Irving never communicated the suspicion to his brother. Irving felt,
too, that his uncle cared less for him than for Lawrence. Well, that
was natural; Irving was humble there.

When the dean of the college had said that it would be inadvisable for
Lawrence to make a start unless he had at least three hundred dollars at
command, it had seemed to Irving a little narrow on his uncle’s part not
to have come forward at once with that sum. Instead he had merely given
Lawrence the opportunity to work harder in the hay-field and so increase
his small bank account. And it had soon become apparent to Irving that
unless he and Lawrence could between them raise the money, they need not
look to their uncle for help beyond that which he was already giving.
Therefore Irving went into Mr. Beasley’s store, and hoped daily for the
letter which at last had come.

Day after day the two brothers worked together. Irving, quick,
impatient, sometimes losing his temper; Lawrence, slow, calm, turning
the edge of the teacher’s sarcasm sometimes with a laugh, sometimes with
a quiet appeal. Irving always felt ashamed after these outbreaks and
uneasily conscious that Lawrence conducted himself with greater
dignity. And Lawrence forgot Irving’s irritations in gratitude to him
for his help. “It must be a trial to teach such a numskull,” Lawrence
thought; and at the end of one particularly hard day he undertook to
console his brother by saying, “Never mind, Irv; it won’t be long now
before you have pupils who aren’t country bumpkins and don’t need to
have things pounded into their heads with an axe.”

It had been a rather savage remark that had called this out; Irving
threw down his book and perching on the arm of his brother’s chair, put
his arm around his neck and begged his forgiveness.