At the beginning of the term his father had told him that if he could make
a good show in the Perry Exhibition there need not be any more grumbling
about his tip. Gus came back to St. Amory's hysterically anxious to cut
out all competitors for the Perry, but the shackles of his old serfdom
were still about him. When he showed signs of being restive to the old
claims, and recommended Cotton to do his own classics and mathematics,
Cotton coolly and calmly demanded repayment of sundry loans contracted of
old. Todd had not the pluck to face a term of plain living and high
thinking by paying his former patron all he owed him and exhausting all
his present tip by so doing, but flabbily, though discontentedly, caved
in, and became Cotton's jackal as before.
Cotton was by no means as bad as his endearing name might make you think.
He was a tall, heavy fellow, with a large, determined-looking face. He was
wonderfully stupid in the schools, but was quite clever enough to know it.
He had some good qualities. He was straight enough in all extra-school
affairs, did not lie, nor fear any one; kept his word, and expected you to
keep yours.
"You can't beat Hodgson of the Sixth, Gus, so what is the good of sweating
all the term? Hodgson's got the deuce of a pull over you to start with."
"I'm not frightened of Hodgson if you wouldn't bother, Jim."
"Can't do without you, old cock. You're just the fellow to lift my Latin
and those filthy mathematics high enough out of the mud to keep the beaks
from worrying me to death.
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