Irving proceeded to visit the other rooms of the dormitory and to make the acquaintance of the occupants—boys engaged mostly in arranging bureau drawers or hanging pictures. They were all friendly enough; it seemed to him that he could get on with boys individually; it was when they faced him in numbers that they alarmed him and caused his manner to be hesitating and embarrassed. One big fellow named Allison was trying to hang a picture when Irving entered; it was a large and heavy picture, and Irving held it straight while Allison stood on a chair and set the hook on the moulding. Allison thanked Irving with the gratitude of one unaccustomed to receiving such consideration; indeed, his uncouthness and unkemptness made him one of those unfortunate boys who suffered now and then from persecution. Irving learned afterwards that the crowd he had met in Westby’s room hung together and were the leaders not merely in the affairs of the dormitory, but of the school. At half past nine the big bell on the Study building rang twice—the signal for the boys to go to their respective rooms. Irving had been informed of the little ceremony which was the custom; he stepped out in front of his door at the end of the corridor, and one after another the boys came up, shook hands with him, and bade him good-night. Westby came to him with the engaging and yet somewhat disquieting smile which recalled to Irving Mr. Wythe’s words, “He smiles and smiles, but is a villain still.” It was a smile which seemed to suggest the discernment and enjoyment of all one’s weak spots. “_Good_-night, Mr. Upton,” said Westby, and his voice was excessively urbane. It made Irving look forward to a better acquaintance with both expectancy and apprehension. The first morning of actual school work went well enough; Irving met his classes, which were altogether in mathematics, assigned them lessons, and managed to keep them and himself busy. From one of them he brought away some algebra exercises, which he spent part of the afternoon in correcting. When he had finished this work, the invitation to witness the water duel occurred to his mind. He found no other master to bear him company, so he set off by himself through the woods which bordered the pond behind the Gymnasium. He came at last to the “isthmus”—a narrow dyke of stones which cut off a long inlet and bridged the way over to a wooded peninsula that jutted out into the pond. On the farther side of this peninsula, secluded behind trees and bushes, was the swimming hole. As Irving approached, he heard voices; he drew nearer and saw the bare backs of boys undressing and heard then the defiances which they were hurling at one another—phrased in the language of Ivanhoe. “Nay, by my halidome, but I shall this day do my devoir right worthily upon the body of yon false knight,” quoth Westby, as he carefully turned his shirt right side out.