Slade jerked him across the sidewalk. Carl followed expostulating. "Get
the hell out of here, Peters," Slade said angrily, "or I'll knock your
fool block off. You chase off with those rats if you want to, but you
leave Carver with me if you know what's good for you." He shoved Carl
away, and Carl was sober enough to know that Slade meant what he said.
Each girl took him by an arm, and he walked off down the street between
them, almost instantly forgetting Hugh.

Fortunately the street was nearly deserted, and no one had witnessed the
little drama. Hugh began to sob drunkenly. Slade grasped his shoulders
and shook him until his head waggled. "Now, shut up!" Slade commanded
sharply. He took Hugh by the arm and started down the street with him,
Hugh still muttering, "Leggo, leggo o' me."

Slade walked him the whole five miles back to Haydensville, and before
they were half way home Hugh's head began to clear. For a time he felt a
little sick, but the nausea passed, and when they reached the campus he
was quite sober. Not a word was spoken until Hugh unlocked the door of
Surrey 19. Then Slade said: "Go wash your face and head in cold water.
Souse yourself good and then come back; I want to have a talk with you."

Hugh obeyed orders, but with poor grace. He was angry and confused,
angry because his liberty had been interfered with, and confused because
Slade had never paid more than passing attention to him--and for a year
and a half Slade had been his god.

Slade was one of those superb natural athletes who make history for many
colleges. He was big, powerfully built, and moved as easily as a
dancer. His features were good enough, but his brown eyes were dull and
his jaw heavy rather than strong. Hugh had often heard that Slade
dissipated violently, but he did not believe the rumors; he was positive
that Slade could not be the athlete he was if he dissipated. He had been
thrilled every time Slade had spoken to him--the big man of the college,
the one Sanford man who had ever made All American, as Slade had this
year.

When he returned to his room from the bath-room, Slade was sitting in a
big chair smoking a cigarette. Hugh walked into his bedroom, combed his
dripping hair, and then came into the study, still angry but feeling a
little sheepish and very curious.

"Well, what is it?" he demanded, sitting down.

"Do you know who those women were?"

"No. Who are they?"

"They're Bessie Haines and Emma Gleeson; at lea