Hugh had a flash of inspiration. “Think how dis¬ appointed your mother will be,” he cried, hanging on to Morse’s arms; “think of her.”
Morse ceased struggling. “She will be disap¬ pointed,” he admitted miserably. “What can I do?” There was a world of despair in his ques¬ tion.
Hugh pushed him into the desk-chair and seated himself on the edge of the desk. “I ’ll tell you,” he said. He talked for half an hour, cheering Morse, assuring him that his homesickness would pass away, offering to study with him. At first Morse paid little attention, but finally he quit snif¬ fing and looked up, real interest in his face. When Hugh got a weak smile out of him, he felt that his work had been done. He jumped off the desk, leaned over to slap Morse on the back, and told him that he was a good egg but a damn fool.
Morse grinned. “You ’re a good egg yourself,” he said gratefully. “You’ve saved my life.”
Hugh was pleased and blushed. “You ’re full of bull. . . . Remember, we do Latin at ten to¬ morrow.” He opened the door. “Good night.”
“Good night.” And Hugh heard as he closed the door, “Thanks a lot.”
When he opened his own door, he found Carl sitting before a blazing log fire. There was no other light in the room. Carl had written his nightly letter to the “old lady,” and he was a little
