t would take Don's mind off
his trouble that evening. Perhaps he could get Don to take a good, long
walk. Walking always worked wonders in his own case when, as very
infrequently happened, he had a fit of the blues. Yes, he would propose
a walk, he told himself. And then he groaned at the thought of it, for
he was very tired and he ached in a large number of places!

Only a few windows were lighted in Billings as he approached it, for
most of the fellows were still in dining hall and the rule requiring the
turning out of lights during absence from rooms was strictly enforced.
Only the masters were exempted, and Tim noticed as he passed Mr. Daley's
study that the droplight was turned low by one of those cunning dimming
attachments which Tim had always envied the instructor the possession
of. Tim would have had one of those long ago could he have put it to any
practical use. He passed through the doorway and down the dimly lighted
corridor, the rubber-soled shoes which he affected in all seasons making
little sound. He was surprised to see that no light showed through the
transom of Number 6, and he paused outside the door a moment. Perhaps
Don was asleep. In that case, it would be just as well to not disturb
him. But, on the other hand, he might be just sitting there in the dark
being miserable. Tim turned the knob and pushed the door open.

The light from the corridor and the fact that Don had stopped startledly
at the sound of the turning knob prevented an actual collision between
them. Tim, pushing the door slowly shut behind him, viewed Don
questioningly. "Hello," he said, "where are you going?"

"For a walk," replied Don.

"Why the coat and umbrella? And--oh, I see!" Tim's glance took in the
bag and comprehension dawned. "So that's it, eh?"

There was an instant of silence during which Tim closed the door and
leaned against it, hands in pockets and a thoughtful scowl on his face.
Finally:

"Yes, that's it," said Don defiantly. "I'm off for home."

"What's the big idea?"

"You know well enough, Tim. I--I'm not going to stay here and be--be
pointed out as a quitter. I'm----"

"Wait a sec! What are you doing now but quitting, you several sorts of a
blind mule? Think you're helping things any by--by running away? Don't
be a chump, Donald."

"That's all well enough for you. It isn't your funeral. I don't care
what they say about me if I don't have to hear it. I'm sorry, Tim,
but--but I've just got to do it. I