For two or three days the intercourse between Irving and Westby was of the most formal sort. At table they held no communication with each other; in the class-room Irving gave Westby every chance to recite and conscientiously helped him through the recitation as much as he did any one else; in the dormitory they exchanged a cold good-night. Irving did not press Westby for a retraction of the charge which he had overheard the boy make; it seemed to him unworthy to dignify it by taking such notice of it. He knew that none of the boys really believed it and that Westby himself did not believe it, but had been goaded into the declaration in the desperate effort to maintain a false position. Irving wondered if the boy would not have the fairness to make some acknowledgment of the injustice into which his pride had provoked him. And one day at luncheon, Westby turned to Irving and with an embarrassed smile said, “Mr. Upton, do you get any news from your brother about the Harvard Freshman eleven?” Carroll directed at Westby the quizzical look under which Irving had so often suffered. But Westby did not flinch; he waited for Irving’s answer, with his embarrassed, appealing smile. “I had a letter from him this morning,” said Irving. “He writes that there is a chance of their coming up here to play the School eleven; I had asked him if that couldn’t be arranged.” “Oh, really!” exclaimed Westby, in a tone of honest interest. “When, Mr. Upton?” “Does he think they’ll come?” “Does Lou Collingwood know about it?” “I guess he knows as much as I do.” Irving tried to answer the flood of questions. “He wrote officially to the captain at the same time that I wrote to Lawrence. If they come at all, it will be about a week before the St. John’s game.” “When shall we know for sure?” asked Westby. “It appears to be a question whether the Freshmen will choose to play us or Lakeview School. They want to play whichever team seems the stronger, and they’re going to discuss the prospects and decide in a few days.” “I’m sure we’re better than Lakeview,” declared Blake. “You’ll tell your brother we are, won’t you, Mr. Upton?” “I’ll tell him that I understand we have a very superior team,” said Irving. “I fancy he knows that it’s as much as I can do to tell the difference between a quarterback and a goal post.” “You will admit, then, that there was some reason for my not believing you had a football brother, won’t you, Mr. Upton?” Westby tried thus to beat a not wholly inglorious retreat. “Every reason—until it became a matter of doubting my word,” said Irving. Westby crimsoned, and Irving felt that again he had been too severe with him; the boy had been trying to convey an apology, without actually making one; it might have been well to let him off.