CHAPTER VII.

The allegiance of his little band of boon companions was all the sweeter to the young poet because he realized more and more fully as the years of his school-days passed that for some reason unknown to himself he was systematically, and plainly with intention, denied intimacy with Nat Howard and his followers—­snubbed.  As has been said, they did not hesitate to acknowledge his success in all sorts of mental and physical trials of skill, but in a formal, impersonal way.  There was never the least familiarity in their intercourse with him.  This, naturally, produced in him a reserve in his manner toward them that they unreasonably attributed to “airs.”  Their coldness wounded and chilled the sensitive boy as much as the love of his devoted adherents warmed him.

It was not until near the end of his third session in the school that the riddle was, quite suddenly, solved.  Edgar Poe was now in his fifteenth year.  One perfect May day, when the song of birds, the odors of flowers, the whisper of soft breezes and the languor of mellow sunshine outside of the open school windows were wooing all poetic souls to come out and live, and let musty, dry books go to the deuce, little Rob Sully found it impossible to fix his mind upon his Latin.  As for Edgar’s mind, it was plain from his expression that it was far afield; but then Edgar had the power of knowing his lessons intuitively, almost.  Rob only “got” his by faithful plodding.  When their respective classes were called, Edgar recited brilliantly, while Rob seemed like one befuddled and, making a dismal failure, was bidden to stay in and study at recess.  A look of utter woe settled upon his thin, pallid face, which lifted as, impelled to look toward Edgar’s desk, he caught his friend’s eyes fixed upon him with their charming smile.  He knew well what the eyes were saying: 

“Don’t worry, Rob, I’ll stay in and help you.”

And stay in the owner of the eyes did, patiently going over and over the lesson with the confused boy until the hard parts were made easy.  Finally, when he saw that Rob had mastered it, Edgar walked out into the yard for the few minutes left of recess.  The boys were all drawn up in a group a little way from the house and were being harangued by his rival, Nat Howard.  His chums, Rob Stanard, Dick Ambler and Jack Preston, were standing together a few feet apart from the rest.  Their faces were very red and the haranguing seemed to be addressed directly to them.  Edgar stopped where he was, wondering what it was all about, but shy of joining a crowd over which Nat was presiding.

The speaker’s voice rose to a higher key.

“I’ll tell you, boys,” he was saying, “if you persist in intimacy with this fellow, you needn’t expect to be in with me and my crowd.”

“We don’t want you and your crowd,” was the response.  “He’s worth all of you rolled into one.”