Building and had paused on the steps.

"Well, only--that you've been very kind to me, West, and I hate to see
you wasting your time and know that you will wish you hadn't later, when
you've left school, you know. That's all. It isn't that I want to
meddle--" There was a moment of silence. Then:

"The idea of your caring!" answered West. "You're a good chap, March,
and--I tell you what I'll do. I _will_ go in more for lessons, after
next week. You see there's the golf tournament next Saturday week, and
I've got to put in a lot of hard practice between now and then. But
after that I'll try and buckle down. You're right about it, March, I
ought to do more studying, and I will _try_; although I don't believe
I'll make much of a success as a 'grind.' And as to the--the--the rest
that you said, why, I haven't been extraordinarily kind; I just sort of
took to you that day on the campus because you looked to be such a
plucky, go-ahead, long-legged chap, you know. I thought I'd rescue you
from the ranks of the lowly and teach you golf and make a man of you
generally. Instead of that"--West gave one of his expressive
whistles--"instead of that, why, here you are turning me into a regular
'Masters Hall grind.' Thus do our brightest dreams fade. Well, I'm oil.
Don't forget the upper middle class meeting to-night. They're going to
vote on the Class Crew question, and we want all the votes we can get to
down the fellows that don't want to pay the assessment. Good-night."

And Outfield West took himself off toward his room, his broad shoulders
well back, and his clear, merry voice singing the school song as he
strode along. Joel turned into the library, feeling well satisfied with
the result of his meddling, to pore over a reference book until
supper time.