He wished that he could talk with Praska. He wanted to assure him that the things that had happened that morning had not been premeditated. But the football guard, with a group of other football players, sat at a table in a corner. After a while Perry brought back his dishes and wandered out into the school hall.
It did not need a great amount of perspicacity to tell him that his chances had probably become precarious. He had accustomed the school to look to him for buffoonery until now the inclination was to view all his actions as jest and banter. It was driven home to him anew how much reputation is shaped by the things done from day to day. Reputation! His reputation—and Praska's! A bitter smile twitched at his lips.
Yet, because Mr. Banning had given him a vision of leadership, he did not fall back into a reckless mood as of old. Leaders, he told himself, must look ahead. And so, after a time, he came back to Room 13. The clock was about to usher in a study period. A few students were already in the room. Mr. Banning, catching his eye as he entered, beckoned him to his desk.
"Perry," he said, handing him a written order, "will you go down to the office and get me a bottle of red ink?"
The boy departed on the errand, and in the
