He withdrew his head, and presently the ratchet wheel clicked and slowly, very slowly, Allison began to descend. When his feet were a couple of inches from the floor, the descent stopped.

"All right now?" called Westby from above.

"No!" bawled Allison.

"Ve-ry gently then, ve-ry gently," replied Westby; and Allison, reaching for the floor with his toes, had at last the satisfaction of feeling it.

He wriggled out of the noose and smoothed out his rumpled coat.

"Saved!" exclaimed Westby, peering down from the opening, and then he added sorrowfully, "Saved, and no word of grat.i.tude to his rescuer!"

"Now, boys, don't stand round here any longer; we've had enough nonsense; go to your rooms," said Irving.

"Mr. Upton, Mr. Upton, Mr. Upton, sir!" clamored Westby, and the boys lingered.

Irving looked up in exasperation. "What is it now?"

"May I come down, please, sir?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, sir."

Carefully Westby descended the ladder, mumbling all the time sentences of which the lingerers caught fragmentary sc.r.a.ps: "Horrible experience that of Allison's-dreadful situation to have been in-so fortunate that I was at hand-the man who dares-reckless courage, ready resource-home again!" He dropped to the floor, and raising his hand to his forehead, saluted Irving.

"Come, move on, all you fellows," said Irving; the others were still hanging about and laughing; "move on, move on! Carroll, you and Westby take that ladder down and put it back where you got it."

He stayed to see that the order was carried out; then he returned to his room. He felt that though he had conquered in this instance, he had adopted the wrong tone, and that he must offer something else than peevishness and irritation to ward off Westby's humor; already it gave indications of becoming too audacious. Yet on the whole Irving was pleased because he had at least a.s.serted himself-and had rather enjoyed doing it. And an hour later it seemed to him that he had lost all that he had gained.

Roast beef was the unvarying dish at Sunday dinner; a large and fragrant sirloin was set before the head of each table to be carved. Irving took up the carving knife and fork with some misgivings. Hitherto he had had nothing more difficult to deal with than steaks or chops or croquettes or stews; and carving was an art that he had never learned; confronted by the necessity, he was amazed to find that he had so little idea of how to proceed. The first three slices came off readily enough, though they were somewhat ragged, and Irving was aware that Westby was surveying his operations with a critical interest. The knife seemed to grow more dull, the meat more wobbly, more tough, the bone got more and more in the way; the maid who was pa.s.sing the vegetables was waiting, all the boys except the three who had been helped first were waiting, coldly critical, anxiously apprehensive; silence at this table had begun to reign.

Irving felt himself blushing and muttered, "This knife's awfully dull,"

as he sawed away. At last he hacked off an unsightly slab and pa.s.sed it to Westby, whose turn it was and who wrinkled his nose at it in disfavor.

"Please have this knife sharpened," Irving said to the maid. She put down the potatoes and the corn, and departed with the instrument to the kitchen.

Irving glanced at the other tables; everybody seemed to have been served, everybody was eating; Scarborough, who was in charge of the next table, had entirely demolished his roast.

"I'm sorry to keep you fellows waiting," Irving said, "but that's the dullest knife I ever handled."

He addressed the remark to the totally unprovided side of his table; he turned his head just in time to catch Westby's humorous mouth and droll droop of an eyelid. The other boys smiled, and Irving's cheeks grew more hot.

"You'll excuse me, Mr. Upton, if I don't wait, won't you?" said Westby.

"Don't get impatient, fellows."

The maid returned with the carving knife; Westby paused in his eating to observe. Irving made another unsuccessful effort; the meat quivered and shook and slid under his attack, and the knife slipped and clashed down upon the platter.

"Perhaps if you would stand up to it, sir, you would do better,"

suggested Westby, in an insidious voice. "n.o.body else does, but if it would be easier-"

"Thank you, but the suggestion is unnecessary," Irving retorted. He added to the other boys, while he struggled, "It's the meat, I guess, not the knife, after all-"

"Why, I shouldn't say it was the meat," interposed Westby. "The meat's quite tender."

Irving glanced at him in silent fury, clamped his lips together, and went on sawing. He finally was able to hand to Carroll a plate on which reposed a mussy-looking heap of beef. Carroll wrinkled his nose over it as Westby had done.

"If I might venture to suggest, sir," said Westby politely, "you could send it out and have it carved in the kitchen."

Irving surrendered; he looked up and said to the maid,-

"Please take this out and have it carved outside."

He felt that he could almost cry from the humiliation, but instead he tried to a.s.sume cheerfulness and dignity.

"I'm sorry," he said, "to have to keep you fellows waiting; we'll try to arrange things so that it won't happen again."

The boys accepted the apology in gloomy silence. At Scarborough's table their plight was exciting comment; Irving was aware of the curious glances which had been occasioned by the withdrawal of the roast. It seemed to him that he was publicly disgraced; there was a peculiar ignominy in sitting at the head of a table and being unable to perform the simplest duty of host. Worst of all, in the encounter with Westby he had lost ground.

The meat was brought on again, sliced in a manner which could not conceal the unskillfulness of the original attack.

"Stone cold!" exclaimed Blake, the first boy to test it.

Irving's temper flew up. "Don't be childish," he said. "And don't make any more comments about this matter. It's of no importance-and cold roast beef is just as good for you as hot."

"If not a great deal better," added Westby with an urbanity that set every one snickering.

After dinner Irving was again on duty for two hours in the dormitory, until the time for afternoon chapel. During part of this period the boys were expected to be in their rooms, preparing the Bible lesson which had to be recited after chapel to the rector. Irving made the rounds and saw that each boy was in his proper quarters, then went to his own room.

For an hour he enjoyed quiet. Then the bell rang announcing that the study period was at an end. Instantly there was a commotion in the corridors-legitimate enough; but soon it centred in the north wing and grew more and more clamorous, more and more mirthful.

With a sigh Irving went forth to quell it. He determined that whatever happened he would not this time lose his temper; he would try to be persuasive and yet firm.

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?"

"Oh, from Kiddy-this afternoon."

"Poor Kiddy! He seemed to be having an awful time at noon over that roast beef."

"He's such a dodo-he's more fun than a goat. I can put him up in the air whenever I want to," boasted Westby. "He's the easiest to get rattled I ever saw. I'm going to play horse with him in cla.s.s to-morrow."

"How?" asked Collingwood; and Irving basely p.r.i.c.ked up his ears.