red-head here is Dennison,--and that's Westby."

Irving, shaking hands round the circle, said, "Oh, I know Westby."

"Sit down, won't you, Mr. Upton?" Westby pushed his armchair forward.

"Thank you; don't let me interrupt the singing."

"Maybe you'll join us?"

Irving shook his head. "I wish I could. But please go on."

Westby squatted again on the window-seat and plucked undecidedly at the
banjo-strings. Then he cleared his throat and launched upon a negro
melody; he sang it with the unctuous abandon of the darkey, and Irving
listened and looked on enviously, admiring the display of talent. Westby
sang another song, and then turned and pushed up the window.

"Awfully hot for this time of year, isn't it?" he said. "Fine moonlight
night; wouldn't it be great to go for a swim?"

"Um!" said Morrill, appreciatively.

"Will you let us go, Mr. Upton?" Westby asked the question pleadingly.
"Won't you please let us go? It's such a fine warm moonlight night--and
it isn't as if school had really begun, you know."

"But I think the rules don't permit your being out at this time of
night, do they?" said Irving.

"Well, but as I say, school hasn't really begun yet. And besides, Scabby
here is almost as good as a master--and so is Lou Collingwood; I'm the
only really irresponsible one in the bunch--"

"Where do you go to swim?"

"In the pond, just beyond the isthmus--only about a quarter of a mile
from here. Come on, fellows, Mr. Upton's going to let us go."

Irving laughed uneasily. "Oh, I didn't say that. If Mr. Randolph is
willing that you should go, I wouldn't object."

"You're in charge of this dormitory," argued Westby. "And if you gave us
permission, Mr. Randolph wouldn't say anything."

"I don't feel that I can make an exception to the rules," said Irving.

"But school hasn't really begun yet," persisted Westby.

"I think it really has, so far as observing the rules is concerned,"
replied Irving.

"You might go with us, sir--and that would make it all right."

"But I don't believe I want to go in swimming this evening."

"I'm awfully afraid you're going to be just like granite, Mr. Upton,"
sighed Westby,--"the man with the iron jaw." He turned on the others a
humorous look; they all were smiling. Irving felt uncomfortable again,
suspecting that Westby was making game of him, yet not knowing in what
way to meet it--except by silence.

"I'll tell you what I will do with you to-morrow, Wes," said
Coll