why—just did. . . . Oh, hell! what’s the use of going into details? You can guess what happened.”
Hugh sat suddenly erect. “You did n’t—”
Carl stood up and stretched. “Yeah,” he yawned, “I did it. Lots of times afterwards.”
Hugh was dazed. He did n’t know what to think. For an instant he was shocked, and then he was envious. “Wonder if Janet would have gone the whole way,” flitted across his mind. He instantly dismissed the question; he felt that it wasn’t fair to Janet. But Carl? Gosh!
Carl yawned again. “Great stuff,” he said non¬ chalantly. “Sleepy as hell. Guess I ’ll hit the hay.” He eyed Hugh suspiciously. “You are n’t shocked, are you? You don’t think I’m a moral leper or anything like that?” He attempted to be light but was n’t altogether successful.
“Of course not.” Hugh denied the suggestion vehemently, and yet down in his heart he felt a keen disappointment. He hardly knew why he was disappointed, but he was. “Going to bed?” he asked as casually as he could.
“Yeah. Good night.”
“Good night, old man.”
Each boy went to his own bedroom, Hugh to go to bed and think Carl’s story over. It thrilled him, and he envied Carl, and yet—and ye* he wished Carl had n’t done it. It made him and Carl dif¬ ferent—sorta not the same; no that wasn’t it.
