to be thinking about himself and his own
doings."

"Only he can't help himself," said Hardy. "Let him throw himself
as he will into all that is going on up here, after all he must
be alone for a great part of his time--all night at any rate--and
when he gets his oak sported, it's all up with him. He must be
looking more or less into his own inside, as you call it."

"Then I hope he won't find it as ugly a business as I do. If he
does, I'm sure he can't be worse employed."

"I don't know that," said Hardy; "he can't learn anything worth
learning in any other way."

"Oh, I like that!" said Tom; "it's worth learning how to play
tennis, and how to speak the truth. You can't learn either by
thinking of yourself ever so much."

"You must know the truth before you can speak it," said Hardy.

"So you always do in plenty of time."

"How?" said Hardy.

"Oh, I don't know," said Tom; "by a sort of instinct I suppose. I
never in my life felt any doubt about what I _ought_ to say or
do; did you?"

"Well, yours is a good, comfortable, working belief at any rate,"
said Hardy, smiling; "and I should advise you to hold on to it as
long as you can."

"But you don't think I can very long, eh?"

"No: but men are very different. There's no saying. If you were
going to get out of the self-dissecting business altogether
though, why should you have brought the subject up at all
to-night? It looks awkward for you, doesn't it?"

Tom began to feel rather forlorn at this suggestion, and probably
betrayed it in his face, for Hardy changed the subject suddenly.

"How do you get on in the boat? I saw you going down to-day, and
thought the time much better."

Tom felt greatly relieved, as he was beginning to find himself in
rather deep water; so he rushed into boating with great zest, and
the two chatted on very pleasantly on that and other matters.

The college clock struck during a pause in their talk, and Tom
looked at his watch.

"Eight o'clock I declare," he said; "why I must have been here
more than two hours. I'm afraid, now, you have been wanting to
work, and I have kept you from it with my talk."

"No, it's Saturday night. Besides, I don't get much society that
I care about, and so I enjoy it all the more. Won't you stop and
have some tea?"

Tom gladly consented, and his host produced a somewhat
dilapidated set of crockery, and proceeded to brew the drink
least appreciated at St. Ambrose's. Tom watched him in silence,