A few minutes later, and still wrathful, Joe went in to dinner.  He ate silently, though his father and mother and Bessie kept up a genial flow of conversation.  There she was, he communed savagely with his plate, crying one minute, and the next all smiles and laughter.  Now that was n’t his way.  If he had anything sufficiently important to cry about, rest assured he would n’t get over it for days.  Girls were hypocrites, that was all there was to it.  They did n’t feel one hundredth part of all that they said when they cried.  It stood to reason that they did n’t.  It must be that they just carried on because they enjoyed it.  It made them feel good to make other people miserable, especially boys.  That was why they were always interfering.

Thus reflecting sagely, he kept his eyes on his plate and did justice to the fare; for one cannot scorch from the Cliff House to the Western Addition via the park without being guilty of a healthy appetite.

Now and then his father directed a glance at him in a certain mildly anxious way.  Joe did not see these glances, but Bessie saw them, every one.  Mr. Bronson was a middle-aged man, well developed and of heavy build, though not fat.  His was a rugged face, square-jawed and stern-featured, though his eyes were kindly and there were lines about the mouth that betokened laughter rather than severity.  A close examination was not required to discover the resemblance between him and Joe.  The same broad forehead and strong jaw characterized them both, and the eyes, taking into consideration the difference of age, were as like as peas from one pod.

“How are you getting on, Joe?” Mr. Bronson asked finally.  Dinner was over and they were about to leave the table.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Joe answered carelessly, and then added:  “We have examinations to-morrow.  I’ll know then.”

“Whither bound?” his mother questioned, as he turned to leave the room.  She was a slender, willowy woman, whose brown eyes Bessie’s were, and likewise her tender ways.

“To my room,” Joe answered.  “To work,” he supplemented.

She rumpled his hair affectionately, and bent and kissed him.  Mr. Bronson smiled approval at him as he went out, and he hurried up the stairs, resolved to dig hard and pass the examinations of the coming day.

Entering his room, he locked the door and sat down at a desk most comfortably arranged for a boy’s study.  He ran his eye over his text-books.  The history examination came the first thing in the morning, so he would begin on that.  He opened the book where a page was turned down, and began to read: 

Shortly after the Draconian reforms, a war broke out between Athens and Megara respecting the island of Salamis, to which both cities laid claim.

That was easy; but what were the Draconian reforms?  He must look them up.  He felt quite studious as he ran over the back pages, till he chanced to