Must a little
hard luck make hard feeling?"

"Oh, there's no hard feeling," Westby assured him.

"Glad to hear it. Good-by." Lawrence held out his hand.

"You're not going to stay for supper?"

"No. I'm going back with the team on the six o'clock train--hour exam on
Monday. My brother's waiting for me outside; I want to see him for a
while before we start. I hope to come up here some time again--hope I'll
see you."

"Thanks. I hope so. Good-by."

The words were all right, but Westby spoke them mechanically. It had
flashed upon him that Lawrence would now learn from his brother the
charge that he had so unjustly and hotly made. And of a sudden he wished
he could prevent that. He would have been glad to go to Irving and
retract it all and apologize; anything to keep Lawrence from hearing of
it.

Why had he been so slow in dressing--why hadn't he hurried on his clothes
and gone out ahead of Lawrence and made it all right with Irving!

With a wild thought that it might not yet be too late, he flung on his
coat and rushed from the building--only to see Irving and Lawrence
walking together across the football field.

CHAPTER X

MASTER AND BOY

For several days Westby's unnatural quiet was attributed to his
sensitiveness over the error which had given the Harvard Freshmen their
victory. It was most noticeable at Irving's table; there his bubbling
spirits seemed permanently to have subsided; he wrapped himself in
silence and gloom. His manner towards Irving was that of haughty
displeasure. Carroll was at a loss to understand it and questioned him
about it one day.

"Oh, I'm just tired of him--tired of hearing his everlasting brag about
his brother," Westby said sharply.

"He bragged so little about him once you wouldn't believe he had a
brother," replied Carroll. "I don't see that he brags much more about
him now."

"Well, I see it, and it annoys me," retorted Westby rudely. "I think
I'll see if I can have my seat changed. I'd rather sit at Scabby's
table."

Mr. Randolph, however, the head of the Upper School, refused to grant
Westby's petition.

"You don't give any special reason," he said. "You have friends at Mr.
Upton's table; you ought to be contented to stay there. What's the
matter? Are you having friction with some one?"

"I should be better satisfied if I were at Scarborough's table," said
Westby.

"We can't gratify every individual preference or whim," replied Mr.
Randolph.

He as