He felt that if he could make their acquaintance separately and without witnesses, he could produce a better impression than if he waited and confronted them before a whole table of strange faces.

But as it happened, that was just the way that he did meet Westby and Carroll.  When the supper bell sounded, the hallway of the Upper School was crowded with boys, examining the schedule which had been posted and which assigned them to their seats in the dining-room.  Irving, after waiting nervously until more than half the number had entered the dining-room and deriving no help from any of the other masters, went in and stood at the head of the third table, as he had been instructed to do.  Four or five boys were already standing there at their places; they looked at him with curiosity and bowed to him politely.  The crowd as it entered thinned; Irving was beginning to hope that Westby and Carroll had gone elsewhere,—­and then, just as Mr. Randolph was mounting to the head table on the dais, two boys slipped in and stood at the seats at Irving’s right.  He recognized them as having been two of the three who had laughed when he had proclaimed himself a master.  One was the slim, tall fellow who had called him “new kid.”

For a moment at Irving’s table, after the boys had rattled into their seats, there was silence.  In front of Irving were a platter of cold tongue and a dish of beans, and he began to put portions of each on the plates piled before him.  Then as he passed the first plate along the line he looked up and said, “I think we’d better find out who everybody is.  So each fellow, as he gets his plate, will please sing out his name.”

That was not such a bad beginning; there was a general grin which broadened into a laugh when the first boy blushingly owned to the name of Walnut.  Then came Lacy and Norris, and then Westby.

“Oh,” said Irving.  “I think you’re to be in my dormitory, aren’t you?”

“I believe so.”  Westby looked at him quizzically, as if expecting him to make some reference to their encounter; but Irving passed on to his next neighbor, Carroll, and then began with the other side of the table.

He liked the appearance of the boys; they were quiet-looking and respectful, and they had been responsive enough to his suggestion about announcing their names.  A happy inspiration told him that so long as he could keep on taking the initiative with boys, he would have no serious trouble.  But it was one thing to recognize an effective mode of conduct, and another to have the resourcefulness for carrying it out.  Irving was just thinking what next he should say, when Westby fell upon him.

“Mr. Upton,”—­Westby’s voice was curiously distinct, in spite of its quietness,—­“wasn’t it funny, our taking you for a new kid this afternoon?”

Because the question was so obviously asked in a lull to embarrass him, Irving was embarrassed.  The interest of all the boys at the table had been skillfully excited, and Westby leaned forward in front of Carroll, with mischievous eyes and smile.  Irving felt his color rising; he felt both abashed and annoyed.