- est ardor and joy. The hero was given careful
instructions. “Some neckin’, Harold!” . . . “Kiss her! Kiss her! Ahhh!” . . . “Harold, Harold, you’re getting rough! . . . “She’s vamping you, Harold!” . . . “Stop it; Gloria; he’s a good boy.” And so on until the picture ended in the usual closeup of the hero and heroine silhouetted in a tender embrace against the setting sun. The boys breathed “Ahhhh” and “Ooooh” ecstatically—and laughed. The meretricious melodrama did not fool them, but they delighted in its absurdities.
The lights flashed on and the crowd filed out, “wise-cracking” about the picture and commenting favorably on the heroine’s figure. There were shouts to this fellow or that fellow to come on over and play bridge, and suggestions here and there to go to a drug store and get a drink. Hugh and Carl strolled home over the dark campus, both of them radiant with excitement, Hugh frankly so.
“Golly, I did enjoy that,” he exclaimed. “I never had a better time. It was sure hot stuff. I don’t want to go to the room; let’s walk for a while.”
“Yeah, it was pretty good,” Carl admitted. “Nope, I can’t go walking; gotta write a letter.”
“Who to? The harem?”
Carl hunched his shoulders until his ears touched
