Part 55

"No, he isn't," said Jasper decidedly; "it grows worse and worse."

"Dear me!" said Polly again.

"And now Mr. Faber says there isn't much hope for him, unless he picks up in the last half. He called me into his study to tell me that to-day--wants me to influence him and all that."

All the hateful story was out at last. Polly sprang out of her chair.

"You don't mean--you can't mean, that Pickering will be dropped, Jasper?" she cried as she faced him.

"Worse than that," answered Jasper gloomily.

"Worse than dropped!" exclaimed Polly with wide eyes.

"To be dropped a class wouldn't kill Pick; so many boys have had that happen, although it is quite bad enough."

"I should think so," breathed Polly.

"But Pick will simply be shot out of the school," said Jasper desperately; "there's no use in mincing matters. Mr. Faber has utterly lost patience; and the other teachers as well."

"You don't mean that Pickering Dodge will be expelled?" cried Polly in a little scream.

"Yes." Jasper nodded his head, unable to utter another word. Then he sprang off from the table-end, and walked up and down the room, as Polly sank back in her chair.

"You see, it's just this way, Polly," he cried. "Pick has had warning after warning--you know the teachers have a system of sending written warnings around to the boys when they fall behind in their work--and he hasn't paid any attention to them."

"Won't he pay attention to what the teachers write to him, Jasper?" asked Polly, leaning forward in her big chair to watch him anxiously as he paced back and forth.

"No, calls them rubbish, and tears them up; and sometimes he won't even read them," said Jasper. "Oh, it's awful, Polly."

"I should say it was," said Polly slowly. "Very awful indeed, Jasper."

"And the last time he had one from Herr Frincke about his German, Pick brought it into the room where a lot of us boys were, and read it out, with no end of fun over it, and it went into the scrap-basket; and he hasn't tackled his grammar a bit better since; only the translations he's up a trifle on."

"Oh, now I know why you wouldn't go to ride with me for the last week," cried Polly, springing out of her chair to rush up to him, "you've been helping Pickering," she declared, with kindling eyes.

"Never mind," said Jasper uneasily.

"And it was splendid of you," cried Polly, the color flying over her cheeks. "Oh Jasper, I do believe you can pull him through."

"No, I can't, Polly." Jasper stood quite still. "No one can pull him through, but you, Polly."

"I!" exclaimed Polly in amazement. "Why, Jasper King!" and she tumbled back a few steps to stare at him. "What do you mean?"

"It's just this way." Jasper threw back his hair from his hot forehead. "Pick doesn't care a bit for what I say: it's an old story; goes in at one ear, and out at the other."

"Oh, he does care for what you say," contradicted Polly stoutly, "ever and ever so much, Jasper."

"Well, he's heard it so much; perhaps I've pounded at him too hard. And then again--" Jasper paused, turned away a bit, and rushed back hastily, with vexation written all over his face. "I must speak it: I can't help him any more, for somehow Mr. Faber has found it out, and forbids it; that's one reason of the talk this morning in his study--says I must influence him, and all that. That's rubbish; I can't influence him." Jasper dashed over to lay his head on the table on his folded arms.

"Polly, if Pick is expelled, I--" he couldn't finish it, his voice breaking all up.

Polly ran over to lay a hand on his shaking shoulders.

"What can I do, Jasper?" she cried brokenly. "Tell me, and I'll do it, every single thing."