made, that's what you are--just made; even Lord Mortimer back of you
couldn't give you the place among the crowd here that Hal Bennington's
grip did to-day."

Shag did not reply; he was looking across the room at Sir George
Bennington's son. He knew the name of the wealthy man whom Queen
Victoria had honored, knew it well. His father, Trapper Larocque,
had met Sir George in the old pioneer days of the railroad in the
North-West. There was a little story about Sir George, well-known in the
Red River Valley; Trapper Larocque knew it, the Hudson's Bay Company
knew it, Shag knew it, and was asking himself if Hal knew it. Then the
boy from Manitoba took the story and locked it within his heart, sealed
his lips above it, and said to his soul, "Hal Bennington won't know it
from me, nor will anyone else. He's made my first day at this school an
easy day; the fight won't be half what I thought it would. I owe much
to him, and above all I owe him my silence."

"Coming up, fellows?" asked Hal genially, as Cop Billings stretched his
big frame after grind in the evening at recreation hour before going to
bed. The word "fellows" embraced him with a look that included Shag.

"Thanks, I guess we will," said Cop, and the three boys proceeded
upstairs to the private room occupied by Hal and one other, a
stocky fellow known as "Shorty" Magee, who was just settling to his
letter-writing as the boys entered. He nodded curtly, said "Hello!"
rather grumpily, and did not offer to shake hands when Hal introduced
Shag Larocque. Shorty always hated to be disturbed at anything, even if
it were the irksome weekly letter home. He shoved aside his note-paper,
however, and sat with his hands in his trousers pockets, his feet
stretched out in front of him, and a tolerant expression on his face.