"I was brought up with them," said Stover, trying to fortify his position. "You don't mean it," said McCarty, looking hard at Baxter. "Cheyenne, he's just the man to train up that little pet rattler of yours." "Just the thing," said Cheyenne instantly; "we'll let him take out the fangs." Stover smiled a superior smile; he was not to be caught on such tales. "What are you smiling at, Freshman?" said McCarty immediately. "Nothing, sir." Butsey White, at the second-story window, scanning the road, perceived Mr. Jenkins approaching, and announced the fact, adding: "Send him up; he belongs to me." "Make a nice bow, Freshman," said McCarty. "Take your hat off, keep your heels together. Oh, that wasn't a very nice bow. Try again." At this moment Jimmy, returning on the stage, reined in with a sudden interest. Stover hastily executed a series of grotesque inclinations and, grasping the clumsy valise, disappeared behind the door, hearing; as he struggled up the stairs, the roar from without that greeted his departure. "The freshest of the fresh." "Green all over." "Will we tame him?" "Oh, no!" "And Butsey's got him." "Humper--DINK!" "Wow!" As Stover reached the head of the stairs a door was thrown open and Butsey White appeared in undress uniform. The next moment Stover found himself in a large double room gorgeously decorated with flags, pennants, sporting prints and souvenirs, while through the open window came a grateful feeling of quiet and repose. Butsey White, a roly-poly, comical fellow of sixteen or seventeen, with a shaving-brush in one hand, held out the other with an expression of lathery solicitude. "Well, Stover, how are you? How did you leave mother and the chickens? My name's White. Mr. White, please. I'm most particular." "How do you do, Mr. White?" said Stover, recovering some of his composure. "There's your kennel," said Butsey White, indicating the bed. "The washtrough's over here. Bath's down the corridor. Do you snore?" "What?" said Stover, taken back. "Oh, never mind. If you do I'll cure you," said White encouragingly. "What did they fire you for?" Stover, smarting at his humiliation below, seized the opportunity for revenge. "They fired me for drinking the alcohol out of the lamps," he said with his most convincing smile. Butsey White, who had returned to the painful task of shaving, suddenly straightened up and extended the deadly razor in angry rebuke. "There's a little too much persiflage around here," he said sternly. "We don't like it. We prefer to see young, unripe freshmen come in on their tiptoes and answer when they're spoken to. Young Stover, you've got in wrong. You're just about the freshest cargo we've ever had. You've got a lot to learn, and I'm going to start right in educating you. Savez?" "It was only a joke," said Stover, looking down.