After the morning Scripture reading, to which, it is to be feared, few gave heed, Mr. Westcott called Harrison and Wilmot into his office, where he kept them for a quarter of an hour. The other football men, if they could have had their hearts’ desire, would have sat outside the office, matching expletives, until their comrades should come forth and give them the history of the interview. This being for obvious reasons impossible, the excited lads kept their curiosity under control and went about their morning tasks with what interest they could muster,—wrestling, nauseated, with the dullness of Burke on Conciliation, abusing good English by turning it into worse than peasant German, and finding Cicero’s maledictions on Catiline but weak and watery dilutions compared with the things they could say of President John Smith. Dunn alone of those especially concerned studied that morning with absolute diligence; he did this in self-defence, to keep his thoughts from a subject—more disagreeable than lessons—to which they would wander if his grip upon them slackened but a moment. At the lunch hour the ban was raised. A crowd packed itself about Harrison and Wilmot as soon as the two got within the lunch-room door, demanding news, and news condensed. “What did he say? What are you going to do?” was the burden of the questions, but they fell like a hailstorm in various forms and at various angles, from scores of lips at once. Harrison was staggered, but not Wilmot, whose nimble wit served an ever nimble tongue. “He says we’ve disgraced the school,” said Wilmot, with a tragic gesture. “We’ve got to go to Mr. Smith and apologize and—” He stopped, not because he had run out of ideas, or was put to shame by the serious faces about him, but of simple necessity. A hand was pressed upon his lips and a strong arm embraced him from behind. “Shut up, or I’ll break your ribs,” said Talbot, quietly. “We don’t want to hear from you at all. Harry’s the man. Go ahead, Harry. I’ll keep this fellow quiet.” Harrison, thus encouraged, started on his report. “He wanted to know all about it, and we told him. He said it was an insult to the school which we must treat with dignified contempt. We’ve got to keep cool about it and not get crazy and shoot off a lot of wild talk. That would hurt us more than anything those fellows can say. He’s going to have Yards write to the two papers, and he’ll write to the head-master at Trowbridge.” “They’ve called a meeting for Wednesday,” said Pete. “Do you think Trowbridge will side with ’em?” asked Hardie. “I hope not,” answered the captain, doubtfully. “If they think they can beat us,” offered Cable, “Trowbridge will side with us, because if we beat Newbury and Trowbridge beat us, the worst that could come for Trowbridge would be a tie, even if they got beaten by Newbury.” “How’s that?” demanded Reeves. “It’s right. Think it out for yourself, and you’ll see,” said Talbot, impatiently.