wards.
You may not believe it, but half of--er--doing a thing consists of
making up your mind to it! Well, that's all, I think. Er--you'd better
look me up this evening and we'll settle about that French. Good-bye.
Hope I haven't made you late for dinner."

Steve drew a deep breath outside the door, puckered his lips and
whistled softly, but it was a thoughtful whistle; as thoughtful as it
was tuneless, and it lasted him all the way upstairs and into his room.
Tom had gone, evidently having wearied of waiting for his friend to
accompany him to dinner. Steve's own appetite was calling pretty loudly,
but, having slipped the blue-book out of sight under a pile on the
table, he dropped into his chair, drew a sheet of paper to him and began
on the schedule. It took him almost a half-hour to complete it, and he
spoiled several sheets in the process, but it was finally done, and,
heading it "Daley Schedule," with a brief smile at the pun, he placed it
on his chiffonier and hurried across to Wendell.

CHAPTER XIX

THE SECOND PUTS IT OVER

"What do you know about that?" demanded Tom the next day. "'Horace' gave
me a B on my comp! Of course, I'm not kicking, but I'll bet he made a
mistake. Maybe he got nervous and his pencil slipped!"

"Seems to me," returned Steve coldly, "he knows better than you do what
the thing is worth. He's not exactly an idiot, you know."

Tom stared in some surprise. "I didn't say he was an idiot, did I?
Considering the things you've said about 'Horace' I don't think you need
take that high-and-mighty tone!"

"Well, don't be a chump, then," replied Steve. "If Mr. Daley gave you a
B you deserved a B."

"Thanking you kindly," murmured Tom as he disappeared behind the pages
of the blue-book to digest the corrections and criticisms on the
margins. Steve's manner since the night he had remained up until morning
to write that composition had been puzzling. He had very little to say
to Tom, and when he did speak, spoke in a constrained manner quite
unlike him. And more than once Tom had caught Steve observing him with
an expression that he couldn't fathom. There was something up, that was
certain, but what it was Tom couldn't imagine. It wasn't that Steve was
cross or disagreeable. For that matter, his disposition seemed a good
deal improved. But he was decidedly stand-offish and extraordinarily
quiet. Tom wanted to ask outright what the trouble was, but, for some
reason, he held back. As the