iser
than his father; and in many ways he was.

In March he angered his fraternity brothers again by refusing a part in
the annual musical comedy, which was staged by the Dramatic Society
during Prom week. Hugh's tenor singing voice and rather small features
made him an excellent possibility for a woman's part. But he was not a
good actor, and he knew it. His attempts at acting in a high-school play
had resulted in a flat failure, and he had no intention of publicly
making a fool of himself again. Besides, he did not like the idea of
appearing on the stage as a girl; the mere idea was offensive to him.
Therefore, when the Society offered him a part he declined it.

Bob Tucker took him severely to task. "What do you mean, Hugh," he
demanded, "by turning down the Dramat? Here you've got a chance for a
lead, and you turn up your nose at it as if you were God Almighty. It
seems to me that you are getting gosh-awful high-hat lately. You run
around with a bunch of thoroughly wet ones; you never come to fraternity
meetings if you can help it; you aren't half training down at the track;
and now you give the Dramat the air just as if an activity or two wasn't
anything in your young life."

"The Dramat isn't anything to me," Hugh replied, trying to keep his
temper. Tucker's arrogance always made him angry. "I can't act worth a
damn. Never could. I tried once in a play at home and made a poor fish
of myself, and you can bet your bottom dollar that I'm not going to
again."

"Bunk!" Tucker ejaculated contemptuously. "Hooey! Anybody can act good
enough for the Dramat. I tell you right now that you're turning the
fraternity down; you're playing us dirt. What have you done in college?
Not a goddamn thing except make the Glee Club. I don't care about track.
I suppose you did your best last year, though I know damn well that you
aren't doing it this year. What would become of the fraternity if all of
us parked ourselves on our tails and gave the activities the air the way
you do? You're throwing us down, and we don't like it."

"Well, I'm not going out for the Dramat," Hugh mumbled sullenly; "you
can just bet on that. I'll admit that I haven't trained the way I ought
to, but I have made the Glee Club, and I have promised to join the Banjo
Club, and I am still on the track squad, and that's more than half the
fellows in this fraternity can say. Most of 'em don't do anything but go
on parties and raise hell generally. How come you're