logical courses,
though he appeared to be taking the sentimental ones with an astonishing
thoroughness; and sometimes, to Fred's hilarious delight, Ramsey
attempted to turn the tables and rally him upon whatever last affair
seemed to be engaging his fancy. The old Victorian and pre-Victorian
_blague_ word "petticoat" had been revived in Fred's vocabulary, and in
others, as "skirt." The lightsome sprig was hourly to be seen, even
when university rulings forbade, dilly-dallying giddily along the campus
paths or the town sidewalks with some new and pretty Skirt. And when
Ramsey tried to fluster him about such a matter Fred would profess his
ardent love for the new lady in shouts and impromptu song. Nothing
could be done to him, and Ramsey, utterly unable to defend his own
sensibilities in like manner, had always to retire in bafflement.
Sometimes he would ponder upon the question thus suggested: Why couldn't
he do this sort of thing, since Fred could? But he never discovered a
satisfying answer.

Ramsey's watchfulness was so careful (lest he make some impulsive
admission in regard to the botanical laboratory, for instance) that
Mr. Mitchell's curiosity gradually became almost quiescent; but
there arrived a day in February when it was piqued into the liveliest
activity. It was Sunday, and Fred, dressing with a fastidiousness
ever his daily habit, noticed that Ramsey was exhibiting an unusual
perplexity about neckties.

"Keep the black one on," Fred said, volunteering the suggestion, as
Ramsey muttered fiercely at a mirror. "It's in better taste for church,
anyhow. You're going to church, aren't you?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"No. I've got a luncheon engagement."

"Well, you could go to church first, couldn't you? You better; you've
got a lot of church absences against you."

"Then one more won't hurt. No church in mine this morning, thanks! G'by,
ole sox; see you at the 'frat house' for dinner."

He went forth, whistling syncopations, and began a brisk trudge into the
open country. There was a professor's daughter who also was not going to
church that morning; and she lived a little more than three miles
beyond the outskirts of the town. Unfortunately, as the weather was
threatening, all others of her family abandoned the idea of church that
day, and Fred found her before a cozy fire, but surrounded by parents,
little brothers, and big sisters. The professor was talkative; Fred's
mind might have been greatly improved, but