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 meant to make the visit, and yet he found slight and obscure reasons to put it off. In the end it was Carlos Dix who called the school and had him summoned to the telephone.

"I've been expecting you," the lawyer said. "Mr. Banning told me you were headed this way for a debate. When will you be along?"

Praska's reply was vague.

"Make it this afternoon. I'll be out of town all next week. I'll be waiting for you about four o'clock."

Four o'clock found Praska walking listlessly into the bank building. Yes, the school had called upon Carlos Dix and the lawyer had responded—but out of that response had come to the boy only anguish of soul. Once Praska had carried the lawyer enshrined in his heart. The things he did had seemed to be the promptings of a loyalty that was still, after many years, true to Northfield High. But the shrine of late, had become a tottering ruin.

In a dull, numbing sort of way Praska had grown used to the thought that Carlos Dix was not the fine, unselfish Carlos Dix he had thought him. But yet another thought ate and ate at all the ideals of faith and service his deep and sensitive nature had built up. The dull numbness was for Carlos Dix, the man; the ever-present ache