He made a last night's effort with the proverbial wet towel, and then blissfully took the exam, wondering unhappily why all the color and ambition of the spring before had faded out.

Somehow, with the defection of Isabelle the idea of undergraduate success had loosed its grasp on his imagination, and he contemplated a possible failure to pass off his condition with equanimity, even though it would arbitrarily mean his removal from the Princetonian board and the slaughter of his chances for the Senior Council.
There was always his luck.
He yawned, scribbled his honor pledge on the cover, and sauntered from the room.
"If you don't pass it," said the newly arrived Alec as they sat on the window-seat of Amory's room and mused upon a scheme of wall decoration, "you're the world's worst goopher.

Your stock will go down like an elevator at the club and on the campus." "Oh, hell, I know it.

Why rub it in ?" "'Cause you deserve it.

Anybody that'd risk what you were in line for _ought_ to be ineligible for Princetonian chairman." "Oh, drop the subject," Amory protested.