ever heard," Sproule had asked scornfully, "of a fellow making the upper
middle class straight out of a country grammar school, without any
coaching?" But when the lists were posted, Joel's name was down, and
Sproule had taken deep offense thereat. "The school's going to the
dogs," he had complained. "Examinations aren't nearly as hard as they
were when _I_ entered."

The third day, when he had kicked that football down the field, and,
later, had made the acquaintance of Outfield West, seemed now to have
been the turning point from gloom to sunshine. Since then Joel had
changed from the unknown, derided youth in the straw hat to some one of
importance; a some one to whom the captain of the school eleven spoke
whenever they met, a chum of the most envied boy in the Academy, and a
candidate for the football team for whom every fellow predicted success.

But, best of all, in those few days he had gained the liking of
well-nigh all of the teachers by the hearty way in which he pursued
knowledge; for he went at Caesar as though he were trying for a
touch-down, and tackled the Foundations of Rhetoric as though that study
was an opponent on the gridiron. Even Professor Durkee, known
familiarly among the disrespectful as "Turkey," lowered his tones and
spoke with something approaching to mildness when addressing Joel March.
Altogether, the world looked very bright to Joel to-day, and when, as
presently, he drew near to the little stone depot, the sounds of singing
and cheering that greeted his ears chimed in well with his mood.

Truly "all Hillton" had turned out! The station platform and the trim
graveled road surrounding it were dark with Hilltonian humanity and gay
with crimson bunting. Afar down the road a shrill long whistle announced
the approach of the train, and a comparative hush fell on the crowd.