ving flushed as he had done when he had
been taken for a "new kid." But now his sensitiveness was even more
hurt; it wounded him that Westby, that pleasant, humorous person, should
have been the one to apply the epithet.

Westby began singing "The Wearing of the Green," to an accompaniment on
a banjo. Presently four or five voices, with extravagant brogues, were
uplifted in the chorus:--

"'Tis the most disthressful counthry
That ever there was seen;
For they're hanging men and women too
For wearin' of the green."

There was much applause; boys from other rooms went hurrying down the
corridor. The banjo-player struck up "The Road to Mandalay;" again
Irving recognized Westby's voice.

Irving decided that he must not be thin-skinned; it was his part to step
up, be genial, make himself known to all these boys who were to be under
his care, and show them that he wished to be friendly. He did not wait
to debate with himself the wisdom of this resolve or to consider how he
should proceed; he acted on the impulse. He walked down the corridor to
the third room on the left--the door of Westby's room, from which the
sounds of joviality proceeded. He knocked; some one called "Come in;"
and Irving opened the door.

Three boys sat in chairs, three sat on the bed; Westby himself was
squatting cross-legged on the window seat, with the banjo across his
knees. They all rose politely when Irving entered.

"I thought I would drop in and make your acquaintance," said Irving.
"We're bound to know one another some time."

"My name's Collingwood," said the boy nearest him, offering his hand. He
was a healthy, light-haired, solidly put together youth, with a genial
smile. "This is Scarborough, Mr. Upton."

The biggest of them all came forward at that and shook hands. Irving
thought that his deep-set dark eyes were disconcertingly direct in their
gaze; and a lock of black hair overhung his brow in a far from
propitiating manner. Yet his bearing was dignified and manly; Irving
felt that he might be trusted to show magnanimity.

"Here's Carroll," continued Collingwood; and Irving said, "Oh, I know
Carroll; we sat together at supper." Carroll said nothing, merely smiled
in an agreeable, non-committal manner; so far it was all that Irving had
discovered he could do.

"That fellow with the angel face is Morrill," Collingwood went on, "and
the one next to him, with the aristocratic features, is Baldersnaith,
and this