Carroll grinned his assent.

“I’ll pick Ned Morrill for my second,” said Collingwood.  “And Scabby can be referee.”

“What’s a water duel?” asked Irving.

“They go out in canoes, two in each canoe,” answered Scarborough.  “One fellow paddles, and the other stands up in the bow with a long pole and a big fat sponge tied to the end of it.  Then the two canoes manoeuvre, and try to get within striking distance, and the fellow or canoe that gets upset first loses.  We had a tournament last spring, and these two pairs came through to the finals, but never fought it out—­baseball or tennis or something always interfered.”

“It must be quite an amusing game,” said Irving.

“Come up to the swimming hole to-morrow afternoon if you want to see it,” said Collingwood, hospitably.  “I’ll just about drown Westby.  It will be a good show.”

“Thank you; I’d like to—­”

“But don’t you think, Mr. Upton,”—­again it was Westby, with his cajoling voice and his wheedling smile,—­“that I might have just one evening’s moonlight practice for it?”

“Oh, I don’t believe you need any practice.”

“But you said I might if Mr. Randolph would consent.  I don’t see why you shouldn’t be independent, as well as liberal.”

There was a veiled insinuation in this, for all the good-natured, teasing tone, and Irving did not like it.

“No,” he said.  “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t let you go swimming to-night.—­I’m glad to have met you all.”  And so he took his departure, and presently the sound of banjo and singing rose again from Westby’s room.

Irving proceeded to visit the other rooms of the dormitory and to make the acquaintance of the occupants—­boys engaged mostly in arranging bureau drawers or hanging pictures.  They were all friendly enough; it seemed to him that he could get on with boys individually; it was when they faced him in numbers that they alarmed him and caused his manner to be hesitating and embarrassed.  One big fellow named Allison was trying to hang a picture when Irving entered; it was a large and heavy picture, and Irving held it straight while Allison stood on a chair and set the hook on the moulding.  Allison thanked Irving with the gratitude of one unaccustomed to receiving such consideration; indeed, his uncouthness and unkemptness made him one of those unfortunate boys who suffered now and then from persecution.  Irving learned afterwards that the crowd he had met in Westby’s room hung together and were the leaders not merely in the affairs of the dormitory, but of the school.

At half past nine the big bell on the Study building rang twice—­the signal for the boys to go to their respective rooms.  Irving had been informed of the little ceremony which was the custom; he stepped out in front of his door at the end of the corridor, and one after another the boys came up, shook hands with him, and bade him good-night.  Westby came to him with the engaging and yet somewhat disquieting smile which recalled to Irving Mr. Wythe’s words, “He smiles and smiles, but is a villain still.”  It was a smile which seemed to suggest the discernment and enjoyment of all one’s weak spots.