to it. When they had finished Joe took him in tow again and they went back to Academy Hall and turned to the left on the first floor and passed through a door whose ground-glass pane bore the inscription: “Office – Walk In.” What happened was very simple. At a desk Harmon was introduced to a tall, lean gentleman whose name was Mr. Wharton. The secretary shook hands politely and scrutinized the applicant through a pair of strong glasses. Then he gave him a card and a pen and Harmon wrote on the dotted lines, going to some pains to conceal the writing from Joe. The latter, however, had no thought of looking. Then a sum of money changed hands, the secretary filled out a receipt for it, Harmon produced a certificate from the principal of the Schuyler High School and the interview ended with a long sigh of relief from Joe.
“That’s done,” he said as they reached the corridor again. “Now I’ll take you up to your room.”
Haylow Hall was the last building at the left of the Green. Joe pushed his way through a group of boys on the stone steps and Harmon followed, conscious that he was being viewed with a good deal of interest by the loungers. Joe, too, noticed the fact, for he chuckled, as they started up the stairs: “Guess some of those fellows recognized you, from the way they stared!” There, however, Joe was wrong. The interest had been only such as would have been accorded to any fellow under such circumstances. For Joe was unaware of the glow of triumph that shone from his countenance as he guided his companion into the dormitory!
In Number 16 Martin Proctor was unpacking a trunk when Joe and Harmon entered. Martin looked questioningly from the latter to Joe, a doubtful grin on his face.
“It’s all right,” announced Joe gayly. “He’s registered, Mart! Where’s Bob?”
“Over at the room, I guess. He brought the bag and lit out. Say, Harmon, I’m mighty glad about this. And – and I hope you don’t hold it against us for what we did. It was sort of rough stuff, but – ”
“Not at all,” answered Harmon calmly. “It’s quite all right. Guess I ought to feel flattered instead of sore, anyway. Myers says I’m to room here with you.”
“That’s right. It’s a pretty fair room, Harmon. Better than lots of ’em, anyway. You might take your pick of the beds in there. It doesn’t matter to me which I have.”
“Thanks.” Harmon gravely inspected the curtained alcove and decided on the left-hand bed. Perhaps the fact that Martin’s pajamas lay there had something to do with the decision. Martin blinked but stood the blow heroically and tried to forget that the right-hand bed had a weak spring. At that moment Harmon caught sight of his kit-bag on the floor and pointed at it in surprise.
“Isn’t that mine?” he asked. “How did get here?”
“Bob brought it up from the station a few minutes ago,” explained Martin.
“You fellows must have been pretty certain of having your way!” marveled the owner of the bag.
Joe nodded soberly. “We had to be,” he said grimly. “Once we had started, we had to go through with it, Harmon.”
“But suppose I hadn’t given in! Suppose I’d gone to the principal here and told him that you fellows had kidnapped me and locked me up in a room?”
Joe smiled gently. “No chance of that, old man. If you hadn’t decided to stay with us by midnight we’d have taken you back to the station and put you on the twelve-twenty train.”
“Hm! And I – er – I wouldn’t have had anything to say?”
“No.” Joe shook his head. “There’d have been three of us anyway; maybe four; and we’d have fixed you so you couldn’t talk much.”
Harmon smiled. “Still, afterwards I could have talked. I could have come back, or written a letter and spilled the beans.”
“Yes, you could have done that, but we argued that once away from here you’d get over your grouch and forget it. Besides, a chap doesn’t want to look foolish.”
“That’s so,” agreed Harmon, and he repeated it more emphatically in the next breath. “It is uncomfortable, isn’t it?” The arrival of Bob Newhall made a response by Joe unnecessary, although the latter wondered just a little over Harmon’s expression and the inflection of his voice. Bob gave a shout of triumph and joy when he saw Harmon.
“A brand from the burning!” he exclaimed. “This is great! I just knew you’d see reason, Harmon! Say, I’m tickled to death!”
“Well, don’t upset the table,” warned Martin. “Let’s sit down, fellows. This has been sort of a strenuous day. Try the big chair, Harmon. By the way, as we’re going to see a good deal of each other we might as well get used to real names. Mine’s Martin, but I’m generally called Mart.”
“But never Smart,” interpolated Bob.
Harmon smiled at the pleasantry. “And I’m usually called Will and never Way,” he said.
Martin looked puzzled. For that matter, so did the others.
“You mean folks call you Will?” asked Martin, doubtfully.
“Yes. Short for Willard.”
“Oh! Willard’s your middle name. I see. Well – ”
“Hold on!” exclaimed Bob. “I thought your middle name was Edward!”
“No, my middle name is Kane. Willard is my first name.” Harmon explained politely and smilingly. Joe’s jaw began to drop slowly.
“What!” cried Bob. “Aren’t you Gordon Harmon, the fellow who played full-back last year for Schuyler High?”
Harmon shook his head gently. “Oh, no, that’s my brother,” he said.
A deep silence fell. Bob stared at Joe and Joe stared at Martin and all three stared at Harmon. And the latter met their looks with an amused smile. When the silence threatened to continue forever Bob gave an audible gulp and blurted wildly:
“But I saw the name on your bag! It’s there now! ‘Gordon Edward Harmon!’”
“Oh,” replied Harmon gently, “that isn’t my bag. I borrowed it from my brother.”
CHAPTER V
THE WRONG BOY
Another silence ensued, broken at last by a groan from Bob.
“Then you’re not – you don’t – ”
“There’s evidently been a mistake,” said Willard regretfully. “Still, of course it doesn’t much matter whether my name’s Willard or Gordon, does it? As Shakespeare says, ‘What’s in a name?’”
“I never could stand that fellow Shakespeare,” muttered Bob. Joe was still staring across the table at Willard in a strange fascination. Martin’s countenance was gradually assuming a broad grin. Willard went on brightly and cheerfully.
“What I couldn’t understand was why you chaps were so anxious to have me here. Just at first, naturally, I was a bit peevish at being locked up, but when I came to think it over, like you told me to, I realized that your wanting me to stay was a compliment. It wasn’t as if I was of some consequence, as if I was a football player or an athlete or something like that. You fellows
