"You put asafetida down the furnace?" "Yes, sir." "That was a very brilliant idea, wasn't it?" "No, sir," said Stover, drawing a long breath and wondering if he could possibly stay after such a confession. "Why did you do it?" Stover hesitated, and suddenly, yielding to an unaccountable impulse toward the truth that occasionally surprised him, blurted out: "I did it to make trouble, sir." "You didn't like the school?" "I hated it! There were a lot of girls around." "Well, John," said the Doctor with heroic seriousness, "it may be that you didn't have enough to do. You have evidently an active brain--perhaps imagination would be a fitter word. As I said, you'll find this a pretty big place, just the sort of opening an ambitious boy should delight in. You'll find here all sorts of boys--boys that count, boys you respect and want to respect you, and then there are other boys who will put asafetida in the furnace if you choose to teach them chemistry." "Oh, no, sir," said Stover, all in a gasp. "Your parents think you are hard to manage," said the Doctor, with the wisp of a smile. "I don't. Go out; make some organization; represent us; make us proud of you; count for something! And remember one thing: if you want to set fire to Memorial Hall or to dynamite this study do it because _you_ want to, and not because some other fellow puts it into your head. Stand on your own legs." The Doctor rose and extended his hand cordially. "Of course, I shall have my eye on you." Stover, dumbfounded, rose as though on springs. The Doctor, noticing his amazement, said: "Well, what is it?" "Please, sir--is that all?" "That's all," said the Doctor seriously. Stover drew a long breath, shook hands precipitately and escaped. IV The spell was still on him as he stumbled over the resounding steps. But, twenty feet from the door, the spirit of irreverence overtook him. Then, at the thought of the waiting Butsey, he began to pipe forth voluminously the martial strains of Sherman's March to the Sea, kicking enormous pebbles victoriously before him. Butsey White, sitting on the doorstep of Laloo's, gazed at him from the depths of a steaming frankfurter sandwich. "Well, you look cheerful," he said in surprise. "Why not?" "How was he?" "Gentle as a kitten." "Come off! Were you scared?" "Scared! Lord, no! I enjoyed myself." "You're a cheerful liar, you are. What did he say to you?" "Hoped I'd enjoy the place and all that sort of thing. And--oh, yes, he spoke about you." "He did, did he?" said Butsey, precipitately leaving the frankfurter sandwich. "He hoped I'd have a good influence on you," said Stover, whose imagination had been too long confined. Butsey rose wrathfully, but the answer he intended could not be made, for, reckoning on his host, he was already in his third frankfurter, and there was the Jigger Shop yet to be visited. "Dink, if you ever have to tell the truth," he said, "it'll kill you. Come in and meet Mr. Laloo."