I

Lawrence, Ninety Blank, wearily knocked four under-classmen off the walk on the way from the railway station to West College. Then, feeling better, he dragged himself up the entry stairs, threw his suit-case at the bedroom portiÈre with a sigh of relief and himself on the divan with a sense of having done his duty.

The Glee, Banjo, and Mandolin Clubs had just returned from their Christmas holiday tour through the South. The trip had been a success both in the money and the fine impression the clubs had made, which latter would advertise the college. And that is the object of this enterprise and is too valuable for the trustees to abolish.

They had travelled in a special train of private cars lent by the parents of some of the members. They had had a very good time, because a Glee club trip is always bound to have that, and because Southern people know how to help young men in this respect about as well as any people in the world. Lawrence was glad it was over.

He had not intended to go on the trip this year. He had been on the club since he was a freshman. He knew all there was to know about it, and there could be little novelty in this sort of thing for him. But that was not the reason.

Of course it was not. Harry Lawrence enjoyed travelling about the country with a rollicking lot of congenial fellows, and being made much of by old grads., and admired before the glare of foot-lights by millions of attractive girls, and dancing with them afterwards until three o'clock in the morning, like any other normal, healthy young man. It was not because he was blasÉ. He wasn't that sort of fool.

In the first place Lawrence had suddenly gone home, early in December, with something pronounced by a little, short doctor with mild blue eyes which saw everything to be a form of neurasthenia. This was brought on by overwork and worry and other causes. He had held a position of considerable responsibility during the football season. He had worried over it a good deal.

Although, when he reached home, he braced up with astonishing rapidity, he conceived a notion that instead of flying over the United States at the rate of ever so many miles an hour, he would like very well to sit still and yawn by the fireplace at home with slippers on.

His mother opened up the old place on Long Island for a part of every winter, and he thought he could put in a very comfortable old-fashioned vacation out there with her. He had an idea that it would do him good to take some long tramps over the meadows with a gun and a dog, and to spend whole afternoons on a horse with pure country air whistling in his ears. Perhaps, if he felt right cocky, he might borrow some pinks of his brother-in-law and ride to the hounds with his Ass-cousins on New Year's Day. And the evenings would pass pleasantly enough in fighting with Helen, his married sister, across the table, and in guying his kid brother Dick, the prep.; and then he meant to have many long after-dinner smoke-talks with his father, with whom he had recently become acquainted. It was on this last account, as much as any, that he wanted to stay at home.

But one of the second basses had the grip and another a dead grandmother, and that side of the stage was weak anyway. So Doc. Devereaux, the leader of the club, followed his two letters and three telegrams out to Compton on the Sound, and grabbed Lawrence by the coat-collar. He had brought with him a reprieve from the little blue-eyed doctor, stating that Lawrence could go if he would promise to keep on with the hot and cold baths, and to eat tremendously. Devereaux begged and pleaded, and put it on grounds of personal friendship. When he shed tears, almost, and said, "For the honor of old Nassau won't you, Harry?" Lawrence looked bored and said he would think about it. But only upon condition that Doc would stay for dinner and spend the night at Compton, which he did.

When Colonel Lawrence came out from town and had comfortably finished his dinner, and in his stately fashion had taken out a long black cigar, Harry, who had been waiting, said, "Now then, father," and told him why Devereaux was there, and asked him what to do about it.

Lawrence, Fifty Blank, knocked the ashes off, looked at Lawrence, Ninety Blank, and took three puffs of smoke. "Well, Harry," he said, "if the college needs you, there is but one way of looking at it." Lawrence, the younger, said "Yes, sir," and packed his suit-case.

Having decided to do his duty, he made up his mind that while he was about it he would enter into the spirit of the thing and have a good time. Of course this was not as satisfactory to himself as wearing a long face and telling himself what a martyr he was, but it was pleasanter for his friends.

These trips are not only good fun, they are part of one's education. They are very broadening. Lawrence wanted to be broad-minded. The only times he had travelled in his own country were with the Glee Club, and he thought every young man ought to know something of his fatherland.

He held that most New Yorkers were narrow-minded in this respect, and he did not intend to be. New York ways of doing things were good enough for him, because they were the best, but he wanted to see how other Americans looked at things; and this showed a generous spirit.

On a previous trip he had visited a portion of the Western section of his country, and had brought back several new ideas. For instance, he was pleasantly surprised to meet girls with the same innate ideas that he had supposed were the exclusive possession of his friends at home. That was broadening. Also he had it impressed upon him that young women living in little towns he had never heard of before had characteristics, not necessarily innate, which were calculated to make very young men realize that even members of college dance committees have a thing or two to learn. Which was still more broadening.

And now he was in Virginia, surrounded by much dazzling full-pulsed Southern loveliness. He was meeting people that had been brought up to consider themselves the aristocracy of the American side of the world, and they had been cherishing this idea for generations before New York was more than a trading-post of miserly, Indian-cheating Dutchmen. They had never heard of the Lawrences of New York and were rather sorry for anyone that had to live there. And this was broadening. This was not to be about the Glee Club trip, nor about what Lawrence would have done if he had not gone, but what happened afterward, and if you read this story you may skip to here: Lawrence lay on the divan.

He put his hands back of his head and tried to tell himself how sick he was of teas and club receptions and convivial old grads. and applause and dances and chicken-salad and girls. Cinders were in his hair. What he wanted most in all the world was, first, someone to carry him to a Turkish bath, second, someone to dress him in his campus clothes, and third, Billy Nolan to put an arm around and call names.

But this reactional feeling he knew was inevitable, and he took it, as he did his sensation of dirtiness and indigestion, as part of the game. There was something else to make him fidget and frown on the divan.

Lawrence had come back to the slushy old sunshiny campus a very different fellow from the one that used to climb the stone steps from the station, but he had had a month in which to become accustomed to it. Besides, that was nothing to be sour about. He was very well pleased with being a different sort of a fellow, and had made up his mind to remain so. In fact, all during the trip he had been thinking that he could put in a peaceful, comfortable time now for the rest of his life, if it were not for one thing.

And as he started across the campus with a roll of corduroys under his arm, and the intention of taking a bath at the club, the very first thing he saw was that One Thing.

There was a "Hunt's Discourse" under his arm, and he was running to reach his seat before the bell stopped ringing, like any other freshman. But he was different from every other freshman in the world, to Lawrence.

This boy, like some of every freshman class that ever cheered itself hoarse, was beginning to do things his father had not sent him to college for. And the senior had an idea that his own example was what had started the boy; and this, when you stop to think of it, was extremely conceited in him. He thought he could make the freshman stop, and this, when you stop to think of it, was a hasty conclusion.

He thought about it during the time occupied in splashing and spluttering at the club, and most of the time that he was shivering and whistling and putting on his ugliest sweater and oldest corduroys and most disreputable slouch hat, and his brown shooting-coat with quail blood on it. He even thought of it several times while his hands were deep down in his pockets and his shoulders were slouched forward and a pipe was in his mouth and an arm was around Jim Linton and they were floating about the campus calling hello to everybody that was back.

The first thing undertaken by Lawrence, the entirely different, was the purchasing of some fine large text-books. For his foremost duty was of course toward himself.

He had never bought any books since freshman year, but he knew where they were to be found, and a poler named Stacy gave him a list of the ones he required.

They were all nice new copies, with the book-store smell about them. He did not like second-handed ones, and then, too, he was going to pole very hard and he might wear them out. Besides, his book bill had never been large—except in his letters—and he thought he could afford the extravagance in his senior year.

He took great pleasure in writing his full name on the fly-leaf with a blotty pen, Henry Laurence Lawrence, Jr., in a flourishless hand like his father's. They made quite an imposing pile on the table, and he felt proud of it. He showed them to the fellows that dropped in that evening to say, "Glad to see you back," and ask him what he thought of Southern girls. This took until 2 A.M. So he could not attend to that other matter until the next day.

He set the alarm-clock before going to bed and said, "Now, then, to-morrow I fix my freshman."

He jumped out with only six hours' sleep, though he had just finished a long journey and his nerves required more rest, all to make chapel and see his freshman. He saw him.

Although he said only, "How do you do?" in a serious tone, he knew that he was doing his duty, and felt so pleased with himself that he went to town that afternoon and took a Turkish bath at his place in Twenty-eighth Street—this was the only way to get the cinders out—and stole some clean linen from his brother-in-law's top bureau drawer, and dined with the family at home. Then, because he had not been with them during Christmas, and because he was to be a poler for the rest of his college course and would have few such chances, he stayed over Sunday and was given a pensum for too many unexcused absences when he came back.

On Monday, however, he saw his freshman again. It was on Nassau Street. This time Lawrence said, "Hello there!" He saw him once more on Tuesday, coming out of Whig Hall, and said, "How are you, Darnell?" and smiled a little. He saluted the freshman in various ways every day but one for a week.

This delighted the freshman very much, but somehow had no effect upon his morals. Lawrence felt like a man wasting breath, and he did not believe in wasting breath on under-classmen. This young Darnell was decidedly unappreciative. Besides it was unwarrantably fresh in him to give all this trouble to a senior, and Lawrence made up his mind to some day tell him so.

If it had been a good hard jumping-on that were needed, Lawrence thought he could have managed, but this thing required tact and delicacy, which he hadn't. Some fellows, like Jim Linton, would not have minded a queer, unconventional situation of this sort. Lawrence was not that kind. He knew as little about telling a fellow that he was on the verge of making a fool of himself as he did about informing people that they had souls, or that they should study hard. It made him blush to think of it.

Besides, what force would this sort of thing have coming from Lawrence, Ninety Blank? That was the disadvantage of having a reputation like his. Nor could he very well halt the freshman on the campus and say, "See here. Stop this. I am a good boy now. You also must be a good boy." Ugh!

The mid-year examinations would be on in a week or two, or three, and for the present he was simply obliged to leave off reforming the freshman—especially as he had decided that it would look nice this time for his report to go home without any conditions on it. It was his duty to pole.

Study, after all, is what one comes to college for. It would doubtless have displeased his parents if they knew that he was wasting valuable opportunities, which come but once, over a little freshman who was no relative of the Lawrences.

He poled very hard and was conditioned in nothing. So hard did he work, indeed, that when the long, nervous strain was over there was very little stuff left in him. At the senior dance, which came on the evening after the last examination, he ran three girls' cards, and tried to make each think that she was the only reason he had come. This has been tried before. The next day he felt a slight touch of the old trouble.

He became alarmed about himself, felt his pulse, and decided that he needed a rest. He spent three days and ten of his new term cuts at Lakewood. The One of the three girls was there spending Lent.

When he came back to the campus he bumped against that freshman by the lamp-post in front of South Reunion. He was walking with a sportive young class-mate named Thompson, who was a typical little fool, and Darnell said "Hello, Lawrence!" in a tone which just missed being fresh, and seemed to mean "See, I'm not such a poler as you thought." For five minutes Lawrence forgot there was a place called Lakewood, where tall pines murmur.

That evening he heard things about his freshman that he did not want to hear. They were not very bad, but quite enough so to make Lawrence look up his address in the catalogue. He didn't know how to talk to freshmen. They nearly all looked alike. But he rang the door-bell.

It was Saturday evening and Darnell was not in. Lawrence frowned and held that freshmen had no business leaving their studies at night. He shook his head and went back to Jim Linton's room. The freshman had not returned when he called again at eleven.

Lawrence now thought that he had a right to be indignant. He had left a comfortable room, a game of whist, and three class-mates, who gave him many abusive epithets for it, all to talk to this freshman. And see how he was treated! Besides, it wasn't as if Lawrence wanted anything of him. What pleasure was it to him to talk to a little ass freshman? But he was doing his duty anyway.

It did not discourage him. He was not that sort of a fellow. He only shook his head and arose early the next morning, which was Sunday. He hurried through breakfast without stopping to read the papers, and marched straight to the freshman's room on the way to morning service.

Darnell was in bed with a throbbing brow and a slight attack of remorse. Lawrence sat down on a trunk which would have held the freshman's clothes if he had taken them off, and cut a good sermon by the dean in order to give himself the chance of preaching one himself.

"Of course it is not strictly any of my business, but I think you are making a big mistake.

"You must know that it is no great pleasure for me to go out of my way to call a man a fool. But you see I have been through all this myself and I know very nearly all there is to know about it. I have been a great fool in college, and if I can do anything that will prevent another from making the mistakes I made, I ought to go ahead and risk hurting his feelings. Oughtn't I? There's nothing hypocritical in that. Is there?

"This thing of wild oats, Darnell, is all wrong, all nonsense, all Tommy-rot. You know that as well as I do. Of course many people say— But those that say such things are either brutes with no finer sensibilities, or else they are liars, or else they never had any wild oats. They don't know what they're talking about.

"Now, of course, I'm only a very young man, after all. Older men, many of them, would laugh and call me a young prig, I suppose. But I know what I'm talking about as regards myself, Darnell. I know the things I have to think about and cannot forget. I know the things that come up and stare me in the face and make me ache. I know— But never mind all that.

"This is what I want to ask of you: Tell me—you've had your little taste of it now, the glamour is rubbed off, you find there is not quite so much in it as you thought—tell me honestly, my boy, do you believe it pays? Don't you think that one morning like this, with a head such as you have now, and the thoughts inside of it, with a sight of those photographs over there on the bureau, is enough to counterbalance all the fun there is in a month of last nights?"

To this long speech the freshman made no reply, because Lawrence did not say a word of it aloud. In fact most of those grand-stand remarks were not thought out until late that night in bed, while rolling over trying to get to sleep. He would not have voiced them to the freshman anyway. Of course not.

It certainly was "not strictly his business" to walk into the room of a nodding acquaintance and call him a fool in long sentences. Lawrence knew that. And it would have been even worse taste to open up his own bosom and drag out his own private worries and dangle them before the eyes of another. It is only in certain short stories that such absurdities are performed by reserved young men. Lawrence was not that kind of a fool.

The Sunday morning conversation ran something like this, while Lawrence tied and untied the freshman's four-in-hand neck-tie about the foot-post of the bed:

"The Fifty-seventh Street Harrisons? Yes, very well. Were they down there?... Is that so?—to Clint Van Brunt? But I don't like her so well as her sister. Grace is a smooth dancer though.... At Sherry's last winter...." And similar nonsense until the conversation swung round to the prospects of the baseball team, which had recently begun practice in the cage. Then they both woke up and said something.

And throughout it all the freshman was wondering why the mighty senior honored him with a visit, and longing for a drink of very cold water.

Lawrence told himself that this call was merely to break the ice. You couldn't expect him to talk about such serious things when they were hardly acquainted. Could you?

He went again within a few days. He thought he ought to strike while the iron was hot. It was in the evening this time, and the freshman was brighter and better looking. Lawrence liked him more than ever, only he wished that he would not be quite so deferential toward him. Also he greatly wished that he would not consider it necessary to tack those superfluous words to his remarks. It bothered him. They seemed to come out of the refined mouth side wise. Sometimes they stuck, as it were, and hung there while Lawrence shivered. And the more obvious Lawrence made it that he did not consider such emphasis essential to his own observations, the more frequently did Darnell drag it in. This was to show the senior that he need not refrain on his account.

This time Lawrence remained until midnight. They did not once mention the people they both knew in town. They talked about tramping in the Harz Mountains.

It was evident on his third visit that the freshman considered Lawrence's frequent coming due to approval of his development. He stuck it on worse than ever. Lawrence was discouraged and looked it.

The freshman, wondering why his senior friend was so silent, suddenly lifted his big brown eyes. Lawrence was gazing mournfully at him. Naturally this made him feel queer. He became rattled and blushed. Lawrence became rattled and nearly did; and then arose, left abruptly, and kicked himself all the way up Nassau Street, and all along the stone walk past the dean's house, by Old North, in front of Reunion, and into West, where he sneaked up to bed. He did not call again for a month.

Meanwhile the freshman was doubtless running as fast as his legs could carry him, with Thompson and others of that ilk, to the devil. And H. L. Lawrence, Ninety Blank, who by wicked example had started him going, was doing nothing to stop him. Which was the very best thing he could have done.

For this is a sort of a disease, and if it's there it's bound to manifest itself, like other things that break out at about this age. Any fatherly, well-meaning interference, such as a fellow like Lawrence might offer, would have had directly the opposite of the desired effect. If you do not believe this, it clearly indicates that you do not understand it.

Lawrence did not. He, poor devil, skulked off and tried to forget about the freshman, like a rejected lover, and, again like one, he could not, even though he went across the street to avoid meeting those big eyes.

Once more he took a long breath and sneaked off to the freshman's room with a brave lot of kind, smiling advice which he practised saying on the way over. In a moment he came running back to the campus, shouting for joy. The freshman was not at home.

He yelled "Yea" with all his might and danced three times about the cannon, all alone, like a man back on the campus in midsummer. Then because it was Princeton someone else yelled "Yea-a!" from over by Clio Hall. Then Jack Stehman raised his window and yelled "Cork up!" because he felt like it. Someone in East yeaed back in a shrill voice. Tommy Tucker stepped out upon his balcony in Reunion and echoed it mightily. Someone blew a horn, a big Thanksgiving game horn. Others took it up. Windows were thrown open all over the campus. Many voices sounded the ancient cry of "Fresh fire! Heads out!" Shotguns banged. Fire-crackers exploded. Bugles sounded. Distant Dod took up the echo. Witherspoon Hall was already doing its part.

Within two minutes Lawrence was joined by a score of fellows who danced with him about the cannon, yelled "Fresh fier-r-r! Heads out!" until they had brought everyone out they could, then called "Leg pull. All over!" and ran back to their rooms again, feeling that they had done their duty. Windows slammed shut again. A voice from down in Edwards Hall answered "All over!" Every one went on where he left off. All felt refreshed and strengthened for their duties, and Lawrence leaned alone against the cannon. But he too felt better.

He decided that this was a species of Providential interposition, a sort of vision as it were, the interpretation of which was that any man who would allow a little fool freshman to destroy the happiness of the culminating year of the best period of life in the dearest spot on earth would be an unmitigated ass.

He now fell to distracting his mind with work and other things, and realized the beauty of existence, as all undergraduates should. Besides the beauty of existence there were others that he was in the habit of dwelling upon during sunset rambles through the woods down toward the canal; pretty little foolish thoughts which young men who are still students and have yet to choose an occupation have no business in thinking. But the way her hair swept back from that brow of hers on either side of the chaste part and then swirled— But that will do. Lawrence and his affairs already occupy too much space.

And as suddenly as they were interrupted in that paragraph were his walking-time thoughts cut short whenever that confounded freshman loomed up with an arm about the Thompson boy, followed by a brindle bull-dog and a trail of cigarette-smoke.

II

Gussie Thompson was an angel-faced child with pretty ringlety hair, and he had come to college from a strict boarding-school with the intention of making a bad man of himself. And when a boy wants badly to go to the devil there is no reason why he should find it very difficult. In this thought I find I have been anticipated by Virgil.

But though the descent is easy it does not follow that it is always graceful. Thompson, who was conscientiously trying to do it properly, had his discouragements and sour balls just as often as the poler who sat in the next seat and wore trousers that were too short.

People persistently considered Gussie disgustingly good, when in reality he was very bad and smoked big black cigars with red and gilt bands about them. And indeed it is discouraging to walk down to the football practice with the gang, breathing cigarette-smoke at every fifth step, and then have some class-mate you have nothing to do with ask you, before all the fellows, to lead class prayer-meeting the next Sunday. But all that was over long ago.

He now wore the dark bad expression without any conscious effort. No one asked him where the Greek lesson was any more. He seldom had to blow his breath in fellows' faces. And at the club he was no longer obliged to blink and say, "How do I look this morning?" they asked of their own accord, "Full last night, Gus?" just as some people say "Good-morning."

One evening, at about the beginning of the season known to some as "bock beer time," he was in his room surrounded with a few of his own sort, and a knock came at the door. But it was not a very loud one, so he did not take the trouble to answer until there came a second knock, an emphatic one. Then he emptied a lungful of cigarette-smoke and shouted, "Come in and shut your damn racket." He looked up.

Lawrence was framed in the door-way, Lawrence the senior, with his 'varsity sweater and his impressive air.

On the campus Lawrence generally nodded to Thompson, when he remembered him. Once, not long ago, he had walked up the rear stairs of Dickinson with him and said, "What do you fellows have at this hour?" and Gussie wondered when the clubs held their first elections.

With his words of apology and welcome Thompson felt a wave of satisfaction at having a gang about the table with cards and beer-mugs on it. He was glad he had strung the champagne-corks over the mantel-piece.

All of the gang had arisen, and yet this was a Princeton room. If the senior observed the unusual mark he showed little gratitude, for without seeming to be aware of their presence he said, in his gruff voice, "When will you be at leisure, Thompson?" and looked at his watch.

He was the sort of senior that could do these things, and it had the desired effect. They all remembered that they had engagements and picked up their caps and said, "So long, old man," and got out. This was not done constrainedly but as a perfectly natural thing. And Gussie beamed.

The door slammed and the freshman said, "Have a drink, Lawrence."

The senior said, "No, I thank you," and then contradicted himself, "Yes, I will take a little of that." He did not approve of little boys having whiskey in their rooms and big cut-glass decanters on their bookcases, but he remembered something. "That's good whiskey, Thompson." Lawrence sipped and whiffed and held his glass to the light, "excellent whiskey." He gravely smacked his lips. "It reminds me of some Bourbon they once gave us down in Kentucky, on the Glee Club trip—in Louisville, I think it was. They called it Pendennis Club."

Thompson pushed a cigarette-case across the table. "That's Pendennis Club," he replied, simply. "A friend of mine down there sends it to me. I find you can't get good liquor in our part of the country. It's all rot-gut." He twisted his pretty brows into a scowl and emptied his small lungs of smoke aimed at the ceiling.

"I see," said Lawrence, looking interested.

"You know what they say about Kentucky," the freshman proceeded, "for good whiskey, fast horses, and pretty women."

"Yes," said Lawrence.

The freshman refilled his guest's glass with Pendennis Club and his own lungs with cigarette-smoke, which he allowed to seek the free air of the room slowly, with his head tipped back and a mouth twisted scornfully as he had once seen another devil of a fellow do it, who said, "I don't give a damn for the girl." All of which was lost on Lawrence, who was rubbing his chin and looking in the other direction and wishing he had not come.

"By the way, Thompson, speaking of horses, how did you come out playing the races last fall? I often saw you on the train going up—" this was a lie—"when I was slaving over football. Luck stay by you?"

Then the freshman leaned back and said things about Futurity Stakes and plunging at Morris Park and a lucky sixteen-to-one shot, intermingled with a brave lot of profanity and considerable cigarette smoke. Lawrence wore the look of a man listening, and thought up what to say next.

"By the way, Thompson," only it was not by the way to anything but his own thoughts, "where's your friend Darnell? I didn't see him with the others in here."

"No," said the devil of a fellow, "he won't own up to it, but he's a good bit of a poler at heart, Lawrence."

"I did not think it of him," said Lawrence, sincerely. "He's a blame nice fellow though, isn't he?"

"Right. He's the best friend I have. He's pretty young and has a lot of things to learn, but he's a mighty nice man. Awfully clever chap, too. Wish I had his brains. I believe he comes from very nice people in New York, doesn't he?"

"Yes. Thompson, you are dead right in saying he's too young."

A beam of pleasure shot across his young host's face, which was seen by Lawrence, who now felt all right, and began to talk.

"He's entirely too young, Thompson, and the deuce of it is that he doesn't realize how very young he is. A fellow like that never does. You know what I mean. And as far as I can see—I think you had the same thing in mind a moment ago—he is about to make a fool of himself unless he is very careful. He's entirely too nice a fellow, Thompson, for anything like that to happen." Lawrence leaned back and put his feet on the table.

"You see," he continued, "Darnell tries to do things that you fellows do, who are more mature, and he doesn't seem to realize that he is only a boy. Now with you and me it is different. We are older and know things and have been around a bit and— You know what I mean. We can do a lot of things and have a good time and be none the worse for it, but as for Darnell, why, he's a kid, Thompson, a mere kid."

Thompson breathed cigarettes and looked judicial.

Lawrence moved his chair around so that he could lean an elbow on the table. He looked at the fire through the glass of liquid in his hand. "Thompson, I'm in a hole. A bad hole, too. I'm going to tell you about it and maybe ask your advice. I don't mind telling you because I know you can keep your mouth shut. I came here this evening for that very purpose.

"You know I know Darnell's people and all that. Well, I know his sister quite well." That happened to be a lie. "And last commencement when she was down here she asked me to look after her brother when he entered in the fall." That happened to be true, though Lawrence had forgotten it. "She's a pretty good friend of mine, and whenever I see her"—he could not have distinguished her from the other little girls in the school up-town—"she always asks me about her brother. And, well, Thompson, a fellow hates to lie to a respectable woman, you know."

"Only a cad will lie to a decent girl," said the other, sympathetically.

"Certainly. Now, Thompson, I'll tell you what I think I'll do. I am going to very frankly ask you to help me out of this hole." Lawrence looked closely at the freshman. Then he went on, talking rapidly now with his eyebrows tucked down and the words coming between his teeth. Thompson had seen him do it before and had practised it in his room alone.

"You can do it or not, just as you please, but you are the only one whom I'd care to ask to do it. You are the only one I'd trust with it. In fact, you are the only one that could do it. Thompson, you know yourself that you have more influence over Darnell than any man in the class."

"Oh, I don't know," the freshman feebly protested.

"Well I do. He has as much as told me so. I am going to ask you very frankly to— I don't know what your views are," the senior interrupted himself, "but I believe in having all the fun in the world I can for myself as long as I mind my own business. But I'd just as soon, when I have the chance—" Lawrence looked down at the whiskey which he was gently swishing around in his glass. He made his voice sound as if embarrassed. "Well, dammit, I'm no saint, but you know it says somewhere that saving one soul will wipe out a multitude of sins or something of that sort."

"God knows we have enough of them," said the devil of a fellow, who now hurled the butt of his cigarette at the fire and arose from his seat. He threw back his head and spoke.

"Lawrence, you needn't say any more. I can give you my answer now." He plunged his hands in his pockets and began striding up and down the room and scowled as he strode.

"Lawrence, I am a peculiar man, and I think my own thoughts and lead my own life according to my own ideas. I keep this room here open to everyone who desires to enter. My whiskey and tobacco is anybody's who wants it. And as long as my guests mind their own business my room is theirs. But when certain members of my class, certain milksops and sanctimonious Gospel sharks come up here and tell me that I am doing wrong and tell me what it is my duty to do, I very frankly tell them to go to hell." He looked around the walls at the Saronys and a French print or two as if to call them to witness, then went on:

"Lawrence, I perceived your drift from the start, and at first, I must confess, I was somewhat taken aback, Lawrence, by your approaching me on such a subject."

The one listening with a bland look of attention on his face and his feet on the table considered this rather fresh, but said nothing.

"But only for a moment," the freshman continued, "only for a moment, I assure you. You talked to me like a man to a man, a real man, not a Gospel shark or a poler, but a man who knows things and yet gives a fellow credit for some good impulses. I appreciate your situation exactly. I have been placed in similar ones myself. I know how it is. And I'm glad you came up here to-night. You rushed in where angels would not have dared, and I'm damn glad you did." He stopped walking the floor. "Now I'm not accustomed to this sort of thing, Lawrence, as you must know, and I won't promise much. But I give you my word, I'll do my best for Darnell."

Lawrence took the hand Thompson dramatically held out to him. He restrained another impulse, an ungrateful one, and said, "Thompson, I always thought I understood you better than your own class-mates did." And Gussie blushed.

The senior arose. "Gus,"—he called him Gus—"I appreciate to a nicety the delicacy of your position in this matter. Please don't let it inconvenience you in any way. I shall always be grateful to you for what you have undertaken this evening, and if I can ever be of service to you, please command me." Some of this was sincere. "I have an engagement now. Good-night. No, I thank you, no more to-night. Come up and see me some time, Gus. Good-night."

"Good-night, Harry," said the other. "Wish you would drop up often."

"I know that," thought Lawrence, as he closed the door, "only I wouldn't say 'Harry' very often if I were you."

Left alone, Thompson took a gulp of whiskey straight without wincing very much, stretched out in a big chair and planned how to follow his friend Lawrence's suggestions, wrinkling his brows and looking no doubt very much like the man of the world that he read about as he did so.

Meanwhile Lawrence was saying to himself, "Still, it's all in a good cause," and hurrying along the street with his coat-collar turned up, like a man ashamed of himself.

"This time next year," he was thinking, "I'll be out of college and hustling in the big world which recent graduates are always telling me I know nothing about. I suppose I shall have to get used to boot-licking and getting pulls. That's business. But just at present I don't like the taste." So he hurried up the street for a counter-irritant, while the mood was on him.

A few moments later he was saying, "The fact of the matter is, Darnell, I'm in a pretty bad hole, and I think I'll ask your advice."

"My advice?" said Darnell.

"Yes, if you do not object to giving it."

"I think you know what I mean," said the freshman, "don't you?"

"Yes," said Lawrence, "I know what you mean." He also knew he was finding it a different matter talking to this freshman.

"Well, I'll tell you about it anyway," he went on. "Last year, when your friend Gus Thompson's sister was down here for the sophomore reception—what?" The freshman's big eyes were making him nearly blush.

"Why, Gus is an only child, you know. You must mean his cousin."

"Did I say sister? I meant cousin. His cousin, of course—she's a smooth girl, his cousin. Well, his cousin got at me and asked me to look after him when he entered college and see that he poled and all that. Sort of queer thing, wasn't it? But I promised to do it, and you know you hate to lie to a—well, I hate to deceive her about it."

Then Lawrence went on to point out that while he, Darnell, had plenty of fun in life, he kept up in first division at the same time, which was the way to do, whereas that boy Thompson, who seemed rather immature, had two conditions and was in a good way to being dropped; and he, Darnell, had considerable influence over Thompson—oh, yes, he had: Gus had only that evening referred to Darnell as his best friend, and so on. But Lawrence forgot to say damn this time.

When he finished, the freshman turned toward the senior two fine-looking eyes filled with surprise and some other things which caused Lawrence to feel like a hypocrite, which he was.

"Why," replied Darnell, "of course, Lawrence. To be sure I don't know how well I can succeed, but I'll be very glad to try it. And, Lawrence, I think I ought to tell you that I appreciate your trusting me in a thing of this nature, only——"

"Oh, that's all right," said Lawrence, arising.

"Only, Lawrence," continued the freshman, who seemed to have something to say, "why didn't you tell me this was what you wanted long ago? I would have been willing, I think, without your cultivating my acquaintance so long."

"See here," said Lawrence, with his hand on the door-knob, "to be right honest, I never dreamed of asking you to do anything of the sort until this very day. If I cultivated you it was for yourself and because I like you. I never told anyone that before. Good-night."

On his way across the campus Lawrence stopped and told an innocent old elm-tree this: "The man that first said 'Similia similibus curantur' was very much of a fool. I feel more like a fellow cribbing in exams than I did before." Then he kicked the elm and shouted "Hello-o, Billy Nolan, are you up there?" and ran up the stairs to smoke a good-night pipe and talk about senior vacation. He felt better in the morning.

It was one evening about a week after this that young Thompson came running up to Lawrence's room with a scowl on his face, and talked like an important man in a hurry.

"Why, he's dead easy! I'll say, 'Aw, let's get out of here, this beer is rotten.' 'All right,' he'll say, 'let's wander over to the room.' Minute we get there he proposes that we pole the Greek or something. See his idea? He thinks he'll sour me on being quiet, but, ha, ha! I fool him every time—how? Why I just sit down and pole to beat the band until too late for him to join the gang. See? Oh, but he's easy! I have made up my mind to keep that boy from making a fool of himself, and when I make up my mind to a thing, I don't believe in crawling. Besides, poling won't hurt me any."

"Oh, no, Thompson," said Lawrence sympathetically. "I don't see how it can hurt you."

Darnell came in a little later and sat down in the very same chair and had this to say: "Lawrence, Gus Thompson is a queer fellow. You know he doesn't go with the crowd any more, and because he is sour and doesn't care to have any good times, he tries to interfere with my enjoyment too. He's always proposing that we stay in the rooms—you know we room together now. I thought I could look after him better in that way— Well, when he kicks on poling I start to join the gang, and then he says 'All right, let's pole.' He must be jealous about me. But that's the way I work him. He's so easy."

"Yes," said Lawrence, "lots of people are."