The Judge, surprised, came to him, delighted.
“Well, if here isn’t Dink in the flesh. How are you? Thought you’d eloped somewhere. Glad to see you; tarnation if I’m not glad to shake your hand.”
Hungerford, Bain, Bob Story, and Stone were present; a little difference in their several greetings.
“Well, we’re holding a sort of wake here,” said the Judge cheerily. “Bain seems the most afflicted.”
“It’s a hard moment,” said Stover calmly, knowing that any expression of opinion from him would be resisted in certain quarters. “I felt quite upset myself today when I heard the news, despite the stand I’ve taken.”
Hunter looked up and then down, but said nothing.
“It’s for the best,” said Hungerford, not wishing him to stand alone. “Best for the college as a whole.”
“That remains to be seen,” said Bain. “I passed Gimbel coming over, and his crowd. It wasn’t very pleasant.”
“Well, it’s over,” said Dink in a matter-of-fact tone. “No postmortem! The great thing now is to recognize what exists. The class today is shot to pieces. We want to get together again. One half our time’s up, and, wherever the fault, we’ve done nothing but scrap and get apart.”
“I’ve been telling them a little about your scheme, yours and Brockhurst’s,” said Story.
Stover launched into an enthusiastic argument in its support. Bain and Hunter followed, instinctive in their opposition, each perceiving all the superiority that would derive to Stover from its success.
“May I ask,” said Hunter finally, in a tone of icy criticism, “What is the difference between knocking down the sophomore society and putting up this organization?”
“Very glad to tell you, Jim,” said Stover, assuming an attitude of careful goodwill. “The difference is that this is an open organization, drawing from every element of the class, to meet for the sole purpose of doing a little thinking and getting to know other crowds. The sophomore society was an organization drawn from one element of the class, consciously or unconsciously for the purpose of advancing the social ambitions of its members at the expense of others. One is natural and democratic, and the other’s founded on selfishness and exclusiveness.”
The Judge, fearing the results of a controversy, broke in, switching the conversation to safer channels.
“By the way, Jim,” said Stover, in an interlude, “we’re counting on you and Tommy Bain to go into this thing and make it a success. Is that right?”
Despite their reluctance at so prompt an espousal, Hunter and Bain were too farseeing to set themselves in opposition. But the acceptance was given without enthusiasm, and, not relishing this sudden renewal of authority in one whom they naturally held at fault, they soon broke up the party.
Hungerford and Bob went into the billiard room for a game, and presently the Judge disappeared upstairs to run over some routine work.
Stover took the seat vacated by Hunter, with perhaps a little malicious pleasure, saying:
“Aren’t you going on playing?”
The young girl hesitated a moment, turning the leaves aimlessly.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Do you want me to very much?”
“I’d much rather talk.”
She closed the music, turning to him with a little reproachful seriousness.
“You’ve been away a long while.”
“Yes.” He admitted the implied accusation with a moment’s silence. “A crazy spell of mine. Bob was over this afternoon and we had a long talk.” He said it point blank, watching her face for some indication he hoped to find there of her complicity. “Did he tell you?”
“He was speaking of it at the dinner table,” she said quietly.
“Did you blame me,” he said impulsively, “for what I did about getting out of my society?”
“No.”
“Bob did, at least for a while,” he said, looking eagerly into her eyes.
“I did not agree with him there.”
She rose.
“If we are going to talk, let’s find more comfortable chairs.”
He followed her, a little irritated at the sudden closing on this delightful prospect. They took chairs by the window. Through the vista of open rooms could be seen the glare of the brilliant lights, and the figures of the two young fellows moving at their game.
Suddenly, with a return of the old-time feeling of camaraderie between them, he burst out:
“You know I’ve got into such a serious point of view! I don’t quite know how it happened. Sometimes it seems to me I’m missing all the fun of college life.” He made a gesture toward the billiard room. “Even fellows like McNab, good for nothing, jovial little loafers, according to Yale standards, do seem to be getting something wonderful out of these years. I don’t. It’s been all work or fighting.”
“That’s because they are going different ways in life than you are,” she said quickly. “Tell me more about this new organization. It seems a big idea. Whom will you take in?” She added suddenly: “Take charge yourself, do it all yourself. It’s just what you should do.”
He was too much interested in the expounding of the idea to notice the solicitude she showed him. After a while the conversation drifted to other topics. He spoke of the summer.
“Joe wants me to go on a cruise, and Bob wants me to run up to your camp for a visit, but I’ve about decided to do neither.”
She looked up.
“Why not?”
“I am going with Regan for the summer—slumming it, I suppose some would call it; Tom calls it getting real education. We’re going down to work among men who work, to know something of what they think and want—and what they think of us. It appeals to me tremendously. I want to have an all-around point of view. There are so many opportunities coming now, and I want to grasp them all—learn all I can. What do you think?”
“It is a splendid idea, just the thing for you now. It will broaden you,” she said, with a determined bob of her head. “Why doesn’t Bob ever bring Regan around? He sounds interesting.”
“Don’t know—he sticks by himself. You can’t move him. Bob’s told you about the four
