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Left Tackle Thayer

Creator: Barbour, Ralph Henry, 1870-1944
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Amy's face became suddenly earnest and sober, "Because, my young friend, you are especially fortunate. A kindly Providence has placed you in the care of one of the wisest, most respected, er--finest examples of young manhood this institution affords. I certainly do congratulate you!" Amy made another grab at Clint's hand, but the latter foiled him. "You mean the fellow I'm going to room with?" he asked. "Exactly! Faculty has indeed been good to you, Clint. You will take up your abode with a youth in whom all the virtues and--and excellencies--" "Who is he?" demanded Clint suspiciously. "His name"--Amy drew close and dropped his voice to an awed and thrilling whisper--"his name is--Are you prepared?" "Go on. Ill try to stand it." "His name, then, is Amory Munson Byrd!" "Amory Mun--" "--son Byrd!"
Hector\'s Inheritance, Or, the Boys of Smith Institute

HECTOR'S INHERITANCE. CHAPTER I. MR. ROSCOE RECEIVES TWO LETTERS. Mr. Roscoe rang the bell, and, in answer, a servant entered the library, where he sat before a large and commodious desk. "Has the mail yet arrived?" he asked. "Yes, sir; John has just come back from the village." "Go at once and bring me the letters and papers, if there are any." John bowed and withdrew.
"You mean--I'm in with you?" "I mean just that, O fortunate youth! Forward, sir! Allow me to conduct you to your apartment!" And, putting his arm through Clint's, he dragged that astonished youth into dormitory. CHAPTER II CAPTAIN INNES RECEIVES "What's that awful noise?" asked Clint startledly, looking up from his book. It was the evening of the second day of school and Clint and Amy Byrd were preparing lessons at opposite sides of the green-topped table in Number 14 Torrence. "That," replied Amy, leaning back until his chair protested and viewing his room-mate under the shade of the drop-light, "is music." "Music!" Clint listened incredulously. From the next room, by way of opened windows and transoms, came the most lugubrious wails he thought he had ever listened to. "It--it's a fiddle, isn't it?" he demanded.