on: they were good
scholars, poor, and yet of good families. One had a _von_ in front of
his name. Brockert, too, had some sort of claim to nobility, although it
was said that his mother earned a living for herself and him by working
as a seamstress and the boy was known to pay for his own tuition by
tutoring backward sons of rich families in the lower grades.

Keith tried to look unconcerned. Fortunately they were near home, and
soon he could get away by himself. It has to be admitted that he cried.
And in the end he told his mother, who tried to make him promise never
to speak to Murray again.

"But we're side partners in the class," said Keith, still sobbing.

There was a certain stiffness between him and Murray during the next few
days, but they kept company to and from school as usual. Not until the
morning after the party did it occur to Keith that his pride demanded
some kind of demonstration.

That morning he meant to keep away from his friend. He stayed at home
longer than usual on purpose. Finally he grew afraid of being late and
tumbled pell-mell downstairs, intent on turning to his old route by way
of East Long Street. But no sooner had he reached the lane than his legs
seemed to be moving regardless of his will, and they took the familiar
turn toward the Quay. At that moment he caught sight of Murray crossing
the mouth of the lane without looking either right or left. Something
like a shiver passed through Keith's body, but his legs were still in
command, and they began to run. A minute later he was walking beside
Murray as he had done day after day for the better part of three terms.

At first they did not speak. Then Murray began to tell about the party
of the night before as if it had been the most natural thing in the
world to do so. He told what they had eaten and what they had played and
what impression the boys had made on his mother. Keith listened
without a word.

The worst fight he had ever fought with himself was raging within him,
and while he heard every word that Murray uttered, they seemed to pass
him by as if spoken to some other person. His heart was beating very
hard, and he breathed uneasily. An unfamiliar, impersonal voice within
himself was telling him that he must either give Murray a good licking
then and there or run away. Nasty, ugly, hateful words seemed to crowd
to his lips with an all but irresistible demand for utterance.

Yet he walked on as before, listening to Murray w