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"I'll time you," he called, "and if you want any help, just-" "What's up" A new-comer appeared from the hall, attended by a crony and one or two curious underclassmen.

"Hullo, Sawyer--Come in, fellows-"

"We heard a row here," said Sawyer, as the others trooped in after him; "what's going on in there?"

"Why, it's old Carson. What do you suppose he's done?" "He's writing his short story for next week," suggested little Barnes.

"Ho, that wouldn't faze Carson. He's asked Emily Hale to the gym. tonight-"

"What!"

"Yes, and forgot he had till a minute ago."

Sawyer broke into a hearty roar, and the underclassmen looked surprised.

"Who put him up to that?" demanded little Barnes, amused. It's a darned mean trick."

Sawyer's mirth redoubled, and Carl responded, "O, some of the men told him he ought to do it, but nobody supposed he would. Jove! Poor old Bob-"

"He'll never hear the end of it. I know three men she turned away he must have got in early. What did she take old Carson for, anyway?"

"Give it up. He hasn't danced since he was in high school, and what has possessed him to-" He was interrupted by a loud sound as of rending cotton, and the Freshman ran to peek through the doorway.

"O, you can't tell what Bob'll do," interrupted Carson's roominate, with the conviction of experience. "I came in the other night and found him stumbling around in the dark-said the gas wouldn't light. It turned out he'd been blowing on his match instead of scratching it—"

"O come, now," interposed Sawyer.

"No, that's a fact. Why, when he came in today before dinner he took off his coat, and then kept on undressing, till I came in

and found him about half-way, and chattering Greek to himself. Why" he raised his voice above the shouts of laughter that arose, "You ought to live with him a day.-There!"

There was a crash from the next room, and Carl started up and flung open the door. Carson ran abruptly into his arms.

"I've smashed the mirror," he gasped, "but-”

"O, I don't doubt it. Never mind-are you ready?" "Yes." Bob turned around appealingly. "Am I all right?” "Hadn't you better wear a collar?" suggested Bradley from the Carson vanished, and Carl ran after him with a pair of brushes. The assembled group could hear his last directions, interspersed with an occasional expression of pain from the subject.

"You haven't any gloves? No, I supposed not. You'll have to take my old ones. Take off those clod-hoppers, and wear my thin shoes if you can keep 'em on. Never wear a tie like that in the evening-haven't you got any others? Well, neither have I— Turn your head the other way."

"Ow!" from Carson, gently.

"Don't sit on the tails of your coat-I see you've got on mine, so be careful. It doesn't fit you very well. There, your hair'll do."

"Ow! Thanks, old man. I'm off. Now," and he came to the door and turned in tentative inquiry to the grinning group, "Will some of you fellows tell me where Miss Hale lives?"

There was a brief incredulous silence, followed by a whoop of mingled mirth and amazement.

"Well, you are a-" "She lives in Arlington-"

"Go with him, somebody, take care of his hat-”

"Shut up!" cried Carl decisively. "For heaven's sake, don't "Put him to bed—”

rattle him now! She'll probably be at the Gray's, Bob. Or if not, go to the Hall-she's got friends there. And now, sprint!" He bundled coat and hat onto Carson, thrust the gloves into his pocket, and pushed him out the door. Carson vaguely heard their

laughter as the door closed, and he clattered down stairs into the crisp night.

Before the great door had slammed behind him, he was halfway down the walk, and galloping wildly past the recitation hall. It was slippery, but Bob was going too fast to fall; his steps rang out clearly, and his long shadow bobbed weirdly up and down as he shot under the great arc light and struck out across the field. As yet the horror of the situation had not dawned upon him. He had had no time for reflection, and his only thought was to attain the aim of the moment, which happened to be the Grays' door-bell. Of his further obligations he was yet pathetically inno

cent.

He dashed up the steps just as a clock inside chimed the halfhour. His summons at the bell was promptly answered.

"Is Miss Hale in?"

The maid gazed at the puffing, nervous youth with lofty disapproval.

"Miss Hale doesn't live here."

"No-O no!" panted Bob. "But isn't she in?—I mean-I thought-"

"Miss Gray is out. Miss Hale has not been here."

"I-I beg your pardon. Thanks."

He stumbled down the steps, and started breathlessly up the avenue. She must be at the dormitory. Carson had unconsciously prayed that he might not have to go there. He had never ascended its steps before. From his Freshman year he had been bred to look upon that building with a strange and awful shrinking; and he had always hurried by with a fugitive sense of escape.

He paused now, as he stood in its forbidding shadow, with a frenzied impulse to flee; then he gave a reckless gasp and charged on the bell. Before he could ring, the door was opened, and Carson found himself confronted by a group of girls, apparently going out together. His knees shook. Their laughter stopped abruptly and there was a deadly silence as the phalanx paused waiting.

Carson has a giddy recollection of talking incoherently, and

being run through a gauntlet into the hall, whence one young woman departed on his quest. The door closed upon his captors, -for such they seemed to Bob's fevered imagination,-and he could hear their smothered giggles without. He sat wretchedly on the edge of a chair, and for the first time looked the situation in the face. A long evening of responsibility-could the evening be longer? Bob's idea of time was utterly confused and warped -the care of a girl (O death!)-the hundred little requirements which he had forgotten in the years of his neglect-he moistened his lips, and blinked desperately at the light. There were steps on the stairs-they were coming! Bob rose, had a fleeting wonder if he should feel like this at his wedding, and sat down again.

The girl returned alone. "Miss Hale was to be at Mrs. Martin's tonight," she said. “I've no doubt you'll find her there." She smiled kindly at his obvious despair, and he humbly took his departure. The silence as he ran his gauntlet on the steps again was congealing, but he shot into the darkness and was safe.

The street looked less slippery than the walk, so he turned out, and at once fell headlong. The knees of Carl's trousers were badly damaged, and Carl's gloves rolled into the gutter; but Carson, unmindful of these mishaps, scrambled to his feet again, and in another minute was at the Martins' door.

He was ushered into the drawing-room, and this time remained heroically standing. His bad half-hour was passed; he was now quite calm and undisturbed.

The maid returned shortly, and gave a queer little foreign

curtsey.

"Miss Hale is gone."

Gone? Bob sat down hastily, and as hastily rose again. Gone! Gone where? Gone to the party without him? Gone home? Impossible! He uttered some of his doubts incoherently.

"I don't know anything about it," said the girl. "Mrs. Martin says Miss Hale went nearly an hour ago, with Mr. Walton. She has gone to a dance, I think."

Carson walked into the hall, incidentally crushing his hat in a

convulsive embrace. The bell rang suddenly, and the maid pre

Iceded him to the door.

He started at the sound of his room

mate's voice and hurried out.

Carl stood on the steps, red, disheveled, panting.

"Come away," he gasped.

"For heaven's sake-"

"Never mind-come-excuse yourself—"

"Excuse me," said the literal Carson, turning to the bewildered girl, and he went out, pulling the door to after him.

"Now then-are you sick?-what is the matter? Have I done anything?"

Carl pulled him under an electric light and silently handed him an envelope. Carson took it doubtfully, squeezed it, looked at his friend anxiously, and then turned to read the superscription. "MISS EMILY F. HALE,

21

He looked up, puzzled.

"I found it," gasped Carl,

struggling between laughter and ex

haustion, "in your old coat. You forgot to mail it-you-"

Carson put the note in his pocket, and sat down on the curb

stone.

"I'll go home and finish my Greek," he said.

K. B. L., '02.

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