Among John North’s mail the next morning was a letter which he read twice and then handed to David. It was signed Phillip Scott Ryerson, and had occasioned the writer much thought, many sheets of paper and some two hours to compose. It was as follows: “DEAR MR. NORTH: “I hardly know how to approach the subject upon which I wish to address you. Please believe that the whole thing was a most unfortunate mistake. I allude to the call you were so kind as to pay me on Wednesday afternoon last. I did not know who you were. You will say that that was no one’s fault but my own, and you are right. And even as it was, not knowing who you were and believing you to be a proctor, I had no right to act in such an impolite” (the word was erased) “ungentlemanly manner. The only excuse I have to offer is that I was much out of temper when you called owing to a dispute, part of which you witnessed, with an expressman who wanted to overcharge me for bringing my baggage from the city and placing it in my rooms. “I had looked forward with great pleasure to meeting you, especially since my mother and Mr. Corliss had hoped so much of my being acquainted with you during my freshman year, and cannot tell you how sorry I am that I should have received you so rudely, even though, as I _do_ hope you will believe, I did not know who you were when you called. I hope you will accept my apology and, if you can, forgive my rudeness. I have no right to ask you to call again, but if you can forget what happened on Wednesday last I wish you would allow me to see you. I only know two fellows here and have thought of you as a friend all along, hearing Mr. Corliss speak of you, and my mother having been so pleased at the idea of my meeting you, and hope you will overlook my discourtesy of last Wednesday. “Hoping to have a reply from you, and with earnest apologies, “Respectfully, “PHILLIP SCOTT RYERSON.” David handed back the letter with a grunt and looked up at John. “Well?” he asked. “Well?” echoed John. “Oh, if you ask me, I think you’d better forgive and forget.” “That of course,” replied the other. “The fact is, Davy, I made up my mind yesterday to look him up again. After all, it wasn’t altogether the boy’s fault. And the weather Wednesday was beastly. But what do you think of the epistle?” “Why, it sounds sincere, Johnnie, in spite of a certain――er――involution.” “Yes; I believe the boy’s the right sort after all, Davy. Who knows but what we’ll be able to do something with him yet?” “_We!_” “I meant to say I.” “I wish,” growled David severely, “that you would break yourself, Johnnie, of the growing habit of seeking to involve me in your kindergarten duties and difficulties. I have troubles of my own.”