Courtland rose. His face was white, but there was a light of something
in his eyes they did not understand.
They went over to him as if he had been a child who had been lost and
was found on some perilous height and needing to be coaxed gently away
from it.
"Oh, so you're here, Court," said Tennelly, slapping his shoulder with
gentle roughness, "Great little old room, isn't it? The fellows' idea
to keep flowers here. Kind of a continual memorial."
"Great fellow, that Steve!" said Pat, hoarsely. He could not yet speak
lightly of the hero-martyr whom he had helped to send to his fiery
grave.
But Courtland stood calmly, almost as if he had not heard them. "Pat,
Nelly," he said, turning from one to the other gravely, "I want to tell
you fellows that I have met Steve's Christ and after this I stand for
Him!"
They looked at him curiously, pityingly. They spoke with soothing words
and humored him. They led him away to his room and left him to rest.
Then they walked with solemn faces and dejected air into Bill Ward's
room and threw themselves down upon his couch.
"Where's Court?" Bill looked up from the theme he was writing.
"We found him in Steve's room," said Tennelly, gloomily, and shook his
head.
"It's a deuced shame!" burst forth Pat. (He had cut out swearing for a
time.) "He's batty in the bean!"
Tennelly answered the shocked question in the eyes of Bill with a nod.
"Yes, the brightest fellow in the class, but he sure is batty in the
bean! You ought to have heard him talk.
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