I heard him at it once." (This
meant that Billy had gone to a lecture lately.) "It's all about Who am
I? and How do I do it?" Billy added.

"Hm!" said Bertie. "Hm! Subjective and objective again, I suppose, only
applied to oneself. You see, that table is objective. I can stand off
and judge it. It's outside of me; has nothing to do with me. That's
easy. But my opinion of--well, my--well, anything in my nature--"

"Anger when it's time to get up," suggested Billy.

"An excellent illustration," said Bertie. "That is subjective in me.
Similar to your dislike of water as a beverage. That is subjective in
you. But here comes the twist. I can think of my own anger and judge it,
just as if it were an outside thing, like a table. I can compare it with
itself on different mornings or with other people's anger. And I trust
that you can do the same with your thirst."

"Yes," said Billy; "I recognize that it is greater at times and less at
others."

"Very well, There you are. Duality of the ego."

"Subject and object," said Billy. "Perfectly true, and very queer when
you try to think of it. Wonder how far it goes? Of course, one can
explain the body's being an object to the brain inside it. That's mind
and matter over again. But when my own mind and thought, can become
objects to themselves--I wonder how far that does go?" he broke off
musingly. "What useless stuff!" he ended.

"Gentlemen," said Oscar, who had been listening to them with patient,
Oriental diversion, "I--"

"Oh," said Bertie, remembering him. "Look here. We mustn't keep you up.
We're awfully obliged for the way you are putting us on to this. You're
saving our lives. Ten to-morrow for a grand review of the whole course."

"And the multiplicity of the ego?" inquired Oscar.

"Oh, I forgot. Well, it's too late tonight. Is it much? Are there many
dates and names and things?"

"It is more of a general inquiry and analysis," replied Oscar. "But it
is forty pages of my notes." And he smiled.

"Well, look here. It would be nice to have to-morrow clear for review.
We're not tired. You leave us your notes and go to bed."

Oscar's hand almost moved to cover and hold his precious property, for
this instinct was the deepest in him. But it did not so move, because
his intelligence controlled his instinct nearly, though not
quite, always. His shiny little eyes, however, became furtive and
antagonistic--something the boys did not at first make out.

Oscar gave hims