'em. I can't. There's just one person that I want to talk to, and
that's my mother." He shot the word "mother" out defiantly and glared at
Hugh, silently daring him to laugh, which Hugh had sense enough not to
do, although he wanted to strongly. The great big baby, wanting his
mother! Why, he wanted his mother, too, but he didn't cry about it.

"That's all right," he said reassuringly; "you'll see her Christmas
vacation, and that isn't very long off."

"I want to see her now!" Morse jumped to his feet and raised his
clenched hands above his head. "Now!" he roared. "Now! I've got to. I'm
going home on the midnight." He whirled about to his desk and began to
pull open the drawers, piling their contents on the top.

"Here!" Hugh rushed to him and clutched his arms. "Don't do that." Morse
struggled, angry at the restraining hands, ready to strike them off.
Hugh had a flash of inspiration. "Think how disappointed your mother
will be," he cried, hanging on to Morse's arms; "think of her."

Morse ceased struggling. "She will be disappointed," he admitted
miserably. "What can I do?" There was a world of despair in his
question.

Hugh pushed him into the desk-chair and seated himself on the edge of
the desk. "I'll tell you," he said. He talked for half an hour, cheering
Morse, assuring him that his homesickness would pass away, offering to
study with him. At first Morse paid little attention, but finally he
quit sniffing and looked up, real interest in his face. When Hugh got a
weak smile out of him, he felt that his work had been done. He jumped
off the desk, leaned over to slap Morse on the back, and told him that
he was a good egg but a damn fool.

Morse grinned. "You're a good egg yourself," he said gratefully. "You've
saved my life."

Hugh was pleased and blushed. "You're full of bull.... Remember, we do
Latin at ten to-morrow." He opened the door. "Good night."

"Good night." And Hugh heard as he closed the door. "Thanks a lot."

When he opened his own door, he found Carl sitting before a blazing log
fire. There was no other light in the room. Carl had written his nightly
letter to the "old lady," and he was a little homesick himself--softened
into a tender and pensive mood. He did not move as Hugh sat down in a
big chair on the other side of the hearth and said softly, "Thinking?"

"Un-huh. Where you been?"

"Across the hall in Morse's room." Then as Carl looked up in surprise,
he told him of his experience w