to college is sure, and we’ll be only a couple of hours apart.”

“Oh, Irv!” In Lawrence’s exclamation there was more expressiveness, more
joy, than in all his brother’s carefully restrained statement. “Oh, Irv!
Isn’t it splendid! I think you’re the finest thing—!” Lawrence grasped
Irving’s hand and at the same time began thumping him on the back. Then
he opened the door and shouted down the stairs.

“Uncle Bob! Aunt Ann! Irv has some great news to-night.”

Mrs. Upton put her head out into the hall; she was setting the table and
held a plate of bread.

“What is it, Irv? Have you—have you had a letter?”

There was an anxious, almost a regretful note in her voice.

“Yes,” said Irving. “I’ll tell you about it when I come down.”

At the supper table he expounded all the details. Like Mr. Beasley, his
uncle and his aunt had never heard of St. Timothy’s School. Irving was
able to enlighten them. At college he had become familiar with its
reputation; it was one of the big preparatory schools in which the
position of teacher had seemed to him desirable almost beyond the hope
of attainment.

He recited the terms which had been offered and which he had accepted:
nine hundred dollars salary the first year, with lodging, board, washing
all provided—so that really it was the equivalent of fourteen or fifteen
hundred dollars a year. And then there would be the three months’