out of one of
his mother's discarded dresses. His face was nearly colorless without
being pallid; and the faint golden down on his cheeks and upper lip,
instead of being disagreeably juvenile, really added to the pleasant
dreaminess that hung like a haze over his mild young features. He was
slender, he carried himself rather quaintly; but his gait was buoyant
and spirited. At that season the lilacs were in bloom, and Silverthorn
held a glorious plume of the pale blossoms in his hand. What the first
touch of fire is to the woods in autumn, the blooming of the lilac is
to the new summer--a mystery, a beauty, too exquisite to last long
intact; evanescent as human breath, yet, like that, fraught with
incalculable values. All this Silverthorn must have felt to the full,
judging from the tender way in which he held the flowers, even while
absorbed in talk with his friend. His fingers seemed conscious that
they were touching the clue to a finer life. In Vibbard's warm, tough
fist, the lilacs would have faded within ten minutes. Vibbard was
stocky and muscular, and his feet went down at each step as if they
never meant to come up again. He wore stylish clothes, kept his hands
much in his coat pockets, affected high-colored neck-scarfs, and had a
red face with blunt features. When he was excited, his face wore a
fierce aspect; when he felt friendly, it became almost foolishly
sentimental; as a general thing it was morosely inert.

Being in my senior year, I did not see much of either Vibbard or
his friend; but I sometimes occupied myself with attempts to analyze
the sources of their intimacy. I remember stating to one of my
young acquaintances that Vibbard probably had a secret longing
to be feminine and ideal, and that Silverthorn felt himself at fault
in masculine toughness and hardihood, so that each sought the
companionship of the other, hoping to gain some of the qualities which
he himself lacked; and my young acquaintance offended me by replying,
as if it had all been perfectly obvious, "Of course."

After I had been graduated, and had entered the Law School,
Silverthorn and Vibbard came to my room one day, on a singular errand,
which--though I did not guess it then--was to influence their lives
for many a year afterward.

"Ferguson," began Bill, rather shyly, when they had seated themselves,
"I suppose you know enough of law, by this time, to draw up a paper."

"Yes, I suppose so; or draw it down, either," I replied.