Stover swung up, gingerly pushing ahead of him the battered bag. "Lawrenceville?" said the driver, looking at it suspiciously. "Right the first time." "What house?" "Oh, the Green will be good enough for me." "Well, tuck in above." "Thanks, I'll cuddle here," said Stover, slipping into the seat next to him, "just to look over the way you handle the ribbons and see if I approve." Jimmy, connoisseur of new arrivals, glanced behind at the only other passenger, a man of consular mould, and then looked at Stover in sardonic amusement. "Don't look at me like that, old Sport," said Stover impressively; "I've driven real coaches, sixteen horses, rip-snorters, and all that sort of thing." Jimmy, having guided the placid animals through the labyrinths of Trenton, gave them the rein on the long highway that leads to Lawrenceville and turned to examine Stover with new relish. "Say, Bub," he said at length, "you're goin' to have a great time at this little backwoods school--you're going to enjoy yourself." "Think I'm fresh, eh?" "Fresh?" said Jimmy thoughtfully. "Why, fresh ain't at all the word." "Well, I can take care of myself." "What did they fire you for?" said Jimmy, touching up the horses. "Who said they fired me?" said Stover, surprised. "Well, what was it?" said Jimmy, disdaining an explanation. "They fired me," said Stover, hesitating a moment--"they fired me for trying to kill a man." "You don't say so!" "I drew a knife on him," said Stover rapidly. "I'd 'a' done for him, too, the coward, if they hadn't hauled me off." At this there was a chuckle from the passenger behind who said with great solemnity: "Dear me, dear me, a dreadful state of affairs--quite thrilling." "I saw red, everything--everything red," said Stover, breathing hard. "What had he done to you?" said Jimmy, winking at Mr. Hopkins, alias Lucius Cassius, alias The Roman, master of the Latin line and distinguished flunker of boys. "He insulted my--my mother." "Your mother?" "She--she's dead," said Stover in a stage voice he remembered. At this Jimmy and Mr. Hopkins stopped, genuinely perplexed, and looked hard at Stover. "You don't mean it! Dear me," said The Roman, hesitating before a possible blunder. "It was long ago," said Stover, thrilling with the delight of authorship. "She died in a ship-wreck to save me." The Roman was nonplussed. There was always the possibility that the story might be true. "Ah, she gave her life to save yours, eh?" he said encouragingly. "Held my head above water, breeches buoy and all that sort of thing," said Stover, remembering something in Dickens. "I was the only one saved, me and the ship's cat." "Well, well," said The Roman, with a return of confidence; "and your father--is he alive?" "Yes," said Stover, considering the distant woods; "but--but we don't speak of him." "Ah, pardon me," said The Roman, gazing on him with wonder. "Painful memories--of course, of course. And what happened to your brother?"