the third degree and tell me whether I stick around or beat it home again. I’m a total loss at English. This Wyatt guy’s the old man’s nephew or something and he’s a tartar, they say. Well, figure it out for yourself. I’m going to be up against it, anyway, but if I bust in on him all smeared up with your gore it’s going to make it a heap worse, isn’t it?” Clif scowled in puzzlement. His wrath was melting fast, and the fact made him feel rather ridiculous. He unclenched his hands, thrust them into his pockets and summoned a note of contempt. “I hope he kicks you out,” he declared. But the words lacked conviction. The fact was that the strange chap, in spite of his behavior and in spite of the detestation in which Clif held him, sort of worked on your sympathies! Now he nodded agreement. “Yes, I guess maybe that would be best,” he said. He arose slowly, with a deep sigh, and stared morosely over the wide stretch of lawn that, beyond a single formal bed of scarlet geraniums and coleuses, led from the school building to the village road. Clif watched him frowningly. A straight bodied, finely built chap, and, to an unprejudiced observer, extremely good-looking, with hair that held a glint of bronze where the sun reached it, deeply tanned skin, dark gray eyes, a short nose and a rather assertive chin. If, thought Clif, the fellow wasn’t such a rotter―― Then the rotter turned and looked moodily at him. “You might wish me luck, you know.” Clif laughed ironically. “Because,” the other went on as he moved toward the wide doorway, “if he turns me down I’ll be out of this dump in an hour. If he doesn’t I’ll see you in the morning. By the way, where do I find you?” “I’m in 17 West Hall, and my name’s Bingham.” “My name’s Kemble. Glad to know you. Well, see you again.”