At table Groche’s appearance was at its worst. He ate greedily and enormously, fairly shoveling the food into his mouth. Sam observed that the man kept his eyes on his plate, spoke to none of his neighbors, and showed no interest in the talk which began to be heard when the supper drew to a close. He was the first to rise, and shuffled out as if glad to go; but when the boys trooped into the main room, there was Groche, perched in his corner and sucking at a black pipe. And there he remained until dislodged by no less heroic a champion than the Shark. Now the Shark, as has been related, had the quaint habit, into which near-sighted persons, given to reflection, sometimes fall, of fixing his gaze upon some object and holding it there without any especial concern in the object, or consciousness of its existence. As it happened, the Shark had chanced to wonder what might be the weight of a layer of snow two feet deep, spread evenly over one square mile; and being more charmed with the computation than with the conversation of his friends and hosts, he sat down opposite Peter, brought him into range of his big spectacles--and promptly forgot his very existence. Groche, on his part, woke up gradually, as it were, to the baleful and unwinking intensity of the scrutiny to which he seemed to be subjected. He glared at the Shark, growled deep in his throat, tried to stare down the unconscious youth over the way. Failing utterly in this, he dropped his eyes, pulled desperately at the black pipe, shifted position, stole a side-long glance at his vis-à-vis. The Shark was still contemplating him with unruffled composure and deadly concentration. Groche bent forward, scowling his fiercest. The Shark ignored the demonstration. Groche made an abrupt and threatening motion. The Shark didn’t move an eyelash. A strange fear clutched the heart of the ne’er-do-well. He had heard frightful tales of the evil eye. What the evil eye might be he had no notion, but also he had no intention to risk learning. Up he jumped, retreating the length of the room; while the Shark, wholly absorbed, stared at the wall instead of Mr. Groche, without being aware of the change in view. Sam, the observant, had not missed Groche’s strategic movement, though he did not grasp its cause. Nor did he fail to perceive that Peter from his new post was sourly surveying the group by the stove, with especial regard for Lon and himself. But then came Orkney to distract Sam’s attention. Tom, his work finished, took the place the Trojan made for him on the bench. His air was not markedly sullen, but it was reserved; and it could not be denied that the talk, which had been going merrily enough, began to drag. Sam, hurrying to the rescue, started a topic, which drooped and languished. Tom was attentive but unresponsive; so were the club members. Both sides were trying to be fair, and the result was chilling.