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“Wissining,” muttered the boy.

“Oh, do you live in Wissining?”

“No, I’m going to school there,” answered the other resentfully. “I thought maybe you were, too.”

“Why, yes, I am. You must be a new boy then.”

The other nodded. “I’ve never seen the rotten place,” he said.

“Really?” asked Toby rather coldly. “Well, I hope you’ll like it better than you think.”

The boy stared back in his sullen fashion. “Shan’t,” he muttered. Toby shrugged.

“That’s up to you, I guess.” He nodded curtly and moved away, feeling relieved at the parting. But the boy stopped his steps.

“Say, what’ll I do with this handkerchief?” he asked.

“Oh, throw it away, please,” said Toby.

If he had done so this story might have been different.

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At eight o’clock that evening, having reached Wissining only a little more than an hour late and done full justice to supper, Toby and Arnold were busily unpacking and setting things to rights in Number 12 Whitson, which, as those who know Yardley Hall School will remember, is the granite dormitory building facing southward, flanked on the west by the equally venerable Oxford Hall and on the east by the more modern Clarke. There were those who liked the old-time atmosphere of Whitson; its wooden stairways, its low ceilings, its deep window embrasures and wide seats; who even forgave many a lack of convenience for the sake of the somewhat dingy home-likeness. Perhaps, too, they liked to feel themselves heirs to the legends and associations that clustered about the building. On the other hand, there were scoffers dwelling more luxuriously in Clarke or Dudley or Merle who declared that the true reason for Whitson’s popularity was that the dining hall, known at Yardley as Commons, occupied the lower floor and that fellows living in the building consequently enjoyed an advantage over those dwelling in the other dormitories.