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 CHAPTER VII

MR. BABCOCK TAKES HOLD

Saturday noon Clif stood on the steps of West Hall and filled his lungs with air. Room G, in Middle, had been more than usually stuffy, and a stiff session with "The Turk" had left the boy feeling rather limp. Generally algebra went fairly smoothly for Clif, but to-day he had floundered badly. It had seemed that Mr. Way, possessed of uncanny power, had surmised Clif's condition and had malignantly, relentlessly exposed it. Yet, although there had been some bad moments, and "The Turk" had displayed his ability for sarcasm, Clif had got through not too disastrously. Retiring from the blackboard, dusting chalk from his fingers, perspiring gently, he had found the boy in the wheel chair regarding him sympathetically from across the room. There had been, too, a twinkle in the chap's eyes that had seemed to say, "Good work! He didn't floor you, anyhow!"

Easing the two books he carried to his other arm, Clif gave a final look at the sunlit lawn that stretched away to the distant tree-bordered street, took a last breath of the warm, fresh air, and turned to reënter the building. But at that moment a big, shining car, standing further along the drive, beyond East Hall