THE HARVARD FRESHMAN


For two or three days the intercourse between Irving and Westby was of
the most formal sort. At table they held no communication with each
other; in the class-room Irving gave Westby every chance to recite and
conscientiously helped him through the recitation as much as he did any
one else; in the dormitory they exchanged a cold good-night. Irving did
not press Westby for a retraction of the charge which he had overheard
the boy make; it seemed to him unworthy to dignify it by taking such
notice of it. He knew that none of the boys really believed it and that
Westby himself did not believe it, but had been goaded into the
declaration in the desperate effort to maintain a false position. Irving
wondered if the boy would not have the fairness to make some
acknowledgment of the injustice into which his pride had provoked him.

And one day at luncheon, Westby turned to Irving and with an embarrassed
smile said,

“Mr. Upton, do you get any news from your brother about the Harvard
Freshman eleven?”

Carroll directed at Westby the quizzical look under which Irving had so
often suffered. But Westby did not flinch; he waited for Irving’s
answer, with his embarrassed, appealing smile.

“I had a letter from him this morning,” said Irving. “He writes that
there is a chance of their coming up here to play the School eleven; I
had asked him if that couldn’t be arranged.”