It is hard to say whether Parmenter or Charley Lee suffered more from their estrangement, and impossible to declare which felt more keenly the disgrace of his punishment.

Certainly Lee’s appearance indicated the greater grief, but people said that was because he was at home. There he had every day to meet the sympathetic kindness of his mother, which was worse than any reproach could be; and there he had every day to see in his father’s face the pained look which spoke more eloquently than words.

Charley had not the firmness nor the mental and moral strength of Parmenter. He was kinder, more impulsive, more unselfish; but he depended more on circumstances to keep him at his best.

In the shadow of disgrace that had now fallen on him he grew despondent, even despairing. With the old companionship suddenly lost he became unspeakably lonely. He found it impossible to rise from beneath the burdens that had fallen on him.

All the gentle home influence, all the friendly sympathy and assistance of those who had been his companions in the better days, and who still loved him none the less for the shadows that rested on him—all these things were wholly unavailing. He weakened, wavered, and broke.

He neglected his studies, avoided the class-room on every pretext, lost his frank and cheery manner, fell back mentally and morally with startling rapidity. By and by it began to be whispered about that he was becoming addicted to intoxicating drinks.

One man had seen him drinking at a city bar. Another had met him late at night, going home with thick tongue and unsteady step. No pains were spared to turn him back; but father, mother, and friends labored, implored, and suffered in vain.

There was but one person in the world who, at this crisis, could have arrested young Lee’s course and brought him back to safety. That person was Parmenter—Parmenter as he had been in the old days, strong in friendship, forceful in will, undaunted by disaster.

He, by merely stretching out his hand, could have turned Charley Lee back toward manhood.

But no one thought of that. The gulf between the two young men had grown too wide. Besides, Parmenter was demoralized as well as Lee; he had not fallen in the same way, but certainly he had fallen.

He, too, was neglectful of his studies and remiss in his college duties. He avoided the companionship of his fellows and sank, day by day, into a state of listless self-sufficiency from which all the efforts of his friends failed to rouse him. Whispering tongues were again at work, bringing to his ears tales of remarks, and declarations made by Professor Lee and his wife, charging Parmenter with being the cause of their son’s downfall.

The young man bitterly resented these imputations, and assumed at once that Professor Lee had uttered them.

What right had they to charge him with their son’s waywardness, when he had not even spoken to the fellow for more than a month? He could explain the story only on one hypothesis—Charley, in his weakness, must have complained of him. But poor Charley! he was hardly responsible now for what he did.

Parmenter’s anger and resentment toward his former friend had almost vanished, but the bitterness in his heart toward Professor Lee showed no abatement.

He had not yet given the word for Van Loan’s punishment, although his old comrades had frequently expressed a wish to “get even” with that tale-bearer and breaker of promises. Not that there was much doubt of Van Loan’s perfidy, and not but that Parmenter thoroughly despised him.

But Parmenter was too heartily sick of the whole business to reopen old scores, and too listless and despondent to start new troubles. Nevertheless, Van Loan was meeting with his reward. It was well understood among the students that his speedy release from the hands of the hazers was due to his promise not to betray Parmenter—a promise which, it was believed, he had deliberately violated.

His class would have no more of his leadership. His companions fell away from him. He could no longer find attentive listeners to his boastful tales.

He still kept at the head with his studies; but being much alone, he grew downcast and sullen. The humiliations to which he had been subjected on the night of the hazing were too deep for him ever to forgive or forget.

His hatred for Parmenter showed little abatement; and when, by chance, it became known to him that Lee was the one who had asked him the insulting questions with their forced answers on that miserable night, his feeling toward Charley was scarcely less bitter.

Van Loan exulted in the punishment of the two young men; he gloried in their downfall. But his resentment was not satisfied by their humiliation and disgrace. He waited for some new opportunity to gratify his mean thirst for revenge.

So far as Charley was concerned, that opportunity came to Van Loan one day in a most unexpected manner.

He went into a beer saloon in the city, a place to which some of the more weak and reckless of the students occasionally resorted. Half a dozen men were in the room; and among them, leaning against the bar, an object of entertainment to them, was some poor fellow in an advanced state of inebriety. It needed but the second glance to tell Van Loan that the drunken man was Charley Lee.

Lee discovered Van Loan at once.

“Hello, Vanly!” he cried. “Why, m’ dear boy, I haven’t seen you since—since—say, Billy,” turning to the saloon-keeper, who stood behind the bar, “give this man a drink; anything ’e wants; he’s frien’ o’ mine.”

He had already staggered forward and embraced Van Loan effusively. Some strange turn of his drunken fancy had presented the man to his disordered mind as his bosom friend.

For the moment Van Loan was at a loss what to do or say. Then there shot suddenly into his mind a scheme for revenge as daring as it was dastardly.

“I will,” he said to himself, “lead this drunken fellow through the streets of the city and up College Hill to his home, in broad daylight, a spectacle for all men!”

Van Loan turned the thought over in his mind as if it were incomparably sweet. He waited but a moment to perfect his plan. Then he turned quietly to Lee.

“Come, Charley,” he said, “let’s go home and sober up; they’ll be looking for you, you know.”

The saloon-keeper came out from behind the bar and called Van Loan aside.

“Is he a friend of yours?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied Van Loan.

“Well, hadn’t you better let him go up-stairs and sleep this thing off?”

“No,” was the reply; “he wouldn’t get over it till morning, and his father and mother would be worried about him. No, I’ll take him home.”

“Then I’ll send for a close carriage for you.”

“No, you needn’t. He can walk well enough.”

“My gracious! Look here! you don’t want to show that young man up on the street like that, do you?”

Van Loan turned on the man savagely.

“It’s none of your business what I want to do!” he exclaimed. “Your part of the programme was ended when you got him drunk. Now you mind your affairs, and I’ll mind mine. Come, Charley, let’s go.”

He went to Lee, took his arm, and led him toward the door. The maudlin young fellow waved his free hand broadly to the group at the bar.

“Good-by, gen’l’men!” he shouted. “By, Billy! Come an’ see us. Father d’lighted to see you any time.”

The saloon-keeper shrugged his shoulders suggestively, and made motions as if to wash his hands, as once did Pilate of old.

Van Loan struck the screen door open, and the two young men passed out into the street. It was no easy task to guide Lee’s wavering footsteps. His weight rested heavily on Van Loan’s arm; and at frequent intervals he insisted on stopping and facing his companion, in order to give greater emphasis to some expression of his drunken fancy.

They met many people. Some of them, who knew both young men, looked askance at them as they approached, and then passed on with knowing looks and scornful smiles.

At the corner of Centre and Concord Streets they came upon Miss Darcy, a charming girl to whom Lee had taken a strong fancy. She stopped suddenly, staring at the pair in surprise.

“Is he ill, sir?” she asked.

“Worse than that,” replied Van Loan, smiling. “You had better pass on, Miss Darcy; his society is not agreeable to-day.”

She knew what the man meant, and turned away in sorrow and humiliation.

Poor Lee, on seeing her, had attempted to lift his hat, but had pushed it from his head instead, and it had rolled into the street.

“S’cuse me, Miss Darcy,” he stammered; “somew’at tired to-day. My frien’, Mr. Vanly, he—I—” But Miss Darcy was already out of hearing.

Van Loan braced his charge against a tree, and went to recover the hat. Street-boys came up, and began to poke fun at the unfortunate fellow, following him with jeers as he moved on.

Half-way up Concord Street the pair met President Mather, driving down with some ladies of his family. Lee discovered them, waved his hand grandly toward the carriage, and called out:

“’Ello, Prexy! Beau’ful day, ladies! Comp’ments of season to you all!”

The president reined in his team, observed Charley an instant, and drove on.

They met a dozen people from College Hill, acquaintances of both men, ladies and gentlemen, who stopped for a moment to make sure that it was a case of inebriety and not of illness, and then passed on in pained surprise.

A party of students came down, curious and sympathetic, making offers of help. Van Loan declared that he wanted no assistance, and declined their offers with scant courtesy. He was having his revenge; it was deep and sweet indeed; but he began to feel that he should be glad when he got his burdensome charge inside the door of his home.

At the college gate Parmenter met them. At the first glance he did not recognize Lee. When he looked at him again he was shocked at the change in his appearance. Van Loan would have passed on with his victim, but Parmenter stopped them.

“Where did you find him?” he asked.

“At Billy’s,” was the reply.

“Did you bring him from there?”

“Yes.”

“Through the streets?”

“Through the streets.”

“On foot?”

“On foot.”

Parmenter’s blood was boiling with indignation. In his righteous wrath he forgot that Charley was not his friend as of old.

“Why did you do that devil’s deed?” he exclaimed.

“To show the public what a beast the fellow is,” replied Van Loan, fiercely; “and I’m taking him to his father for the same reason. Get out of my way and let us pass!”

Parmenter was at a white heat.

“Let go of him!” he cried. “Don’t lay a finger on him! I’ll see him home. You’ve about killed him already!”

Meanwhile Charley was leaning against a gatepost, staring stupidly from one to the other.

“Take the drunken fool, and welcome!” cried Van Loan, turning away in a passion. The words were hardly out of his mouth before Parmenter shouted, “Put up your hands, you brute. Defend yourself if you can. I’m going to thrash you!”

“You—you!” screamed Van Loan, striking a pugilistic attitude.

But he was no match for Parmenter, whose fist shot out next moment, struck Van Loan squarely on the jaw, and sent him sprawling in the dust of the road.

At that moment Tutor Delavan came up. He knew intuitively what it all meant.

“Here, Parmenter,” he said, “let’s get Charley into the house as quickly as possible. You support him on that side, I will on this. If ever a man was justified in knocking another down, you were.”

They straightened the drunken man up, and started with him along the college walk toward his father’s residence, not stopping to answer the questions nor satisfy the curiosity of those whom they met.

Poor Lee had fallen suddenly into a sort of stupor. His face grew pallid and his eyes glassy. His chin dropped. He no longer tried to speak, and his feet dragged so heavily that he had almost to be carried.

For the first time since the quarrel, pity and dread came into Parmenter’s breast. Never in all his life had he looked upon a spectacle so pitiable and so revolting.

The two men dragged their helpless burden up the steps of Professor Lee’s residence, but before they could ring the bell the professor himself was at the door. The next moment they were all in the hall, the street-door was closed, the limp and insensible form of the young man was laid carefully on the settee, and Delavan had hurried off to find the college physician.

Professor Lee pushed the hair back tenderly from his boy’s eyes and forehead, then he turned sharply to Parmenter.

“Did you lead him into this also?” he asked, huskily.

The tone, the implication, roused the tiger again in Parmenter’s breast.

“I did not,” was the swift reply. “I never drank with him in my life, nor ever suggested such a thing. I do not wonder, though, that you lay this crowning disgrace of your son’s at my door, since you have been pleased, without cause, to charge to my account every fault and folly of which he has been guilty for the last six months.”

Professor Lee’s face was white with emotion.

“Look here, Parmenter!” he said, “this is no time nor place for quarrels or explanations. Let me say to you simply that I do not need your presence here. You may go!”

Parmenter backed slowly down the hall, awed and subdued by the man’s quiet anger. He did not speak again. He cast one glance at the poor, unconscious figure on the hall settee; then he turned and left the house.

He went to his room and picked up a book, but could not read. He went down to his supper, but could not eat. He tossed about in his bed all night, but he could not sleep.

He had unburdened his mind to Professor Lee, indeed—a thing he had been longing to do for weeks. But it brought him no relief. On the contrary, deeply angered as he was at the professor, a flush of shame crept into his face whenever he thought of the time and place he had chosen for his protest.

His mind became gloomier and his thoughts more desperate every day. He scarcely opened a book to study from it. His brain was dull and unsteady, and he could think of little else than his own miserable condition and his unhappy relations with the Lees.

He felt that Professor Lee had wronged him beyond forbearance, beyond endurance, beyond any hope of reconciliation.

As for Charley, his case was different. He was weak, boyish, impulsive, influenced by his father; but it might well be that time would heal the differences between him and Charley.

This was Parmenter’s daily, his hourly thought and hope; it was sweeter in his mind than had ever been his visions of oratorical success. For he had not been able, in all the stormy days that had passed, to drive from his heart the last spark of affection for the dearest friend his young manhood had known.

And now, when that friend’s disgrace and humiliation were deepest, the spark began to take on new life, to kindle, to glow, to send light and heat through his whole mental and moral system.

Perhaps this was due in part to his memory of that prostrate figure on the sofa in the hall. It was a picture that he could not forget,—the relaxed muscles, the pallid face, the disordered hair, the glassy, half-closed eyes, the wreck and ruin of young manhood stretched prostrate in his father’s hall.

It was pitiable, it was dreadful—the sight of death would have been less terrible.

Day and night this image was before Parmenter’s eyes. Go where he would he could not escape it. It followed him relentlessly. It hung about him as persistently and ceaselessly as his own shadow. It blotted out all thought of anger or revenge toward Charley Lee; it brought with it only patience, pity, a desire to help, and a great longing to be reconciled.

Before he quite knew it himself, Parmenter was sighing for the old companionship, looking forward impatiently to the days when, with the kindly help of each other, they would both be themselves again; waiting with feverish anxiety for an opportunity to get back on the old fair footing with Charley Lee.