I use the word reclined advisedly, for Steve had lowered the back of the chair to its last notch, and to say that he was sitting would require a stretch of the imagination almost as long as Steve himself! Through the windows Steve could see the dark masses of the campus elms, an occasional star between the branches, and, by raising his head the fraction of an inch, the lights in the upper story of Hawthorne, across the yard.

Somewhere under the trees outside a group of fellows were singing to the accompaniment of a wailing ukelele.

They sang softly, so that the words floated gently up to the open casements just distinguishable: "_Years may come and years may go, Seasons ebb and seasons flow, Autumn lie 'neath Winters' snow, Spring bring Summer verdancy.
Life may line our brow with care, Time to silver turn our hair, Still, to us betide whate'er, Dexter, we'll remember thee!_ "_Other memories may fade, Hopes grow dim in ev'ning's shade, Golden friendships that we made_--" "Aw, shut up!" muttered Perry, breaking the silence that had held them for several minutes.

Joe Ingersoll laughed softly.
"You don't seem to like the efforts of the--um--sweet-voiced choristers," he said in his slow way.
"I don't like the sob-stuff," replied Perry resentfully.

"What's the use of rubbing it in?
Why not let a fellow be cheerful after he has got through by the skin of his teeth and kicked his books under the bed?
Gosh, some folks never want anyone to be happy!" He raised himself by painful effort and peered out and down into the gloom.