The noise was in Allison’s room; the unfortunate Allison was again being
persecuted. Loud whoops of laughter and the sound of vigorous scuffling,
of tumbling chairs and pounding feet, came to Irving’s ears. The door to
Allison’s room was wide open; Irving stood and looked upon a pile of
bodies heaped on the bed, with struggling arms and legs; even in that
moment the foot of the iron bedstead collapsed, and the pile rolled off
upon the floor. There were Morrill and Carroll and Westby and Dennison
and at the bottom Allison—all looking very much rumpled, very red.

“Oh, come, fellows!” said Irving in what he intended to make an
appealing voice. “Less noise, less noise—or I shall really have to
report you—I shall really!”

But he did not speak with any confidence; his manner was hesitating,
almost deprecating. The boys grinned at him and then sauntered, rather
indifferently, out of the room.

There was no more disorder that day. But some hours later, when Irving
came up to the dormitory before supper, he heard laughter in the west
wing, where Collingwood and Westby and Scarborough had their rooms. Then
he heard Westby’s voice, raised in an effeminate, pleading tone: “Less
noise, fellows, less noise—or I shall have to report you—I shall
really!”

There was more laughter at the mimicry, and Irving heard Collingwood
ask,

“Where did you get that, Wes?”