of the
room just ahead of ten-thirty lights, a double sigh of relief went up
from the crammers.

"That article needs fixing," said Pellams, meditatively, as Jimmy got
out the chafing-dish and prepared the black coffee that makes additional
pages of syllabi possible before sleep comes.

"I wonder," said Jimmy, "if he ever bought an ounce of tobacco since he
came here. He's smoked mine every time he could find it since I've been
in college. I remember," here Jimmy stopped to laugh, "that when I was a
Freshmen--you'll bear witness I was a fresh one, too--I used to be
pleased clear to the red at getting all that attention from an
upper-classman. The satisfaction cost me a good many pounds of tobacco,
though."

"His opinion of himself politically is what kills me. Lyman is his
ideal. He loafs in Frank's room until Frank has had to give up smoking.
It's fun to see him. I was in there the other night. 'How are you going
to stand on the election, Frank?' says Boggsie, as though it were a
conference of the powers. 'Oh, I think Higgins is pretty good,' says
Frank; 'what do you think?' Not that he gave a whoop; he was trying to
be polite. 'Well, I may use my influence for Castleton,' says Boggsie,
with his pet air of mystery. His influence consists of his roommate.
'The deuce you will!' says Frank, with sarcasm. All wasted though, for
Boggsie fairly chapped at the compliment of having surprised him. 'Yes,'
said Boggs, 'that's what I like to see, the office seeking the man; you
know, a fellow ought to wait and go about his business until people
recognize him. I don't like to see a man going around with his hand out,
raking the Freshmen in.' Then he looks around for applause and slopes
out, smoking the last of Lyman's Durham."

"He rake in the Freshmen! It would cost too much! Boggs wants the office
to seek him, so as to save expense. When he was small I think he must
have been the sort of kid that won't play his marbles for fear that
he'll wear them out. He'd do anything mean to get office, but he won't
spend money for it; he has enough, too; he doesn't have to pinch as he
does, but he hates to spend a nickel when he can worm it out of other
people. I'd love to get a feed out of him in some way; oh, it would
taste good!"

Pellams' ruddy face glowed fire-red with the dawn of an idea. His
inspiration had come.

"James Russell Lowell Mason, I'll bet you the price of--anything you
name--that I can get a feed, a genuine,
Mayfi