Dr. Davenport began reading in his clear, emphatic voice, "Out of bounds, Mason, Sterrett, Coyle, one sheet; late to study, Hart, McQuiston, Durfee, Stratton, Kane, half a sheet; tardy to breakfast--" and so on. None of the offenses were very serious; and the rector read them out rapidly. But at last he paused a moment; and then, looking up from the book, he said, with grave distinctness, "Disorderly in class and insolent, Westby, three sheets; disorderly in dormitory and insolent, Collingwood, three sheets."
He closed the book; a stir, a thrill of interest, ran round the room. For a Sixth Former to be charged with such offenses and condemned to such punishment was rare: for Collingwood, who was in a sense the leader of the school, to be so charged and punished was unprecedented.
Collingwood, sitting directly under the clock, and facing so many curious questioning eyes, turned red; Westby, standing by the door, looked at him and smiled. At the same time, Dr. Davenport, closing the report-book, leaned towards Irving and said quietly in his ear,--
"Mr. Upton, I should like to see you about those last two reports--immediately after this study hour."
Irving reddened; the rector's manner was not approving.
Dr. Davenport descended from the platform and walked slowly down the aisle. As he approached, he looked straight at Westby; and Westby returned the look steadily--as if he was ashamed of nothing.
The rector passed through the doorway; the Sixth Form followed; the day's work began.
The rector received Irving with a smile. "Well," he said, "I think you must be a believer in the maxim, 'Hit hard and hit first.' Would you mind telling me what was the trouble?"
"It wasn't so much any one thing," replied Irving. "It was a culmination of little things.--Oh, I suppose I started in wrong with the fellows somehow."
He was silent for a moment, in dejection.
"A good many do that," said Dr. Davenport. "There would be small progress in the world if there never was any rectifying of false starts."
"I can hardly help it if I look young," said Irving. "That's one of my troubles. I suppose I ought to avoid acting young. I haven't, altogether. They call me Kiddy."
"We get hardened to nicknames," observed the rector. "But often they're affectionate. At least I like to cherish that delusion with regard to mine; my legs have the same curve as Napoleon's, and I have been known as 'Old Hoopo' for years."