“Why, March, you’re setting out as a reformer; and you’re talking just like one of those good boys in the story books.  What’s up?” Joel smiled at the other boy’s look of wonderment.

“Nothing’s up, except that I want you to promise to study more.  Of course, I know it sounds cheeky, West, but I don’t mean to meddle in your business.  Only—­only—­” Joel hesitated.

“Only what?  Out with it!” said West.  They had reached the Academy Building and had paused on the steps.

“Well, only—­that you’ve been very kind to me, West, and I hate to see you wasting your time and know that you will wish you hadn’t later, when you’ve left school, you know.  That’s all.  It isn’t that I want to meddle—­” There was a moment of silence.  Then: 

“The idea of your caring!” answered West.  “You’re a good chap, March, and—­I tell you what I’ll do.  I will go in more for lessons, after next week.  You see there’s the golf tournament next Saturday week, and I’ve got to put in a lot of hard practice between now and then.  But after that I’ll try and buckle down.  You’re right about it, March, I ought to do more studying, and I will try; although I don’t believe I’ll make much of a success as a ‘grind.’  And as to the—­the—­the rest that you said, why, I haven’t been extraordinarily kind; I just sort of took to you that day on the campus because you looked to be such a plucky, go-ahead, long-legged chap, you know.  I thought I’d rescue you from the ranks of the lowly and teach you golf and make a man of you generally.  Instead of that”—­West gave one of his expressive whistles—­“instead of that, why, here you are turning me into a regular ‘Masters Hall grind.’  Thus do our brightest dreams fade.  Well, I’m oil.  Don’t forget the upper middle class meeting to-night.  They’re going to vote on the Class Crew question, and we want all the votes we can get to down the fellows that don’t want to pay the assessment.  Good-night.”

And Outfield West took himself off toward his room, his broad shoulders well back, and his clear, merry voice singing the school song as he strode along.  Joel turned into the library, feeling well satisfied with the result of his meddling, to pore over a reference book until supper time.

The following morning Joel awoke to find a cold rain falling from a dull sky.  The elms in the yard were dripping from every leaf and branch, and the walks held little gray pools that made the trip to breakfast a series of splashes.  In the afternoon Joel got into his oldest clothes and tramped over to Hampton House.  The window of West’s room looked bright and cheerful, for a big wood fire was blazing on the hearth within.  Joel kicked the mud from his shoes, and passing through the great white door with its old-fashioned fanlight above, tapped at West’s room.  A faint response from beyond the portal summoned him in.

The owner of the room was sandpapering a golf shaft before the fire, and a deep expression of discontent was on his face.  But his countenance lighted up at sight of his visitor, and he leaped to his feet and drew a second armchair before the hearth.