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It was Paul's afternoon to appear before the faculty of the Pittsburgh High School to account for his various misdemeanors.
When questioned by the principal as to why he was there, Paul stated, politely enough, that he wanted to come back to school.
He was a model usher; gracious and smiling, he ran up and down the aisles; nothing was to much trouble for him; he carried messages and brought programs as though it were his greatest pleasure in life, and all the people in his section thought him a charming boy.
The east-bound train was plowing through a January snow-storm; the dull dawn was beginning to show gray, when the engine whistled a mile out of Newark. Paul started up from the seat where he had lain curled in uneasy slumber.
He put the violets and jonquils on the taboret beside the couch, and threw himself down, with a long sigh, covering himself up with a Roman blanket.
He seemed to hold in his brain an actual picture of everything he had seen this morning. He remembered every feature of both his drivers, of the toothless old woman from whom he had bought the red flower in his coat, the agent he had got his ticket.
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