ir like
the prow of a ship. On his head, rakishly set, was a Panama hat, over
his arm was a natty raincoat and he wore gloves.

"Who is it?" said the Tennessee Shad faintly.

"It's the gas inspector," said Dennis de Brian de Boru, who, though
now long of trousers, continued short of respect.

"Goodness gracious," said the Tennessee Shad, "can it be the little
Dink who came to us from the Green House?"

Stover approached serenely and shook hands.

"Heavens, Dink," said the Gutter Pup, "what has happened? Have you
gone into the clothing business?"

"Like my jibs?" said Stover, throwing back his coat. "Catch this!"

The front rank went over like so many nine pins. Stover, pleased with
the effect, waved his hand and disappeared to pay his militant
respects to The Roman who led him to the light and looked him over
with unconcealed amazement.

When Dink had gone to his old room the Tennessee Shad, the Gutter Pup
and Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan were already awaiting him, with
heads critically slanted.

"Tell us the worst," said the Gutter Pup.

"Are you married?" said the Tennessee Shad.

"Let's see her photograph," said Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan.

Now, Stover had foreseen the greeting and the question and had come
prepared. He opened his valise and, taking out a case, arranged a
dozen photographs on his bureau, artfully concealing the one and only
in a temporarily subordinate position.

The three village loungers arose and stationed themselves in front of
the portrait gallery.

"Why, he must be perfectly irresistible!" said the Gutter Pup.

"Dink," said Dennis, "do all these girls love you?"

Stover, disdaining a reply, selected another case.

"Razors!" said the Tennessee Shad.

"What for?" said Dennis.

"Oh, I shave, too," said the Gutter Pup, in whom the spirit of envy
was beginning to work.

"And now, boys," said Stover briskly, taking off his coat, folding it
carefully over a chair and beginning to unpack, "sit down. Don't act
like a lot of hayseeds on a rail, but tell me what the Freshmen are
like."

The manner was complete--convincing, without a trace of embarrassment.
The three wits exchanged foolish glances and sat down.

"What do you weigh?" said the Gutter Pup faintly.

"One hundred and fifty-five, and I've grown an inch," said Stover,
ranging on a ring a score of flashy neckties.

"I wish Lovely Mead could see those," said the Gutter Pup with a last
appearance of levity.