tions and desires for other things. Oh! It all seemed very long ago and very far apart, and toward what was he tending now? Life struck him as a very peculiar game in which little things turned the course of existence into unsuspected channels—a very non-original thought, but he dwelt on it.
"Hullo, Pop Hart!" rang out beneath his window.
The interruption had come just as his thoughts had reached the time when Mabel had first come to occupy his mind. He thrust back the letter that he had half taken from his pocket, addressed to him in Miss Van Clees's round, shaded hand, and walked to the window.
"Hullo!" he answered, squeezing through the window.
"Come out on the campus," was the rejoinder. "Save the midnight oil, cool your fevered brow, and breathe of liberty."
It was Terence Golatly, Congeve, and Jimmy James. The light of Mr. Golatly's cigarette gleamed like a firefly below as he waved it in time to his oration.
Hart turned down the light and put on his shabby wide-awake and joined Terence and the
