I should
have supposed so, except that I didn't know you had a brother at
Harvard. Wasn't it rather--what shall I say?--_peu aimable_ not to have
taken us, your friends, into your confidence? Would you mind telling us,
sir, what your brother's first name is?"

"My brother's first name? Lawrence."

"Hm!" said Westby, referring to his newspaper. "I find him set down here
as 'T. Upton.' But I suppose that is a misprint, of course."

"I suppose it must be," agreed Irving.

"Newspapers are always making mistakes, aren't they?" said Westby. "Such
careless fellows! We'd like awfully to hear more about your brother
Lawrence, Mr. Upton."

The broad grin broke into a snicker.

"Why, I don't know just what there is to tell," Irving said awkwardly.

"What does he look like, sir? Does he resemble you very much?--I mean,
apart from the family fondness for athletics."

Irving's lips twitched; Westby was enjoying so thoroughly his revenge!
And the other boys were all stifling their amusement.

"We are said not to look very much alike," he answered. "He is of a
somewhat heavier build."

"He must be somewhat lacking, then, in grace and agility, sir," said
Westby; and the boys broke into a shout, and Irving gave way to a faint
smile.

At that moment Collingwood came up the stairs.

"Hello, Lou," said Westby, with a welcoming wink. "We're just
congratulating Mr. Upton on his brother; did you know that he has a
brother playing on the Harvard Freshmen?"

"Yes," said Collingwood. "I've just heard it from Mr. Barclay."

The boys stared at Collingwood, then at Irving, whose eyes were
twinkling again and whose smile had widened. Then they looked at Westby;
he was gazing at Collingwood unbelievingly,--stupefied.

"What's the matter with you?" asked Collingwood.

And then Irving broke out into a delighted peal of laughter. He could
find nothing but slang in which to express himself, and through his
laughter he ejaculated,--

"Stung, my young friend! Stung!"

They all gave a whoop; they swung Westby round and rushed him down the
corridor to his room, shouting and jeering.

When Irving went down to lunch, Carroll, the quizzical, silent Carroll,
welcomed him with a grin. Westby turned a bright pink and looked away.
At the next table Allison and Smythe and Scarborough were all looking
over at him and smiling; and at the table beyond that Collingwood and
Morrill and Dennison were craning their necks and exhibiting their joy.
W