REDDY ARMSTRONG'S REFORMATION
class had on more than one occasion knocked at his door and, with kind intent and great lack of tact, besought him to repent of his many sins and turn from his wild career while as yet there was time. The lucky Red had always listened docilely and thoughtfully, and had generally agreed with all the hard things they had said of him. He had thanked them, bowed them from the room in his polite Southern way, and then sent Runt to collect the gang. It was not one of these visits that affected him.
It began one night in the fall of Sophomore year. The gang had said good-night. Reddy and Runt had done a little poling, and were now lounging by the open fire, swearing gently at each other as was their wont when they wished to show their affection. They roomed on the campus now.
As Ramsay arose to reach a match from the mantel-piece for his pipe, his foot struck the iron shovel. It fell upon the brick hearth and made a sharp, ringing sound. He did not notice it, but it changed all the world to Reddy.
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