plates piled before him. Then as he passed the first plate along the
line he looked up and said, “I think we’d better find out who everybody
is. So each fellow, as he gets his plate, will please sing out his
name.”

That was not such a bad beginning; there was a general grin which
broadened into a laugh when the first boy blushingly owned to the name
of Walnut. Then came Lacy and Norris, and then Westby.

“Oh,” said Irving. “I think you’re to be in my dormitory, aren’t you?”

“I believe so.” Westby looked at him quizzically, as if expecting him to
make some reference to their encounter; but Irving passed on to his next
neighbor, Carroll, and then began with the other side of the table.

He liked the appearance of the boys; they were quiet-looking and
respectful, and they had been responsive enough to his suggestion about
announcing their names. A happy inspiration told him that so long as he
could keep on taking the initiative with boys, he would have no serious
trouble. But it was one thing to recognize an effective mode of conduct,
and another to have the resourcefulness for carrying it out. Irving was
just thinking what next he should say, when Westby fell upon him.

“Mr. Upton,”—Westby’s voice was curiously distinct, in spite of its
quietness,—“wasn’t it funny, our taking you for a new kid this
afternoon?”

Because the question was so obviously asked in a lull to embarrass him,
Irving was embarrassed. The interest of all the boys at the table had
been skillfully excited, and Westby leaned forward in front of Carroll,