elt that though he had conquered in this instance, he had
adopted the wrong tone, and that he must offer something else than
peevishness and irritation to ward off Westby's humor; already it gave
indications of becoming too audacious. Yet on the whole Irving was
pleased because he had at least asserted himself--and had rather enjoyed
doing it. And an hour later it seemed to him that he had lost all that
he had gained.

Roast beef was the unvarying dish at Sunday dinner; a large and fragrant
sirloin was set before the head of each table to be carved. Irving took
up the carving knife and fork with some misgivings. Hitherto he had had
nothing more difficult to deal with than steaks or chops or croquettes
or stews; and carving was an art that he had never learned; confronted
by the necessity, he was amazed to find that he had so little idea of
how to proceed. The first three slices came off readily enough, though
they were somewhat ragged, and Irving was aware that Westby was
surveying his operations with a critical interest. The knife seemed to
grow more dull, the meat more wobbly, more tough, the bone got more and
more in the way; the maid who was passing the vegetables was waiting,
all the boys except the three who had been helped first were waiting,
coldly critical, anxiously apprehensive; silence at this table had begun
to reign.

Irving felt himself blushing and muttered, "This knife's awfully dull,"
as he sawed away. At last he hacked off an unsightly slab and passed it
to Westby, whose turn it was and who wrinkled his nose at it in
disfavor.

"Please have this knife sharpened," Irving said to the maid. She put
down the potatoes and the corn, and departed with the instrument to the
kitchen.

Irving glanced at the other tables; everybody seemed to have been
served, everybody was eating; Scarborough, who was in charge of the next
table, had entirely demolished his roast.

"I'm sorry to keep you fellows waiting," Irving said, "but that's the
dullest knife I ever handled."

He addressed the remark to the totally unprovided side of his table; he
turned his head just in time to catch Westby's humorous mouth and droll
droop of an eyelid. The other boys smiled, and Irving's cheeks grew more
hot.

"You'll excuse me, Mr. Upton, if I don't wait, won't you?" said Westby.
"Don't get impatient, fellows."

The maid returned with the carving knife; Westby paused in his eating to
observe. Irving made another unsuccessful e