ends.

Godwin Peak stood alone. On the bench where he had sat were heaped the
prize volumes (eleven in all, some of them massive), and his wish was
to make arrangements for their removal. Gazing about him, he became
aware of the College librarian, with whom he was on friendly terms.

'Mr. Poppleton, who would pack and send these books away for me?'

'An _embarras de richesse_!' laughed the librarian. 'If you like to
tell the porter to take care of them for the present, I shall be glad
to see that they are sent wherever you like.'

Peak answered with a warmth of acknowledgment which seemed to imply
that he did not often receive kindnesses. Before long he was free to
leave the College, and at the exit he overtook Earwaker, who carried a
brown paper parcel.

'Come and have some tea with me across the way, will you?' said the
literary prizeman. 'I have a couple of hours to wait for my train.'

'All right. I envy you that five-volume Spenser.'

'I wish they had given me five authors I don't possess instead. I think
I shall sell this.'

Earwaker laughed as he said it--a strange chuckle from deep down in his
throat. A comparison of the young men, as they walked side by side,
showed that Peak was of better physical type than his comrade. Earwaker
had a slight, unshapely body and an ill-fitting head; he walked with
excessive strides and swung his thin arm nervously. Probably he was the
elder of the two, and he looked twenty. For Peak's disadvantages of
person, his studious bashfulness and poverty of attire were mainly
responsible. With improvement in general health even his features might
have a tolerable comeliness, or at all events would not be
disagreeable. Earwaker's visage was homely, and seemed the more so for
his sprouting moustache and beard.

'Have you heard any talk about Walsh?' the latter inquired, as they
walked on.

Peak shrugged his shoulders, with a laugh.

'No. Have you?'

'Some women in front of me just now were-evidently discussing him. I
heard "How shocking!" and "Disgraceful!"'

Peak's eyes flashed, and he exclaimed in a voice of wrath:

'Besotted idiots! How I wish I were in Walsh's position! How I should
enjoy standing up before the crowd of fools and seeing their fear of
me! But I couldn't keep it to myself; I should give in to the
temptation to call them blockheads and jackasses.'

Earwaker was amused at his friend's vehemence. He sympathised with it,
but had an unyouthful sobriety in