The Jester of St. Timothys | Page 7

said,--
"Hello, new kid! What name?"
A blush of embarrassment mounted in Irving's cheeks; feeling it, he conceived it all the more advisable to assert his dignity. So he said without a smile, in a constrained voice,--
"I am not a new kid. I am a master."
The three boys who had been beaming on him with good humor in their eyes stared blankly. Then the one in the middle, with a sudden whoop of laughter, swung the two others round and led them off at a run; and as they went, their delighted laughter floated back to Irving's ears.
His cheeks were tingling, almost as if they had been slapped. He followed the boys at a distance; they moved towards the Upper School. His heart sank; what if they were in his dormitory?
He entered the building just as the last of the three was going up the Sixth Form dormitory stairs.
CHAPTER II
HE ACHIEVES A NAME FOR HIMSELF
At the foot of the staircase Irving hesitated until the sound of the voices and footsteps had ceased. The three boys had not seen him when he had entered; he was wondering whether he had better be courageous, go right up after them, and introduce himself,--just as if they had not caught him off his guard and put him into a ridiculous position,--or delay a little while in the hope that their memory of it would be less keen.
He decided that he had better be courageous. When he reached the top floor, he went into his room; he was feeling nervous over the prospect of confronting his charges, and he wished to be sure that his hair and his necktie looked right. While he was examining himself in the mirror, he heard a door open on the corridor and a boy call, "Lou! Did you know that Mr. Williams won't be back this term?"
Farther down the corridor a voice answered, "No! What's the matter?"
"Typhoid. Mr. Randolph told me."
"Who's taken his place?" It was another voice that asked this question.
"A new man--named Upton. I haven't laid eyes on him yet."
"Wouldn't it be a joke--!" The speaker paused to laugh. "Suppose it should turn out to be the new kid!"
"'I am not a new kid; I am a master.'"
The mimicry was so accurate that Irving winced and then flushed to the temples. In the laughter that it produced he closed his door quietly and sat down to think. He couldn't be courageous now; he felt that he could not step out and face those fellows who were laughing at him. Of course they were the ones who ought to be embarrassed by his appearance, not he; but Irving felt they would lend one another support and brazen it through, and that he would be the one to exhibit weakness. He decided that he must wait and try to make himself known to each one of them separately--that only by such a beginning would he be likely to engage their respect.
It was the first time that he had been brought face to face with his pitiable diffidence. He was ashamed; he thought of how differently Lawrence would have met the situation--how much more directly he would have dealt with it. Irving resolved that hereafter he would not be afraid of any multitude of boys. But he refrained from making his presence known in the dormitory that afternoon.
At half past five o'clock he went downstairs to the rooms of Mr. Randolph, who had charge of the Upper School. Mr. Marcy, the Fifth Form dormitory master, and Mr. Wythe, the Fourth Form dormitory master, were also there. They were veterans, comparatively, and it was to meet them and benefit by what they could tell him that Irving had been invited. All three congratulated him on his good fortune in obtaining the Sixth Form dormitory.
"The older they are, the less trouble they are," said Wythe. "My first year I was over at the Lower School, looking after the little kids. Half the time they're sick and whimpering and have to be coddled, and the rest of the time they have to be spanked."
"It hardly matters what age they are," lamented Marcy, pessimistically. "There's bound to be a dormitory disorder once in so often."
"What do you do in that case?" asked Irving.
"Jump hard on some one," answered Wythe. "Try to get the leader of it, but if you can't get him, get somebody. Report him,--give him three sheets."
"That means writing Latin lines for three hours on half-holidays?"
"Yes, and six marks off in Decorum for the week. Of course they'll come wheedling round you, wanting to be excused; you have to use your own discretion about that."
"Do you have any Sixth Form classes?" asked Marcy.
"Yes," Irving answered. "In Geometry."
"That means you'll have to take the upper hand and hold it, right from the start. If you