“You will have to choose some other time for it,” Irving answered.  “I understand that there is a rule against reading newspapers at table, and I think it must be observed.”

“Oh, very well,—­de bon coeur,” said Westby.

The next day at supper he appeared without his newspaper.  But in the course of the meal he drew from his pocket some newspaper clippings which he had pasted together and which he began to read in his usual manner.  Soon the boys of the table were laughing, soon the boys of the adjacent tables were twisting round and trying to share in the amusement.  Westby read in his rapid consecutive way,—­

“’Does no good unless taken as directed—­pain in the back, loins, or region of the kidneys—­danger signal nature hangs out—­um—­um—­um.  Mother attacks son with razor, taking tip of left ear.  Catcher Dan McQuilligan signs with the Red Sox—­The Woman Beautiful—­Bright Eyes:  Every woman is entitled to a clear, brilliant complexion—­um—­if she is not so blessed, it is usually her own fault—­um—­Candidate for pulchritude:  reliable beauty shop—­do not clip the eyelashes—­um.—­Domestic science column—­Baked quail:  pick, draw, and wipe the bird outside and inside; use a wet cloth.—­No, Hortense, it is not necessary to offer a young man refreshments during an evening call.’”

Westby was going on and on; he had a hilarious audience now of three tables.  From the platform at the end of the dining-room Mr. Randolph looked down and shook his head—­shook it emphatically; and Irving, seeing it, understood the signal.

“Westby,” said Irving.  “Westby!” He had to raise his voice.

“Yes, sir?” Westby looked up innocently.

“I will have to ask you to discontinue your reading.”

“But this is not a newspaper.”

“It’s part of one.”

“Yes, sir, but the rule is against bringing newspapers to table—­not against bringing newspaper clippings to table.”

“The rule’s been changed,” said Irving.  “It now includes clippings.”

“You see how it is, fellows.”  Westby turned to the others.  “Persecuted—­always persecuted.  If I’m within the rules—­they change the rules to soak me.  Well,”—­he folded up his clippings and put them in his pocket,—­“the class in current topics is dismissed.  But instead Mr. Upton has very kindly consented to entertain us this evening—­some of his inimitable chit-chat—­”

“I wouldn’t always try to be facetious, Westby,” said Irving.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” replied Westby urbanely.  “If I have wounded your sensibilities—­I would not do that—­never—­jamais—­pas du tout.”

Irving said nothing; it seemed to him that Westby always had the last word; it seemed to him as if Westby was always skillfully tripping him up, executing a derisive flourish over his prostrate form, and then prancing away to the cheers of the populace.