Irving became aware that Westby was treating him with cheerful
indifference—ignoring him. He did not care; the letter had put into him
new courage. And pretty soon there woke in him along with this courage a
gentler spirit; it was all very well for Westby, a boy and therefore
under discipline, to exhibit a stiff and haughty pride; but it was
hardly admirable that a master should maintain that attitude. The
punishment to which he had sentenced Westby and Collingwood was, it
appeared, too harsh; if they were so proud that they would not appeal to
him to modify it, he would make a sacrifice in the interest of justice.

So after luncheon he followed Westby and spoke to him outside of the
dining-room.

“Westby,” he said, “do you think that considering the circumstances
three sheets is excessive?”

Westby looked surprised; then he shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m not asking any favors,” he replied.

Irving laughed. “No,” he said, “I see you’re not. But I’m afraid I must
deny you the pleasure of martyrdom. I’ll ask you to take a note to Mr.
Elwood—he’s in charge of the Study, isn’t he? I’ll tell him that you’re
to write a sheet and a half instead of three sheets.”

He drew a note-book from his pocket and tore out one of the pages.
Westby looked at him curiously—as if in an effort to determine just how
poor-spirited this sudden surrender was. Irving spoke again before
writing.