"Hush!" whispered Hurst. "It has not come off yet. We had an idea that
an inkling of it had got abroad, so we thought it best to keep quiet
for a few nights, lest the Philistines should be on the watch. But the
time is fixed now, and I can tell you that it is not a hundred nights
off."
With a shower of mysterious nods and winks, Hurst rushed away and
bounded up the stairs to the schoolroom. Arthur returned to Mr.
Galloway's. "It's the awfullest shame!" burst forth Tom Channing that
day at dinner (and allow me to remark, _par parenthese_, that, in
reading about schoolboys, you must be content to accept their grammar
as it comes); and he brought the handle of his knife down upon the
table in a passion.
"Thomas!" uttered Mr. Channing, in amazed reproof.
"Well, papa, and so it is! and the school's going pretty near mad over
it!" returned Tom, turning his crimsoned face upon his father. "Would
you believe that I and Huntley are to be passed over in the chance for
the seniorship, and Yorke is to have it, without reference to merit?"
"No, I do not believe it, Tom," quietly replied Mr. Channing. "But,
even were it true, it is no reason why you should break out in that
unseemly manner. Did you ever know a hot temper do good to its
possessor?"
"I know I am hot-tempered," confessed Tom. "I cannot help it, papa; it
was born with me."
"Many of our failings were born with us, my boy, as I have always
understood.
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