later, from the seclusion of the schoolroom, which to-day was well-nigh
empty, had heard the procession take its way down the road, headed by
the school band, which woke the echoes with the brave strains of the
Washington Post March.

To-day the Aeneid lost much of its interest, and when the recitation was
over Joel clapped his new brown felt hat on his head--for West had
conducted him to the village outfitter the preceding day--and hurried up
to his room to leave his book and pad. "Dickey" Sproule was stretched
out upon the lounge--a piece of personal property of which he was very
proud--reading Kenilworth.

"Hello!" cried Joel, "why aren't you over at the lab? Isn't this your
day for exploding things?" Sproule looked up and yawned.

"Oh, I cut it. What's the good of knowing a lot of silly chemistry stuff
when you're going to be an author?"

"I should say it might be very useful to you; but I've never been an
author, and perhaps I'm mistaken. Want to go to the station?"

"What, to meet that stuck-up Remsen? I guess not. Catch me walking a
mile and a half to see him!"

"Well, I'm going," answered Joel. An inarticulate growl was the only
response, and Joel took the stairs at leaps and bounds, and nearly upset
Mrs. Cowles in the lower hall.

"Dear me, Mr. March!" she exclaimed, as together they gathered up a load
of towels, "is it only you, then? I thought surely it was a dozen boys