“Did you feel that way, Charley?” Edward looked at him with shy and grateful eyes. “You know I caught a glimpse of you while I stood there at the bat, and I thought to myself that you’d like to see me hit it. I—I wanted you not to be ashamed of me—here on your own grounds!”
They both laughed a little; then they walked together silently, arm in arm.
The St. John’s spectators were strolling toward the School; they looked at Edward with respectful curiosity; some of them, friends of Charles, sauntered up and were introduced; they had a pleasant word of reproach for Edward.
“You see,” Charles said, when at a corner of the big dormitory he and his brother stood at last alone, “it’s you who are the great man now, and they all want to look at you, in spite of the way you treated us. I guess it’s a good thing I’m not to be at St. John’s much longer: I’d find I was known just as the brother of the Crashaw at St. Timothy’s.”