s are always a little provoked at him because he
is so shy and absent-minded, but when it comes to the point, they like
him too. I heard Emma White say once that he was "so handsome"; I
nearly whooped. Ruggles was mad because he's gone on Em. For the idea
of calling a thin, pale, dark, dreamy-looking chap like the Old Fellow
"handsome" was more than I could stand without guffawing. Em probably
said it to provoke Ruggles; she couldn't really have thought it.
"Micky," the English professor, now--if she had called him handsome
there would have been some sense in it. He is splendid: big six-footer
with magnificent muscles, red cheeks, and curly yellow hair. I can't
see how he can be contented to sit down and teach mushy English
literature and poetry and that sort of thing. It would have been more
in keeping with the Old Fellow. There was a rumour running at large in
the Academy that the Old Fellow wrote poetry, but he ran the
mathematics and didn't make such a foozle of it as you might suppose,
either.

Ruggles and I meant to get square with the Old Fellow, if it took all
the term; at least, we said so. But if Providence hadn't sent Sylvia
Grant walking down the street past our boarding house that afternoon,
we should probably have cooled off before we thought of any working
plan of revenge.

Sylvia Grant did go down the street, however. Ruggles, hanging halfway
out of the window as usual, saw her, and called me to go and look. Of
course I went. Sylvia Grant was always worth looking at. There was no
girl in Frampton who could hold a candle to her when it came to
beauty. As for brains, that is another thing altogether. My private
opinion is that Sylvia hadn't any, or she would never have
preferred--but there, I'm getting on too fast again. Ruggles should
have written this story; he can concentrate better.

Sylvia was the Latin professor's daughter; she wasn't a Cad girl, of
course. She was over twenty and had graduated from it two years ago,
but she was in all the social things that went on in the Academy; and
all the unmarried professors, except the Old Fellow, were in love with
her. Micky had it the worst, and we had all made up our minds that
Sylvia would marry Micky. He was so handsome, we didn't see how she
could help it. I tell you, they made a dandy-looking couple when they
were together.

Well, as I said before, I toddled to the window to have a look at the
fair Sylvia. She was all togged out in some new fall du