ridiculous figure. To be running home drenched!—probably it would have
been better if he had done what Scarborough had suggested, less
undignified, more manly really. But he couldn’t turn back now.

He was cold and his teeth had begun to chatter, so he started to run. He
hoped that when he came out of the woods he might be fortunate enough to
elude observation on the way to the Upper School, but in this he was
disappointed. As he jogged by the Study building, with his clothes
jouncing and slapping heavily upon his shoulders, out came the rector
and met him face to face.

“Upset canoeing?” asked the rector with a smile.

“Yes,” Irving answered; he stood for a moment awkwardly.

“Well, it will happen sometimes,” said the rector. “Don’t catch cold.”
And he passed on.

There was some consolation for Irving in this matter-of-fact view. In
the rector’s eyes apparently his dignity had not suffered by the
incident. But when a moment later he passed a group of Fourth Formers
and they turned and stared at him, grinning, he felt that his dignity
had suffered very much. He felt that within a short time his misfortune
would be the talk of the school.

At supper it was as he expected it would be. Westby set about airing the
story for the benefit of the table, appealing now and then to Irving
himself for confirmation of the passages which were least gratifying to
Irving’s vanity. “You _did_ look so woe-begone when you stood up on
shore, Mr. Upton,” was the genial statement which Irving especially