Part 15 (2/2)

”Well * * * I meant to, do you see ? ”

Coleman was glacial and lofty beyond everything.

”I am glad to have you admit the truth of what I have said.”

c.o.ke was, still suffocating with his peasant rage, which would not allow him to meet the clear, calm expressions of Coleman. ”Yes * * * I insulted you * * * I insulted you because what I said was correct * * my prehensile attributes * * yes but I have never----”

He was interrupted by a chorus from the other students.

”Oh, no, that won't do. Don't say that. Don't repeat that, c.o.ke.”

Coleman remembered the weak bewilderment of the little professor in hours that had not long pa.s.sed, and it was with something of an impersonal satisfac- tion that he said to himself: ” The old boy's got his war-paint on again.” The professor had stepped sharply up to c.o.ke and looked at him with eyes that seemed to throw out flame and heat. There was a moment's pause, and then the old scholar spoke, bit- ing his words as if they were each a short section of steel wire. ” Mr. c.o.ke, your behaviour will end your college career abruptly and in gloom, I promise you.

You have been drinking.”

c.o.ke, his head simply floating in a sea of universal defiance, at once blurted out: ” Yes, sir.”

”You have been drinking?” cried the professor, ferociously.

”Retire to your-retire to your----retire---” And then in a voice of thunder he shouted: ”Retire.”

Whereupon seven hoodlum students waited a decent moment, then shrieked with laughter. But the old professor would have none of their nonsense. He quelled them all with force and finish.

Coleman now spoke a few words.” Professor, I can't tell you how sorry I am that I should be concerned in any such riot as this, and since we are doomed to be bound so closely into each other's society I offer myself without reservation as being willing to repair the damage as well as may be, done. I don t see how I can forget at once that c.o.ke's conduct was insolently unwarranted, but * * * if he has anything to sayof a nature that might heal the breach I would be willing to to meet him in the openest manner.” As he made these re- marks Coleman's dignity was something grand, and, Morever, there was now upon his face that curious look of temperance and purity which had been noted in New York as a singular physical characteristic. If he. was guilty of anything in this affair at all-in fact, if he had ever at any time been guilty of anything- no mark had come to stain that bloom of innocence.

The professor nodded in the fullest appreciation and sympathy. ” Of course * * * really there is no other sleeping placeI suppose it would be better-”

Then he again attacked c.o.ke. ”Young man, you have chosen an unfortunate moment to fill us with a suspicion that you may not be a gentleman. For the time there is nothing to be done with you.” He addressed the other students. ” There is nothing for me to do, young gentleman, but to leave Mr. c.o.ke in your care.

Good-night, sirs. Good-night, Coleman.” He left the room with his candle.

When c.o.ke was bade to ” Retire ” he had, of course, simply retreated fuming to a corner of the room where he remained looking with yellow eyes like an animal from a cave. When the others were able to see through the haze of mental confusion they found that Coleman was with deliberation taking off his boots. ” Afterward, when he removed his waist-coat, he took great care to wind his large gold watch.

The students, much subdued, lay again in their places, and when there was any talking it was of an extremely local nature, referring princ.i.p.ally to the floor As being unsuitable for beds and also referring from time to time to a real or an alleged selfishness on the part of some one of the rec.u.mbent men. Soon there was only the sound of heavy breathing.

When the professor had returned to what he called the Wainwright part of the house he was greeted instantly with the question: ”What was it?” His wife and daughter were up in alarm. ”What was it ” they repeated, wildly.

He was peevish. ” Oh, nothing, nothing. But that young c.o.ke is a regular ruffian. He had gotten him. self into some tremendous uproar with Coleman. When I arrived he seemed actually trying to a.s.sault him. Revolting! He had been drinking.

Coleman's behaviour, I must say, was splendid. Recognised at once the delicacy of my position-he not being a student. If I had found him in the wrong it would have been simpler than finding him in the right. Confound that rascal of a c.o.ke.” Then, as he began a partial disrobing, he treated them to grunted sc.r.a.p of information.

” c.o.ke was quite insane * * * I feared that I couldn't control him * * * Coleman was like ice * * * and as much as I have seen to admire in him during the last few days, this quiet beat it all. If he had not recognised my helplessness as far as he was concerned the whole thing might have been a most miserable business. He is a very fine young man.” The dissenting voice to this last tribute was the voice of Mrs.

Wainwright. She said: ” Well, Coleman drinks, too-everybody knows that.”

” I know,” responded the professor, rather bashfully, but I am confident that he had not touched a drop.” Marjory said nothing.

The earlier artillery battles had frightened most of the furniture out of the houses of Arta, and there was left in this room only a few old red cus.h.i.+ons, and the Wainwrights were camping upon the floor. Marjory was enwrapped in Coleman's macintosh, and while the professor and his wife maintained some low talk of the recent incident she in silence had turned her cheek into the yellow velvet collar of the coat. She felt something against her bosom, and putting her hand carefully into the top pocket of the coat she found three cigars.

These she took in the darkness and laid aside, telling herself to remember their position in the morning. She had no doubt that Coleman: would rejoice over them, before he could get back to, Athens where there were other good cigars.

CHAPTER XVIII.

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