ssed. The Head called me in and--"

"Stow it! stow it!" they all yelled; then Locke jeered, "The Head is
never up at six-thirty--we are not rabbits."

"Just where you get left; the Head was up at five-thirty and went to
the station to meet mister Indian."

"Well, I'll be jing-banged," exclaimed Sandy, nearly awake; "what's
the meaning of it all?"

"Meaning's just this, my son," replied Cop, getting out of his limited
running togs into something more respectable, "that if you chumps
guessed all day you'd never strike just how the Indian came to this
school. Who do you suppose wrote to the Head recommending him to take
the Redskin, and kind of insinuating that the college would do well
to treat him properly? None other than His Excellency Lord Mortimer,
Governor-General of 'this Canada of ours.' Now, Locke, will you act
good and pretty, and take your bread and milk like a nice little
tootsy-wootsy and allow the Indian to stay?"

"Whew!" bellowed Locke, "I guess I'm it, fellows."

"Just found it out, eh?" answered Cop; then, as the first bell clanged
throughout the building and hustling was in order, he proceeded to
explain that as he passed the library door on his way to the baths,
Professor Warwick called him in and introduced him to the tall, lithe
Westerner, who had wonderfully easy manners, a skin like a tan-colored
glove, and whose English was more attractive than marred by a strong
accent that sounded "Frenchy."

"When he found that I was heading for the baths he asked to come, too,"
rattled Cop; "been on the train over three days and nights coming from
Winnipeg; said he felt grimy, so I took him along. Jingo, you should see
his clothes--silk socks, silk shirt, top-coat lined with mink, an otter
collar--must have cost hundreds. Says I, 'Well, pal, your governor
must be well fixed.' Says he, 'My father is a trapper and trades with
the Hudson's Bay Company. He trapped all these minks, and my other
clothes--oh, we buy those at the H.B.C. in Winnipeg.' Wouldn't that
phase you, fellows? But I forgot his clothes when I saw him strip.
Jiminy Christmas! I never saw such a body. I'm in bully training, but
I'm a cow compared to 'Shag.'"

"What a rum name!" said Locke, still a little resentful.

"Found out all about that, too," went on Cop. "Seems he has a whole
string of names to choose from. Heard him tell the Head that his first
name is 'Fire-Flint,' and his last name is 'Larocque.' Seemed to kind
of take the Hea