“I sha’n’t really need it before then,” answered the lad earnestly.

“You might,” said Neil.  There was such a tone of finality in the reply that the boy on the seat yielded, but for an instant drew his face into a pucker of perplexity.

“Thank you,” he said; “it’s awfully nice of you to take so much trouble.”

“I can’t see that,” Neil replied.  “I don’t see how I could do any less.  By the way, what’s your name, if you don’t mind?”

“Sydney Burr.”

“Burr?  That’s why you were stuck there up the road,” laughed Neil.  “We’re in the same class, aren’t we?”

“Yes.”

At the middle entrance of Walton Hall Neil helped Burr on to his crutches, and would have assisted him up the steps had he not objected.

“Please don’t,” he said, flushing slightly.  “I can get up all right; I do it every day.  My room’s on this floor, too.  I’m awfully much obliged to you for what you’ve done.  I wish you’d come and see me some time—­No. 3.  Do you—­do you think you could?”

“Of course,” Neil answered heartily, “I’ll be glad to.  Three, you said?  All right.  I’ll take this nag down to the blacksmith’s now and get him reshod.  If they can fix him right off I’ll bring him back with me.  Where do you stable him?”

“The janitor takes it down-stairs somewhere.  If I’m not here just give it to him, please.  I wish, though, you wouldn’t bother about bringing it back.”

“I’ll ride him back,” laughed Neil.  “Good-night.”

“Good-night.  Don’t forget you’re coming to see me.”

Sydney Burr smiled and, turning, climbed the steps with astonishing ease, using his crutches with a dexterity born of many years’ dependence upon them.  His lower limbs, slender and frail, swung from side to side, mere useless appendages.  Neil sighed as he saw his new acquaintance out of sight, and then started on his errand with the tricycle.

“Poor duffer!” he muttered.  “And yet he seems cheerful enough, and looks happy.  But to think of having to creep round on stilts or pull himself about on this contrivance!  I mustn’t forget to call on him; I dare say he hasn’t many friends.  He seems a nice chap, too; and he’d be frightfully good-looking if he wasn’t so white.”

It was almost dark when he reached the repair-shop near the railroad, and the proprietor, a wizened little bald-headed man, was preparing to go home.

“Can’t fix anything to-night,” he protested shrilly.  “It’s too late; come in the morning.”

“Well, if you think I’m going to wheel this thing back here to-morrow you’ve missed your guess,” said Neil.  “All it needs is to have a chain link welded or glued or something; it won’t take five minutes.  And the fellow that owns it is a cripple and can’t go out until this machine’s fixed.  Now go ahead, like a good chap; I’ll hold your bonnet.”

“Eh?  What bonnet?” The little man stared perplexedly.