It was the supper hour at the State Industrial School for Boys, known to the general public as "The Reform School." Glen Mason sat on a long bench trying to hold the place next to him against the stealthy ravages of the boys who crowded him. "Where's Nixy?" he inquired angrily of his neighbor on the right. "Did he go to town again?" "He's back," the boy replied. "Just got in an' had to go up and change his clothes. Had the toothache again to-day, he told me. Here he comes, now." A lanky boy of fifteen or sixteen got into the vacant seat just as the chaplain rose to say grace. After grace no loud talking was permitted, but no objection was made to whispered conversations that did not become too noisy. "How's it come you go to town so often and I don't ever get to go, Nixy?" whispered Glen, the moment grace was ended.