“Are you going to be busy this afternoon, Campbell?” asked Lieutenant Wilde, as they came out from dinner one Saturday noon.

“Nothing special,” answered Stanley. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I wondered whether you would be willing to go over to the laboratory, and help me get ready for one or two experiments that I want to show the class Monday morning. Don’t come, if you’ve anything else on hand.”

“I haven’t a thing,” said Stanley eagerly. “Really, I’d like no better fun.”

“Well, I’m going over at half-past two. Will you be over there? Or come to my room for me, if you like. I have a letter to write first.” And Irving Wilde turned away to go to his room, while Stanley joined a group of cadets who were standing in the hall, to discuss their plans for making the best of a stormy Saturday afternoon.

Punctually at half-past two o’clock, Stanley and Lieutenant Wilde were walking across the grounds to the recitation hall. It was a dreary, raw day, with a heavy rain beating down, splashing on the paved walks and soaking the earth until little dark gray pools of snow and water lay here and there, while an occasional patch of brown, dead grass came up through its white covering. But if it was cold and dismal outside, the little laboratory was warm and comfortable enough to make up for it, and Stanley gave his favorite inarticulate grunt of content as he hung up his dripping cap and overcoat beside Lieutenant Wilde’s. It was no hardship for him to have to help Lieutenant Wilde that day. The two were excellent friends, and the lieutenant had often admitted to himself that he found no one of the cadets more companionable than this silent, slow boy of fourteen. Though Stanley might lack the brilliancy of Max or Leon, and had to work far longer at his lessons than many another boy, yet he never stopped until he understood his subject to its foundations, and knowledge so thoroughly gained was never lost. No skimming over the top of things, no hasty cramming would satisfy Stanley Campbell. He must and would know his subject through and through, before it could make any lasting impression on his mind. No matter, then, that when any test came, he was found to lead his class. Such boys as Stanley go far towards making the solid men who are much more the real leaders of the nation, than the brilliant talkers and thinkers that float lightly along on the surface of events but, like all other driftwood, lodge and stick fast when they come to a rock in their passage. And moreover, silent and unresponsive as Stanley was generally thought to be, Lieutenant Wilde and his intimate boy friends knew him better. True, the lad could not talk easily, partly from shyness, partly from utter inability to rattle off the random nonsense which was the delight of the other boys; but, under all his outward reserve, he kept up a strong interest in the conversation, and his face would grow merry or soften by turns, and often he would give the speaker a quick glance of understanding at some little point, too slight to catch the notice of his companions. But however silent he might be in general, he was always at his ease with Lieutenant Wilde who saw and appreciated the real fineness of his mind, and predicted a broad and honorable future for the lad.

“I haven’t so very much to do, after all; only a few sulphur experiments,” remarked Lieutenant Wilde, with a laugh, as he began setting out an array of flasks and beakers and rubber and glass tubes, on the long, broad desk which ran across one side of the room. “I’m afraid, if the truth were told, Campbell, I wanted your company more than I did your help, this afternoon. Still, you may light the gas there, if you will.”

Stanley did so, and then stood watching his teacher as he scientifically linked together his flasks and tubes, now mixing innocent-looking substances with a practised hand, now applying the flame to this compound, or adding a few drops of acid to that.

“There,” he said, after looking closely at one of them for a moment; “that will begin to work now. Bring up a couple of stools, Stanley; we may as well make ourselves comfortable, for all we can do at present is to watch this. I wanted to see that they were all in order for next time, and not have them fail me, as my chlorine experiment did. Do you know,” he added, with an anxious frown; “I am a little suspicious of some of these last chemicals.”

“Why?” asked Stanley, as he seated himself astride his lofty stool.

“They don’t act just right, and I’m not at all sure that they are pure. Still, they came from the same house that always supplies us, and they must be good.” And Lieutenant Wilde bent his head, to look more closely at the bubbling mixture.

“What if they aren’t pure?” inquired Stanley.

“Oh, they may explode; that’s the worst they can do,” said Lieutenant Wilde, laughing at the boy’s dismayed face and involuntary motion away from the desk. “You needn’t worry, Campbell,” he added reassuringly; “I think these are probably all they ought to be.”

“I wonder how I’d like to be a chemist,” remarked Stanley thoughtfully.

“You have rather a gift for it,” responded Lieutenant Wilde, resting one elbow on the desk, while he twirled his glasses by their bows, in the other hand.

“I’m afraid I haven’t much gift for anything,” said Stanley, and there was a little tone of regret in his voice, as he went on, “I wish I could get at things as quick as Max does. It seems as if he knew everything, without studying it at all. He’s an awfully bright fellow, Lieutenant Wilde.”

“Yes,” assented Lieutenant Wilde absently. He was mentally weighing the two boys, as unlike as boys could be.

They were silent for a few moments. Lieutenant Wilde could see that the boy had something on his mind. He moved restlessly on his stool, while he leaned his elbows on the desk in front of him, and fitted the knuckles of his left hand against the knuckles of his right, with a frowning precision. When he looked up, it was to meet his teacher’s steady, inquiring gaze, and his face suddenly brightened, showing one little dimple in his smooth, round chin.

“Well, Stanley?” said Lieutenant Wilde; laughing.

“Well?”

“You’ve something in your head; out with it!”

“How do you know?” asked Stanley rather abruptly, surprised at being found out.

“How did I know? Why, everything about you tells it, except your tongue, so that may as well speak,” answered Lieutenant Wilde, smiling as he watched the boy’s face.

“I believe you do know everything, Lieutenant Wilde,” said Stanley. “You’ve told me so much, you’d better finish, and say what it’s about?”

“Is it about Max?”

Stanley nodded.

“There’s nothing wrong with him, I hope.”

“No, I don’t know as there is; at least, nothing special. No, there isn’t really,” answered Stanley, who had a curious habit of thinking aloud, whenever he was much absorbed.

“What is it, Stanley?” asked Lieutenant Wilde quite seriously.

“It really isn’t anything; honestly, Lieutenant Wilde,” said Stanley, supporting his chin on his hands and looking straight into his teacher’s face. “I truly hadn’t any business to say anything, for I’ve most likely imagined it all; but you caught me by taking me by surprise.”

“You’ve gone so far, Campbell,” said Lieutenant Wilde, as he moved to light the gas under another flask; “that it isn’t quite fair to Max not to talk it over and let me judge whether or not you have imagined some trouble that isn’t there. Come,” he added persuasively; “you ought to be able to trust me with it, Stanley. Have you boys been having a quarrel, or has Max been shirking his work?”

“Neither,” replied Stanley. “It can’t do any harm to talk about it to you, Lieutenant Wilde; it’s only this, have you noticed how Max is getting in with Osborn and his set, lately?”

Lieutenant Wilde suddenly became very grave, and frowned a little, as he sat with his eyes fixed on the rain-streaked window across the room. Of late, Osborn and his friends had been causing Dr. Flemming more anxiety than all the rest of his pupils. Their increasing disregard of discipline and reckless extravagance threw little credit upon the school, while their influence upon the other boys was far from helpful. As they did just enough work to keep their place in their classes, and were wary enough to avoid any open outbreak, there seemed to be no reasonable excuse for sending them away from Flemming. But though the doctor always hesitated about open expulsion, since he knew well how difficult it would be for a pupil whom he had dismissed, to gain admission anywhere else, yet he was only waiting till the end of the year, to give them a quiet hint to leave Flemming, in search of another school.

“I hadn’t thought of it,” Lieutenant Wilde answered, after considering the matter for a moment. “Isn’t Max with your set, as much as he used to be?”

“I don’t know but he is,” replied Stanley; “only ’tisn’t in just the same way. He’s all the time running off to see some of them. I’m not a bit jealous, Lieutenant Wilde,” and Stanley laughed uneasily; “but they aren’t a good kind of fellows for Max to be with.”

“That’s very true, Stanley,” responded Lieutenant Wilde quickly; “they’re the worst possible friends for an impulsive, good-natured boy like Max, for he’s easily led, and before he knows it, they’ll get him into trouble. How long has it been going on?”

“All this term. He’s with us a great deal of the time; but he and Osborn are both training for the ninety-two crew, and besides, since the boys started the quartette, that takes Louis and Leon and Paul and Alex, with Harry for the banjo, and it sort of leaves Max by himself. Then he doesn’t have to study nearly so much as the rest of us do; that gives him more chance for fun, and so he takes up with them. They’re a jolly set and make it lively for him; you see, they want to hang on to him, for they know he’s in with the Arnolds and Alex and those fellows that won’t have anything to do with them. I don’t think Max is to blame; but he may get into a scrape, for all that, for they’re a reckless crowd, and Max is always ready for a joke,” explained Stanley, not very lucidly.

Lieutenant Wilde stroked his silky moustache and bit his lip thoughtfully.

“I don’t quite like it, Campbell,” he said; “and I am very glad you spoke of it. I’ll try to get a word with Max before long, and see if I can’t break it up.”

“Oh, don’t!” exclaimed Stanley hastily.

“Don’t you be afraid, I won’t say anything about you. I only want to caution him, as I have all of you, over and over again, to be careful in choosing his friends. Max is a magnificent fellow and would never mean to go wrong; but he is so fond of fun that he loses his head a little sometimes, and I will just put him on his guard, that’s all.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Lieutenant Wilde said, with one of his frank, boyish laughs, as he put on his glasses and leaned forward to survey the compound before him,—

“Do you know, Stanley, that I make myself think now and then of a Japanese juggler with his balls, when he is throwing them up by turns, to keep them all in the air. It’s just about the way I have to do with you boys, first one of you, then another, to keep you going the way I want you to. It would be ever so much easier for me, if I didn’t care about you and just let you go on in your own way; but I hate to see you go wrong, so I have to put in my word occasionally. Perhaps we’re all the better friends for it, though, and—I’ll see if I can’t give Max a little start, to set him straight once more. Now,” he went on, “I must see to this. Will you just hand me the largest flask you can find in that closet over there?”

Stanley slid down from his high stool and went across to the closet, while Lieutenant Wilde hastily pushed aside the low gas-burner, with its flaring jet of colorless flame. The boy stood behind the half-open door, comparing two or three of the flasks before him, when he heard an ominous click and a short, sharp exclamation from Lieutenant Wilde. The next instant, the room echoed with a loud explosion which jarred the windows and doors in their casements, and set every flask and funnel to dancing on its shelf; there was a rush of suffocating vapor that filled the room and, catching fire where it was densest, blazed up in a dull blue flame about the desk. Then came that sickening sound, the thud of a heavily-falling body. For one moment, Stanley stood as if dazed by the report; but it was for only one. Then this boy who was counted as slow by his friends, returned to his senses and, only conscious that some accident had occurred and that there was need of prompt action, turned to see Lieutenant Wilde lying senseless on the floor, below the desk which appeared to be enveloped in a mass of flame. It was but the work of an instant to leap forward, turn off the gas, then rush to the nearest window and throw it open with an unconscious force which shattered the glass; only an instant, but it showed the stuff of which the lad was made, and proved his ability to think and act quickly in an emergency that would have paralyzed many an older person. From window to window he hurried, throwing them wide open to let in the cool outer air, then back to his teacher’s side, where he stooped to look at him closely and steadily, though his heart sickened at the sight.

Lieutenant Wilde lay in the same cramped position in which he had dropped when the rush of gas had stifled him; his eyebrows and moustache were burned half off, and his face was cut here and there with the bits of flying glass. For a minute, the boy’s courage failed, but he quickly nerved himself again, when he remembered that they were alone in the building and that immediate aid must be summoned. No calling would do, for the boys were all inside the house, and the noise of the storm would drown the sound of his voice. But, on the other hand, dared he leave Lieutenant Wilde? He might then be dying, or even dead. Desperately he tore off his coat, rolled it into a sort of pillow and arranged it under the young man’s head. Then he rushed away, bareheaded and in his shirt sleeves, through the cold, drizzling rain, down to the doctor’s house.

The doctor met him on the steps, for he had heard the explosion, and, seeing him coming in this strange plight, he at once imagined some serious trouble, an impression increased at sight of the boy’s drawn, ash-colored face.

“Come quick—to the laboratory—Lieutenant Wilde!” panted Stanley breathlessly.

The doctor turned to his wife, who had followed him out to the piazza.

“Send Maggie for Mr. Boniface,” he said briefly; “you stay here till I send you some word.” And he hurried away up the hill after Stanley, who had rushed back to the laboratory again.

When the doctor entered the laboratory, his nephew had opened his eyes and was breathing with short, quick gasps, as he lay with his head and shoulders supported on Stanley’s knees, while the boy bent over him, anxiously gazing down, in the hope of receiving a glance of recognition. In as few words as possible, Stanley told what had occurred, adding pleadingly,—

“I did what I could, sir, and then called you,” as if fearing he might in some way be blamed for the explosion.

“I know you did,” said the doctor heartily, just as Mr. Boniface came in the room. “I don’t quite like the looks here, though,” he added, as Lieutenant Wilde’s eyes closed heavily again, and he gave a little moan. “Campbell, you’ve run enough, but I shall have to ask you to go and send either Keith or Lincoln for the doctor, and then tell Mrs. Flemming what has happened and to be ready for us to bring him down to the house, as soon as he can be moved. Tell her to keep you there and look out for you a little,” he went on kindly, as he noticed the hard, strained lines about the boy’s white lips.

“Do you think he—?” faltered Stanley.

“I can’t tell yet,” interrupted the doctor, as if unwilling to hear the words; “but if he comes out of this, he has you to thank. Go now, please.”

The news had already flown through the school, and as Stanley went down the hill, with his coat thrown carelessly over his shoulders, he was waylaid and questioned by group after group of his schoolmates who had rushed out, anxious to learn the truth, even at its worst. But Stanley only answered with a word or two, and hastened on to give his messages for, now that the reaction had come, he felt strangely weak and sick.

The rest of the afternoon was to him like a long, confused dream: the half hour of anxious waiting, when kind Mrs. Flemming, in the midst of her dread and her hurry, made him lie down on the sofa and take the stimulant of which he stood so sorely in need; then the sound of heavy steps as the doctor and Mr. Boniface, Jack and Alex brought the young man into the house and up to the room which Mrs. Flemming had made ready for him; then the quick trot of the doctor’s horse, as he came hurrying up the hill; all the stir throughout the house, that comes with any sudden illness. Then followed the dreadful stillness, when the old doctor went into the room and the door closed behind him, and Stanley, Alex and Jack sat on the stairs outside, listening oh! so intently for any sound that might tell them what was passing within. They did not speak, not even to whisper a syllable to each other, but sat silently gazing at the opposite wall, in an agony of waiting. No harm to one of their schoolmates, to Mr. Boniface, or even to the doctor himself could have moved them as did this sudden fear of losing Lieutenant Wilde. They felt as if they had never before appreciated him; and in their minds, they were going over and over again the many pleasant hours they had spent together, with a vague feeling that it all was ended now.

But someone was moving in the room, and now and then a low voice could be heard. Then all was still again; but presently the door opened and Mr. Boniface came out. He was smiling a little, and to the anxious lads, his homely face looked like the face of an angel of light, as he came down to them and seated himself at Stanley’s side.

“It’s not so bad as we thought,” he said, in a low tone. “He was stunned by the explosion and half-suffocated with the gas; but he’s come to himself now, and the doctor says the worst is over. He’s badly cut with the glass, and burned; but his spectacles saved his eyes, and the rest is painful, rather than dangerous, so it won’t be long till he’s as well as ever.”

As Stanley gave a deep sigh of relief, Mr. Boniface put his hand on his shoulder, while he went on,—

“And the doctor, Dr. Rowe, I mean, says that if this boy hadn’t kept his wits about him as he did, we shouldn’t have had Lieutenant Wilde with us now. Nothing but his quick thought in turning off the gas and letting in more air, could have saved him. We can’t thank you, Campbell; but we can congratulate you, and admire you for the part you have played. And now I must leave you to tell the others, while I go back up-stairs. Don’t let the boys make any noise outside, for they want Lieutenant Wilde to get to sleep.” And he quietly left them.

“You’re the hero of the school, Stan,” said Jack, as the boys stood up, with a queer, dizzy feeling, now that their anxiety was at an end.

“I knew you had it in you, though,” added Alex, as they put on their caps. “There isn’t another fellow in Flemming that would have done as well, and I’m proud to call you a friend of mine.”

And they went away to tell the good news.