ne afternoon to find Carl seated at his desk writing. He
looked up when Hugh came in, tore the paper into fragments, and tossed
them info the waste-basket.

"Guess I'd better tell you," he said briefly. "I was just writing a note
to you."

"To me? Why?"

Carl pointed to his suit-case standing by the center-table.

"That's why."

"Going away on a party?"

"My trunk left an hour ago. I'm going away for good." Carl's voice was
husky, and he spoke with an obvious effort.

Hugh walked quickly to the desk. "Why, old man, what's the matter?
Anything wrong with your mother? You're not sick, are you?"

Carl laughed, briefly, bitterly. "Yes, I'm sick all right. I'm sick."

Hugh, worried, looked at him seriously. "Why, what's the matter? I
didn't know that you weren't feeling well."

Carl looked at the rug and muttered, "You remember those rats we picked
up in Hastings?"

"Yes?"

"Well, I know of seven fellows they've sent home."

"What!" Hugh cried, his eyes wide with horror. "You don't mean that
you--that you--"

"I mean exactly that," Carl replied in a low, flat voice. He rose and
moved to the other side of the room. "I mean exactly that; and Doc
Conners agrees with me," he added sarcastically. Then more softly, "He's
got to tell the dean. That's why I'm going home."

Hugh was swept simultaneously by revulsion and sympathy. "God, I'm
sorry," he exclaimed. "Oh, Carl, I'm so damn sorry."

Carl was standing by Hugh's desk, his hands clenched, his lips
compressed. "Keep my junk," he said unevenly, "and sell anything you
want to if you live in the house next year."

"But you'll be back?"

"No, I won't come back--I won't come back." He was having a hard time
to keep back the tears and bit his trembling lip mercilessly. "Oh,
Hugh," he suddenly cried, "what will my mother say?"

Hugh was deeply distressed, but he was startled by that "my mother." It
was the first time he had ever heard Carl speak of his mother except as
the "old lady."

"She will understand," he said soothingly.

"How can she? How can she? God, Hugh, God!" He buried his face in his
hands and wept bitterly. Hugh put his arm around his shoulder and tried
to comfort him, and in a few minutes Carl was in control of himself
again. He dried his eyes with his handkerchief.

"What a fish I am!" he said, trying to grin. "A goddamn fish." He looked
at his watch. "Hell, I've got to be going if I'm going to make the five
fifteen," He picked up his sui