he sat with him at dinners, he would call Floyd from another room to join the group gathered about the piano to sing, and then he would stand leaning on Floyd's shoulder. Yet there was always a faint politeness in his manner toward his room-mate, a veiled deferential constraint which had suffered few lapses since the day he had beaten him on the back and called him an old fool. And he was conscious that, in spite of all his devotion, he was failing to make Floyd "go;" Floyd did not show quite the right side to the other fellows, and they did not show quite the right side to him.
"It's damned fine the way you stand by a friend," Jim Hobart said to Stewart. Jim had an antipathy to Floyd and created a little sentiment against him, saying that he did n't take an interest and would never get tight with the crowd. "He has a revolving stomach," Stewart pleaded in defense. Everybody agreed that in that case Stewart's devotion was all the more noble.
Suddenly criticism became more impatient. "Oh, what's the use of pushing Floyd Halket everywhere you go!" Jim Hobart exclaimed to Stewart one evening in irritation. "Drop it, for heaven's sake. If you want to come to the theatre with us, come ahead, but we don't want him."
Stewart abhorred the idea of presenting a ridiculous figure; if his championship of Floyd no longer seemed fine, perhaps it was beginning to appear grotesque. Thenceforth Stewart ceased to pay Floyd the obvious little friendly attentions at the club. Floyd, working hard in the laboratory, exercising with the crew candidates in the gymnasium, visiting the club only occasionally, was not aware of any change.
Through Stewart and Mrs. Lee, Floyd received invitations to dances in Boston. "You'd better go to the Vanes'," Stewart advised. "A friend of yours from Avalon will be there, and she'll be disappointed if you don't come—Lydia Dunbar."
