“It belongs to Jack here.”
“And it’s still not for sale,” Moreau answered promptly.
“Like that, eh? Suit yourself.” Salter went on blandly, “Another thing you willed that nag of yours yet?”
The boys’ mounts, with few exceptions, were owned by the school, but it was a cherished and long-standing privilege of a boy graduating to “will” his temporary ownership to a boy of his choice. Don looked up sharply; until that moment he had not thought about Lazy. He realized with sudden grief that he could not take the little fat clown with him—nor had he made any arrangements for his welfare. “The matter is settled,” he answered, added to himself: as far as you are concerned.
“Who gets him? I could make it worth your while. He’s not much of a horse, but I want to get rid of the goat I’ve had to put up with.”
“It’s settled.”
“Be sensible. I can see the Head and get him anyhow. Willing a horse is a graduating privilege and you’re ducking out ahead of time.”
“Get out.”
Salter grinned. “Touchy, aren’t you? Just like all fogeaters, too touchy to know what’s good for you. Well, you’re going to be taught a lesson some day soon.”
Don, already on edge, was too angry to trust himself to speak. “Fogeater,” used to describe a man from cloudwrapped Venus, was merely ragging, no worse than “Limey” or “Yank”—unless the tone of voice and context made it, as now, a deliberate insult. The others looked at him, half expecting action.
Jack got up hastily from the bed and went toward Salter. “Get going, Salty. We’re too busy to monkey around with you.” Salter looked at Don, then back at Jack, shrugged and said, “I’m too busy to hang around here… but not too busy, if you have anything in mind.”
The noon bell pealed from the mess hall; it broke the tension. Several boys started for the door; Salter moved out with them. Don hung back. Jack said, “Come on—beans!”
“Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“How about you taking over Lazy?”
“Gee, Don? I’d like to accommodate you—but what would I do with Lady Maude?”
“Uh, I guess so. What’ll I do?”
“Let me see—” Jack’s face brightened. “You know that kid Squinty Morris? The new kid from Manitoba? He hasn’t got a permanent yet; he’s been taking his rotation with the goats. He’d treat Lazy right; I know, I let him try Maudie once. He’s got gentle hands.”
Don looked relieved. “Will you fix it for me? And see Mr. Reeves?”
“Huh? You can see him at lunch; come on.”
“I’m not going to lunch. I’m not hungry. And I don’t much want to talk to the Head about it.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I don’t know. When he called me in this morning he didn’t seem exactly… friendly.”
“What did he say?”
“It wasn’t his words; it was his manner. Maybe I am touchy—but I sort of thought he was glad to see me go.”
Don expected Jack to object, convince him that he was wrong. Instead he was silent for a moment, then said quietly, ‘Don’t take it too hard, Don. The Head is probably edgy too. You know he’s got his orders?”
“Huh? What orders?”
“You knew he was a reserve officer, didn’t you? He put in for orders and got ’em, effective at end of term. Mrs. Reeves is taking over the school for the duration.”
Don, already overstrained, felt his head whirling. For the duration? How could anyone say that when there wasn’t any such thing?
” ‘S’fact,” Jack went on. “I got it straight from cookie.” He paused, then went on, “See here, old son—we’re pals, aren’t we?”
“Huh? Sure, sure!”
“Then give it to me straight: are you actually going to Mars? Or are you heading for Venus to sign up?”
“Whatever gave you that notion?”
“Skip it, then. Believe me; it wouldn’t make any difference between us. My old man says that when it’s time to be counted, the important thing is to be man enough to stand up.” He looked at Don’s face, then went on, “What you do about it is up to you. You know I’ve got a birthday coming up next month?”