t he's considered stupid. Yet
the world is full of 'dark silent men' and 'languorous brunettes' who
haven't a brain in their heads, but somehow are never accused of the
dearth."

"And the large mouth and broad chin and rather big nose undoubtedly make
the superior face."

"I'm not so sure." Amory was all for classical features.

"Oh, yes--I'll show you," and Burne pulled out of his desk a
photographic collection of heavily bearded, shaggy celebrities--Tolstoi,
Whitman, Carpenter, and others.

"Aren't they wonderful?"

Amory tried politely to appreciate them, and gave up laughingly.

"Burne, I think they're the ugliest-looking crowd I ever came across.
They look like an old man's home."

"Oh, Amory, look at that forehead on Emerson; look at Tolstoi's eyes."
His tone was reproachful.

Amory shook his head.

"No! Call them remarkable-looking or anything you want--but ugly they
certainly are."

Unabashed, Burne ran his hand lovingly across the spacious foreheads,
and piling up the pictures put them back in his desk.

Walking at night was one of his favorite pursuits, and one night he
persuaded Amory to accompany him.

"I hate the dark," Amory objected. "I didn't use to--except when I was
particularly imaginative, but now, I really do--I'm a regular fool about
it."

"That's useless, you know."

"Quite possibly."

"We'll go east," Burne suggested, "and down that string of roads through
the woods."

"Doesn't sound very appealing to me," admitted Amory reluctantly, "but
let's go."

They set off at a good gait, and for an hour swung along in a brisk
argument until the lights of Princeton were luminous white blots behind
them.

"Any person with any imagination is bound to be afraid," said Burne
earnestly. "And this very walking at night is one of the things I was
afraid about. I'm going to tell you why I can walk anywhere now and not
be afraid."

"Go on," Amory urged eagerly. They were striding toward the woods,
Burne's nervous, enthusiastic voice warming to his subject.

"I used to come out here alone at night, oh, three months ago, and I
always stopped at that cross-road we just passed. There were the woods
looming up ahead, just as they do now, there were dogs howling and
the shadows and no human sound. Of course, I peopled the woods with
everything ghastly, just like you do; don't you?"

"I do," Amory admitted.

"Well, I began analyzing it--my imagination persisted in sticking
horrors into the