“But I have never seen you speak to him,” Keith interrupted him.

“He is a very fine boy and comes of excellent family,” Murray retorted.  Then he enumerated the other four.  Only one of them besides Brockert belonged to their own class.

Little as Keith knew about most of the boys in school, he realized that all the prospective guests had three things in common:  they were good scholars, poor, and yet of good families.  One had a von in front of his name.  Brockert, too, had some sort of claim to nobility, although it was said that his mother earned a living for herself and him by working as a seamstress and the boy was known to pay for his own tuition by tutoring backward sons of rich families in the lower grades.

Keith tried to look unconcerned.  Fortunately they were near home, and soon he could get away by himself.  It has to be admitted that he cried.  And in the end he told his mother, who tried to make him promise never to speak to Murray again.

“But we’re side partners in the class,” said Keith, still sobbing.

There was a certain stiffness between him and Murray during the next few days, but they kept company to and from school as usual.  Not until the morning after the party did it occur to Keith that his pride demanded some kind of demonstration.

That morning he meant to keep away from his friend.  He stayed at home longer than usual on purpose.  Finally he grew afraid of being late and tumbled pell-mell downstairs, intent on turning to his old route by way of East Long Street.  But no sooner had he reached the lane than his legs seemed to be moving regardless of his will, and they took the familiar turn toward the Quay.  At that moment he caught sight of Murray crossing the mouth of the lane without looking either right or left.  Something like a shiver passed through Keith’s body, but his legs were still in command, and they began to run.  A minute later he was walking beside Murray as he had done day after day for the better part of three terms.

At first they did not speak.  Then Murray began to tell about the party of the night before as if it had been the most natural thing in the world to do so.  He told what they had eaten and what they had played and what impression the boys had made on his mother.  Keith listened without a word.

The worst fight he had ever fought with himself was raging within him, and while he heard every word that Murray uttered, they seemed to pass him by as if spoken to some other person.  His heart was beating very hard, and he breathed uneasily.  An unfamiliar, impersonal voice within himself was telling him that he must either give Murray a good licking then and there or run away.  Nasty, ugly, hateful words seemed to crowd to his lips with an all but irresistible demand for utterance.

Yet he walked on as before, listening to Murray without a word of comment.  At last, when they were near the school entrance, he stopped suddenly and said: