The autumn weeks that slipped by had little effect on the relations of the two boys in 7 Hale. Duncan thought less ill of Archer after longer experience with him: he was not especially fresh after all; he minded his own business, and did not presume, or pretend, or brag, or fish for Duncan’s friends. On the other hand, he was not as particular in the matter of clothes as Duncan liked his friends to be. Archer’s coat was not always fresh from the tailor’s goose, the turn-up of his trousers was usually imperfect, his neckties were carelessly chosen, and did not match his socks. His tastes, moreover, were too democratic; he showed a disposition to like everybody; rich or poor, clodhopper or aristocrat, athlete or grind—he accepted them all as parts of the same world with equal rights to favor and friendship. Archer nodded at every fellow he met; so did Duncan, but Duncan’s nods were carefully graduated to the person. On one fellow he bestowed a short formal jerk of the head, which, accurately translated, read, “This is my duty greeting, even you receive it.” To another the nod was a conscious expression of friendliness; a smile that lighted up the face went with this salute, and a jolly word that had a personal ring. Archer drew the line at meanness and a dirty shirt; Duncan’s line was farther up, separating the few who were supposed to be of the right sort from the many who were not.

When once the principle was established that their ways lay apart, it was easier to follow the diverging paths than to bring them together. At first Peck thought Archer fresh and ordinary, and did not care for him. At first Archer was offended at Peck’s foolish snobbishness, and proudly disregarded him. The attitudes thus taken both maintained through obstinacy, after each had discovered that he was at least partially wrong. Archer waited for Peck, who had established the precedent, to change it. With Peck the loss of the favorite room still rankled, and he held that advances toward reconciliation should come from the aggressor. So they tacitly agreed that they must always disagree.

Bruce came to the door one day demanding Peck, or information as to where he could be found. Archer replied in emphatic terms that he knew nothing about Peck’s affairs.

“Isn’t he ever here?” asked the track captain, in a tone of vexation.

“Come at midnight and you’ll find him. He’s here to sleep.”

Bruce looked thoughtfully at Archer. “He ought to stay at home more,” he said, after a slight pause. “He won’t do any work, knocking about from room to room.”

Archer gave an impatient jerk of his shoulders. “It’s none of my business what he does. I think he goes away to avoid me.”

“Why should he?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t like me, I suppose.”

“He and Don used to fight like cat and dog, but they always stuck to the nest,” Bruce mused. “What have you done to him?”

“Nothing. He just doesn’t like me. You can’t blame him for that.”

Bruce had been talking with Collins that morning, and the trainer had spoken a good word for the long-legged recruit to the hurdling force, not on account of what he could do, but because of the spirit he showed. Bruce was fond of whimsical Duncan. He was well disposed, also, to the recruit.

“Didn’t you throw him out of his room?”

Sam flushed uneasily. “Yes, and I offered to give it back to him. He said it wasn’t worth the trouble of changing.”

“Duncan is a little queer. He takes things hard sometimes. The more he feels a thing, the less he likes to talk about it.”

The visitor departed, leaving Sam to puzzle over this new light on the actions of his incomprehensible room-mate. On first impulse he vowed that if Peck was such a fool that he wouldn’t say plainly what he wanted, his wants didn’t deserve consideration. Sam himself, in Peck’s circumstances, would not have hesitated an instant; he might have been annoyed, but he would have declared his annoyance frankly; he wouldn’t have played the sorehead. But was there really any ground for annoyance? Sam imagined himself in Peck’s place, and answered immediately “yes.” In fact, the more he considered it, the more serious the offence became. A fourth-year boy unceremoniously bundled out of his old quarters by a newcomer because of a few days’ delay in arriving, and then calmly told he might move himself back if he wished! It was a fresh thing to do; Sam squirmed in his chair under the lash of his own conscience; however silly on the part of Peck to pout like a foolish school-girl, there was no defence for that act.

The recitation bell gave forth its dreary clang; Peck rushed in, took some books from his desk and started for the door.

“Bruce has been here,” said Archer.

“I saw him,” replied Peck, as he crossed the threshold.

This exchange of chilly brevities jarred on Sam’s perturbed feelings. No one but a lobster or a sorehead would sulk that way! It would be of no use to offer apologies to such a fellow. The only course was to say nothing and replace the furniture.

Glad to do something to make amends for his error, Sam dug out Birdie Fowle from the room opposite, led him into Number 7, and set forth his demands. By concentration of will power, he at length succeeded in giving Birdie’s good-natured inclination to do anything anybody asked of him, the victory over his disinclination to do anything at all. Together they hustled Sam’s bedroom furniture and general movables into the study, placed Peck’s bed in the corner room, moved his bureau without disturbing the articles on top, and hung his wall ornaments in corresponding positions in the new quarters. The contents of his own closet Sam cleared out, but Peck’s he left unprofaned for the owner himself to change. After that, the pair dumped Sam’s possessions miscellaneously in the inferior room, and adjourned to Porter’s drug store for consolatory fudges at Archer’s expense.

When Sam returned he found Peck standing on the threshold of his old room, looking unpleasantly surprised.

“What have you been doing now?” he demanded, as Sam entered the study.

“Birdie and I have just put your things back in your old room,” answered Archer. “We did it carefully. I don’t think anything is hurt. You’ll have to shift your clothes yourself.”

“You take a lot of liberties with other people’s property!” commented Peck, savagely. “You seem used to moving. Your family must be in the habit of changing tenements whenever rent-day comes round.”

At this slash Sam laughed outright. His family had inhabited the same house for four generations. It was one of the recognized ornaments of the city, pointed out to every stranger. “The last time we moved was in 1790,” he said quietly.

“What!”

“And I naturally don’t remember much about it. My great-grandfather did the moving.”

Peck stared for a few silent seconds. “Well, you’re certainly making up for your ancestors’ omissions. Perhaps they hadn’t anything to move. I hope you aren’t going to keep this thing up all through the year.”

“You needn’t worry. I shan’t touch your things again. I’ve just put you back where I found you. We’re square now.”

“I didn’t ask you to do it,” persisted Peck, ill-humoredly.

“I know you didn’t, but I came to the conclusion that I oughtn’t to have moved you in the beginning, so I tried to make it good. I’m sorry if you don’t like it.”

“Oh, I don’t care,” replied Peck, with indifference, going to transfer his clothes to the empty closet.

Archer strode over to Alumni to luncheon, disappointed in the outcome of his efforts to make amends for his act of thoughtlessness. He felt that he had come as near an apology as he could, without actually falling on his knees and demanding forgiveness with tears. If Peck was still sore, he might go hang! His favor wasn’t worth having.

That evening Peck inquired what kind of a house it was that Archer’s family had lived in for four generations, and for the first time in six weeks of co-residence, there occurred between them what might be called a conversation. But, as Sam gloomily remarked to himself afterward, it was like a talk over a wall.