It was only a little after nine. He had left in the company of Joe Hungerford, who had ostensibly taken the opportunity of going with him.

"I say, Dink," he began directly, in the blustering, full-mouthed way he had when excited, "I say bully for you. Lord, I liked to hear you talk out."

"It's all simple enough," said Stover, surprised at the other's enthusiasm. "I suppose I wouldn't have said all I did if it hadn't been for Hunter."

"Oh, Jim's a damned hard-shell from way back," said Hungerford good-humoredly, "never mind him. I say though, Dink, you really have been going round, haven't you, breaking through the lines?"

"Yes, I have."

"I wish you'd take me around with you some time," said Hungerford enviously.

"Why the deuce don't you break in yourself?"

"It doesn't come natural, Dink," said the inheritor of millions regretfully. "I never went through boarding-school like you fellows. By George, it's just what I want, what I hoped for here! and, damn it, what I'm not getting!"

"You know, Joe," said Dink suddenly, "there wouldn't be any society problem if fellows that felt the way you and I do would assert themselves. By George, there's nothing wrong with the soph societies, the trouble is with us."

"I'm not so sure," said Hungerford seriously.

"Rats!"

"You know, Dink," said Joe with a little hesitation, "it is not every one who understands you or what you're doing."

"I know," said Stover, laughing confidently. "Some have got an idea I've got some great political scheme, working in with the outsiders to run for the Junior Prom, or something like that."

"No, it's not all that. I don't think some of our crowd realize what you're doing—rather fancy you're cutting loose from them."

"Let them think," said Stover carelessly. Then he added with some curiosity: "Has there been much talk?"

"Yes, there has."

"Any one spoken to you?"

"Yes."

"I know—I know they've got an idea I'm queering myself—oh, that word 'queer'; it's the bogey of the whole place."

"You're right there! But, Dink, I might as well let you know the feeling; it isn't simply in our set, but some of the crowd ahead."

"Le Baron, Reynolds?"

"Yes. Haven't they ever—ever said anything to you?"

"Bless their simple hearts," said Stover, untroubled. "So they're worrying about me. It's rather humorous. It's their inherited point of view. Le Baron, Joe, could no more understand what we are thinking about—and yet he's a fine type. Sure, he's stopped me a couple of times and shaken his head in a worried, fatherly way. To him, you see, everything is selective; what he calls the fellow who doesn't count, the 'fruit,' is really outside what he understands, the fellows who are in the current of what's being done here. I must talk it out with him sometime. We've come to absolutely opposite points of view. And yet the curious thing is, he's fond as the deuce of me."

"Yes, that's so," said Hungerford. He did not insist, seeing that Stover was insensible to the hints he had tried to convey. Not wishing to express openly a point of view which was personally unsympathetic, he hesitated and remained silent.

"Coming up for a chin?" said Dink, as they neared the campus.

"No, I've got a date at Heub's. I say, Dink, I'm serious in what I said. I want to wake up and get around. Work me in."

"You bet I will, and you'll meet a gang that really have some ideas."

"That's what I want. Well, so long."

"So long, Joe."

Dink, turning to the right, entered the campus past Battell. He had never before felt so master of himself, or surer of a clear vision. The thought of his instinctive return to the Storys', and the knowledge that he had distinguished himself before Jean Story, gave him a certain exhilaration. He began to feel the opportunity that was in his hands. He remembered with pleasure Hungerford's demand to follow where he had gone, and he said to himself:

"I can make this crowd of mine see what the real thing is—and, by George, I'm going to do it."

As he delayed in the campus, Le Baron and Reynolds passed him, going toward Durfee.

"Hello, Dink."

"Hello there."

He continued on to his entry, and, turning, saw the two juniors stop and watch him. Without heed he went up to his room, lit the dusty gas-jet, and went reverently to his bureau. He was in his bedroom, standing there in a sentimental mood, gazing at the one or two little kodaks he had displayed of Jean Story, when a knock sounded. He turned away abruptly, singing out:

"Let her come."

The door opened and some one entered, and, emerging from his bedroom, he beheld to his surprise Le Baron and Reynolds.

"Hello," he said, puzzled.

"Anything doing, Dink?" said Le Baron pleasantly.

"Not a thing. Make yourself at home," he said hastily. "Take a seat. Pipe tobacco in the jar—cigarettes on the table."

Each waved his hand in dissent. Reynolds seated himself in a quick, business-like way on the edge of his chair; Le Baron, more sociable, passed curiously about the room, examining the trophies with interest.

"I wonder what's up now," thought Dink, without uneasiness. He knew that it was the custom of men in the class above about to go into the senior societies to acquaint themselves with the tendencies of the next class. "That's it," he said to himself; "they want to know if I'm heeling Bones or Keys."

"You've got a great bunch of junk," said Le Baron, finishing his inspection.

"Yes, it's quite a mixture."

Le Baron, refusing a seat, stood before the fireplace, a pocket knife juggling in his hands, seeking an opening.

"Here, I'll have a cigarette," he said finally, with a frown.

Reynolds, more business-like, broke out:

"Dink, we've dropped in to have a little straight talk with you."

"All right."

He felt a premonition of what was coming, and the short note of authority in Reynolds's voice seemed to stiffen everything inside of him.

"We've dropped a few hints to you," continued Reynolds, in his staccato manner, "and you haven't chosen to understand them. Now we're going to put it right to you."

"Hold up, Benny," said Le Baron, who had lit his cigarette, "it's not necessary to talk that way. Let me explain."

"No, put it to me straight," said Stover, looking past Le Baron straight into Reynolds's eyes. An instinctive antagonism was in him, the revolt of the man of action, the leader in athletics, at being criticized by the man of the pen.

"Stover, we don't like what you've been doing lately."

"Why not?"

"You're shaking your own crowd, and you're identifying yourself with a crowd that doesn't count. What the deuce has got into you?"

"Just shut up for a moment, Benny," said Le Baron, giving him a look, "you're not putting the thing in the right way."

"I'm not jumping on any one," said Reynolds. "I'm giving him good advice."

Stover looked at him without speaking, then he turned to Le Baron.

"Well?"

"Look here, Dink," said Le Baron conciliatingly. "A lot of us fellows have spoken to you, but you didn't seem to understand. Now, what I'm saying is because I like you, and because you are making a mistake. We're interested personally, and for the society's sake, in seeing you make out of yourself what you ought to be, one of the big men of the class. Dink, what's happened? Have you lost your nerve about anything—anything wrong?"

"Wait a moment—let me understand the thing," said Stover, absolutely dumbfounded. Reynolds's purely unintentional false start had left him cold with anger. "Am I to understand that you have come here to inform me that you do not approve of the friends I've been making?"

"Hold up," said Le Baron.

"No, let's have it straight. That's what I want, too," he said quickly, facing Reynolds. "You criticize the crowd I'm going with, and you want me to chuck them. That's it in plain English, isn't it?"

A little flush showed on Reynolds's face. He, too, felt the physical superiority in Stover, and the antagonism thereof, and, being provoked, he answered more shortly than he meant to:

"Let it go at that."

"Is that right?" said Stover, turning to Le Baron.

"Now, look here, Dink, there's no use in getting hot about this," said Le Baron uneasily. "No one's forcing anything on you. We are here as your friends, telling you what we believe is for your own good."

"So you think if I go on identifying myself with the crowd I'm with that I may 'queer' myself?"

"That's rather strong."

"Why not have it out?"

"This is true," said Le Baron, "that the men in your own crowd don't understand your cutting loose from them, and that no one can make out why you've taken up with the crowd you have."

The explanation which might have cleared matters was forgotten by Stover in the wound to his vanity.

"You haven't answered my question."

"Well, Dink, to be honest," said Le Baron, "if you keep on deliberately, there is more than a chance of—"

"Of queering myself?"

"Yes."

"Being regarded as a sort of wild man, and missing out on a senior election."

"That's what we want to prevent," said Le Baron, believing he saw a reasonable excuse. "You've got everything in your hands, Stover, don't waste your time—"

"One moment."

Stover, putting out his hand, interrupted him. He locked his hands behind his back, twisting them in physical pain, staring out the window, unable to meet the suddenness of the situation.

"You've been quite frank," he said, when he was able to speak. "You have not come to me to dictate who should be my friends here, though that's perhaps a quibble, but as members of my sophomore society you have come to advise me against what might queer me. I understand. Well, gentlemen, you absolutely amaze me. I didn't believe it possible. I'll think it over."

He looked at them with a quick nod, intimating that there was nothing more to be discussed. Reynolds, saying something under his breath, sprang up. Le Baron, feeling that the interview had been a blunder from the first, said suddenly:

"Benny, see here; let me have a moment's talk with Dink."

"Quite useless, Hugh," said Stover, in the same controlled voice. "There's nothing more to be said. You have your point of view, I have mine. I understand. There's no pressure being put on me, only, if I am to go on choosing my friends as I have—I do it at my own risk. I've listened to you. I don't know what I shall answer. That's all. Good night."

Reynolds went out directly, Le Baron slowly, with much hesitation, seeking some opportunity to remain, with a last uneasy glance.

When Stover was left to himself, his first sensation was of absolute amazement. He, the big man of the class, confident in the security of his position, had suddenly tripped against an obstruction, and been made to feel his limitations.

"By Heavens! If any one would have told me, I wouldn't have believed it—the fools!"

The full realization of the pressure that had been exerted on him did not yet come to him. He was annoyed, as some wild animal at the first touch of a rope that seems only to check him.

He moved about the room, tossing back his hair impatiently.

"That's what Hungerford was trying to hint to me," he said. "So my conduct has been under fire. What I do is a subject of criticism because I've gone out of the beaten way, done something they don't understand—the precious idiots!" Then he remembered Reynolds, and his anger began to rise. "The little squirt, the impudent little scribbler, to come and tell me what I should or shouldn't do! How the devil did I ever keep my temper? Who is he anyhow? I'll give him an answer!"

All at once he perceived the full extent of the situation, and what a defiance would mean to those leaders in the class above, men marked for Skull and Bones, the society to which he aspired.

"No pressure!" he said aloud, with a grim laugh, "Oh, no! no pressure at all! Advice only—take it or leave it, but the consequences are on your head. By Heavens, I wouldn't have believed it." It hurt him, it hurt him acutely, that he, who had won his way to leadership, should have sat and listened to those who were the masters of his success.

"Hold up, hold up, Dink Stover," he said, all at once. "This is serious—a damn sight more serious than you thought. It's up to you. What are you going to do about it?"

All at once the temper that always lay close to his skin, uncontrollable and violent, broke out.

"By Heavens—and I stood for it—I stood there quietly and listened, and never said a word! But I didn't realize it—no, I didn't realize it. Yes, but he won't understand it, that damned little whipper-snapper of a Reynolds; he'll think I've kow-towed. He will, will he? We'll see! By Heavens, that's what their society game means, does it! Thank Heaven, I didn't argue with them. At least I didn't do that."

He strode over quickly, and seizing his cap clapped it on his head, and stopped.

"Now or never," he said, between his teeth.

He went out slamming the door; and as he went, furiously, all the anger and humiliation blazed up in a fierce revolt—he, Dink, Dink Stover, had stood tamely and listened while others had come and told him what to do, told him in so many words that he was "queering" himself. He went out of the entry almost at a run, with a sort of blind, unreasoning idea that he could overtake them. By the fence he almost upset Dopey McNab, who called to him fruitlessly:

"Here—I say, Dink! What the devil!"

He reached the center of the campus before he stopped. He had quite lost control of himself; he knew what he would say, and he didn't care. Suddenly he recalled where Reynolds roomed, and went hot-foot for Vanderbilt, with a fierce physical longing to be provoked into a fight.

He arrived at the door breathlessly, a lump in his throat, never considering the chances of finding them out.

Le Baron and Reynolds were before the fireplace in a determined argument. He shut the door behind him, and leaned against it, digging his nails into his hands with the effort to master his voice.

The two juniors, struck by the violence of his entrance, turned abruptly, and Le Baron, a little pale, started forward, saying:

"I say, Dink—"

"Look here," he cried, flinging out a hand for silence, "I don't know why I didn't say it to you there—when you spoke to me. I don't know. I'm a low-livered coward and a skunk because I didn't! But I know now what I'm going to say, and I'll say it. You came to me, you dared to come to me and tell me what I was to do—to heel—that's what you meant; to cut out fellows I know and respect—oh, you didn't have the courage to say it out, but that's it. Well, now, I've just got one thing to say to you both. If this is what your society business means, if this is your idea of democracy—I'm through with you—"

"Hold up," said Le Baron, springing forward.

"I won't hold up," said Stover, beside himself, "for you or for any one else, or whatever you can do against me! Here's my answer—I'm through! You and the whole society can go plumb to Hell!"

And suffocating, choking, blinded with his fury, he thrust his hand into his breast, and tore from his shirt the pin he had been given to wear, and flung it on the floor, stamped upon it, and bolted from the room.