couldn’t tell a new kid from a new master!”

Irving was mildly bewildered. He could not quite determine whether
Westby was telling the story more as a joke on himself or on him.
Anyway, in spite of the temporary embarrassment which they had caused
him, there seemed to be nothing offensive in the remarks. He liked
Westby’s face; it was alert and good-humored, and the cajoling quality
in the boy’s voice and the twinkle in his eyes were quite attractive. In
fact, his manner during supper was so agreeable that Irving quite forgot
it was this youth whom he had overheard mimicking him: “I am not a new
kid; I am a master.”

After supper there were prayers in the Common Room; then all the boys
except the Sixth Formers went to the Study building to sit for an hour
under the eyes of a master, to read or write letters. On subsequent
evenings they would have to employ this period in studying, but as yet
no lessons had been assigned; the classroom work had not begun. The
Sixth Form were exempt from the necessity of attending Study, and had
the privilege of preparing their lessons in their own rooms. Irving
found, on going up to his dormitory, that the boys were visiting one
another, helping one another unpack, darting up and down the corridor
and carrying on loud conversations. He decided, as there were no lessons
for them to prepare, not to interfere; their sociability seemed harmless
enough.

So, leaving the door of his room open that he might hear and suppress
any incipient disorder, he began a letter to Lawrence. He thought at
first that he would confide to his brother the little troubles which
were annoying him. But when he set about it, they seemed really too
petty to transcribe; surely he was man enough to bear such worries