HARVARD STORIES

SKETCHES OF THE UNDERGRADUATE

BY WALDRON KINTZING POST

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS

NEW YORK; LONDON
27 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET; 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND

The Knickerbocker Press
1895

COPYRIGHT, 1893
BY WALDRON KINTZING POST

Electrotyped, Printed and Bound by
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
G. P. Putnam's Sons

TO
THE CLASS OF '90

CONTENTS

[PREFACE.]
[JACK RATTLETON GOES TO SPRINGFIELD AND BACK.]
[THE WAKING NIGHTMARE OF HOLLIS HOLWORTHY.]
[THE PLOT AGAINST BULLAM.]
[THE DOG BLATHERS.]
[A HOWARD AND HARVARD EVENING.]
[THE HARVARD LEGION AT PHILIPPI.]
[IN THE EARLY SIXTIES.]
[LITTLE HELPING HANDS.]
[A RAMBLING DISCUSSION AND AN ADVENTURE, PERHAPS UNCONNECTED.]
[SERIOUS SITUATIONS IN BURLEIGH'S ROOM.[1]
[A HARVARD-YALE EPISODE.]
[THE DAYS OF RECKONING.]
[CLASS DAY.]
[HOW RIVERS' LUCK TURNED.]
[THE NEWEST FICTION.]

PREFACE.

I cannot expect any one to be interested in these stories who is not interested in the scenes where they are laid. To you, my class-mates and contemporaries, I need make no apology. We always gave each other freely the valuable gift Burns asked of the gods; my shortcomings I shall learn soon enough—especially if I have written anything false or pretentious. But I feel sure that anything about Harvard, however imperfect, will not be unwelcome to you—provided it is true. We are scattered far apart and cannot often meet to talk over old times; perhaps these recollections may partially serve at times, in the place of an old chum, to bring back the days when we were all together. They are only yarns and pictures of us boys; but you will think no worse of them for that. The higher traditions of the old place I have dared in only one instance to approach.

"The great and the good in their beautiful prime
Through those precincts have musingly trod,"

and for that we reverence, we glory in those precincts; is it profanation to add that we also love them, because we ourselves have rollicked through them, with Jack, Ned, and Dick?

One thing, however, I must say to you before you begin to read. You will quickly see that I can claim little originality in the following stories. They are almost all founded on actual occurrences of either our own college life, or that of undergrads. before us. Some of the incidents came under my own notice, others happened to men of whom I do not even know the names, but who, I trust, will forgive my use of their experiences. But let no one imagine that, in any of the characters, he recognizes either himself or any one else. No one of us enters into these pages,—though I have tried to draw parts of all.

Among you also, my older brothers, I hope to find readers. There have been changes and developments since you were in college; many old institutions have passed away and new ones taken their places; there may be features in these sketches that you will not recognize; but in the main, Alma Mater is still the same. Holworthy, with all its memories, still gazes contemplatively down the green leafy Yard; the same old buildings flank it on either hand. The white walls of University still look across to the aged pair, Massachusetts and her partner, the head of the family. The latter still rears his sonorous crest (in spite of all your historic efforts to silence it); and is it not Jones who rings the bell? The river is there, the elms are there; above all, the undergraduate is there, and oh, reverend grads., from the tales I have heard ye tell, I opine that the undergraduate is still the same. If I can recall him to you in these sketches, if I can make one of you say, "That is like old times," I shall have done all that I hope.

HARVARD STORIES.

JACK RATTLETON GOES TO SPRINGFIELD AND BACK.

The shadow of Massachusetts had reached across the Yard almost to University Hall, which fact, ye who are ignorant of Harvard topography, means that it was late in the afternoon. Hollis Holworthy was stretched in his window seat with a book, of which, however, he was not reading much, as his room was just then in use as a temporary club. It was the month of November, but Holworthy kept the window open to let out the volume of pipe smoke kindled by his gregarious friends. He and his chum Rivers had an attractive room on the Yard, up only one flight of stairs, and these little gatherings were apt to come upon them frequently. The eleven was going to Springfield next day, so the foot-ball practice on that afternoon had been short, and several of Holworthy's "gang" who had been watching it had dropped into the room on their way back from Jarvis Field. They were a typical set of Harvard men, hailing from various and distant parts of the nation, and of various characters; yet all very much alike in certain respects, after three years together around that Yard. Rivers, part owner of the room, who had been playing foot-ball, came in after the rest and announced joyfully that he had been definitely assigned to the position of guard on the team.

"Sorry to hear it," growled Billy Bender, who was captain of the University crew. "You are sure to get a bad knee or something, and be spoiled for the boat. I lost two good men by foot-ball last year. If I had my way I wouldn't let any of the rowing men play the confounded game."

"If you had your way, you old crank," said Holworthy, "you'd strap every man in college fast to an oar. Then you would stand over them and crack a whip and have a bully time. You would have made a first-rate galley master."

"I am tired to death of talking and hearing nothing but the game," declared Hudson. "I move to lay it on the table. There is nothing new to guess about it. I don't see how we can lose, and you don't see how we can lose, and no one sees how we can lose."

"That is apt to be the case at just this time," remarked Holworthy. "Two days from now our vision may be woefully cleared up."

"Shut up, you old croaker," cried Burleigh, throwing a sofa cushion at his host. The cushion knocked the book from Holworthy's hand and out of the window.

"You go down and get that now, you pretty, playful child," said Holworthy, indignantly. "Oh, thank you, yes, throw it up, please," he continued to someone outside. "Much obliged. No, Rattleton isn't here. I believe he went out for a ride."

"Who's that?" asked Randolph, as Holworthy drew in his head, having caught the book.

"Varnum, the coxswain."

"What the deuce does he want with Jack Rattleton?" queried Burleigh.

"I am sure I don't know," answered Holworthy, "but he and Jack are great pals, you know."

"What!" exclaimed Bender, who was not one of Rattleton's intimate friends, "Varnum and Rattleton? That is the funniest combination I ever heard of. The quietest, hardest worker in college, and the worst loafer."

"You are wrong there," said Holworthy. "If you knew Jack as well as the rest of us do, you'd know he was the best loafer in college."

"I believe that good-for-nothing chap would get up in the middle of the night to be hanged for any one of us," added Rivers.

"I am not sure about the middle of the night," said Hudson, doubtfully. "At any rate if he was to be hanged for it himself, he wouldn't get up before nine in the morning."

"How did he happen to get thick with Varnum?" inquired Bender.

"First they sat next to each other in some course," explained Holworthy. "One day Jack was out in his dog-cart, I believe, and met Varnum walking and picked him up. Jack was a Sophomore then, but a pretty good sort of a Soph., and I think he was rather surprised and interested at discovering that there were men in this University outside of his own little set, and of a new kind."

"That fellow Varnum is a rattler," said Rivers. "Hardly anyone knows him except the crew men, and, I suppose, some of his Y. M. C. A. pals. He has been making an awfully sandy fight of it, I can tell you, working his way all through college. Why, do you know, that chap came up with just two dollars and forty cents in his pocket!"

"There are lots of men doing just that sort of thing," declared Ernest Gray, a sympathetic, enthusiastic little man. "Some day we'll be proud of having been in the same class with some of those fellows. It's a shame that we don't know all about all of 'em."

"Oh, well," said Burleigh, consolingly, "we can always let people think we were hand in glove with the great men. 'Know him? Why he was a classmate of mine'—all that sort of thing, you know."

"Yes," said Dick Stoughton, "it's a comfort to reflect that we can always blow about them without taking the trouble to hunt them up now."

"Awful nuisance to chase up incipient and impecunious merit," added Hudson.

"I suppose that's why you helped Jack Rattleton take care of Varnum when he was sick. Why do you affected fools always want to cover up the precious little good you have got in you?" demanded Gray, in a mixture of sorrow and anger.

"One reason why they do it," said Holworthy, "is to make you flare up, you little powder keg. Haven't you got used to it yet, after three years?"

"Varnum is a first-rate coxswain, anyway," said Captain Bender, coming down to his regular estimate of worth. "I ran across him last year when I was looking for a light man to steer. It's lucky I did, too; for there was a great dearth of rudder-men. This little firebrand Gray would have wrecked the 'Varsity crew to a certainty. I watched him in the class races last year—he came near grabbing stroke's oar and trying to pull himself. He nearly killed his men yelling at them in the first mile."

"I should think he did," ejaculated Randolph, who had rowed in his class crew.

"Well, we won, anyway," said Gray in defence.

"You bet we did," said Randolph, "and we tossed Gray in a blanket during the celebration just to show there was no hard feeling, and give him all the honors due to any coxswain."

"I hope Varnum won't be too busy to steer this year," said Bender. "He has a lot to do always."

While this conversation was going on in Holworthy's room, the subject of it, the man who "had a lot to do," continued on his way through the Yard. Varnum's financial struggles had not been exaggerated by Rivers. He had come up to college with almost nothing, except the clothes that he wore and a strong heart under them. He had received help at starting from the loan fund; by means of one of the numerous scholarships, tutoring, and careful economy he had succeeded in clearing his debt by his senior year. In the summer vacations he had supported himself and laid up a little money, by all sorts of employments, from that of a clerk in a country store to that of foremast hand on a yacht. Though he worked at his studies hard enough to keep the necessary scholarship, he was not a very high stand man. He was interested in some of the mission work in Boston, and gave a great deal of time to "slumming."

During the last year, too, he had made a little spare time for steering the University crew; for he found this to be a good relaxation from his work, and, besides, it brought him in contact with men whom he would not otherwise have met, many of them well worth knowing. He was not the sort of man to make friends easily, in fact he had no really intimate companion; but the man to whom he had been most attracted was one of entirely opposite character, training, and associates. His friendship with Jack Rattleton, which had been the subject of the conversation in Holworthy's room, was not an uncommon case of the attraction of extremes. Rattleton's weak nature was easily drawn to a strong one, and on the other hand "Lazy Jack Rat" was a source of amusement and interest to Varnum.

The latter once in telling Rattleton about himself had said laughingly, "My father was very much opposed to my trying to work through Harvard. He had terrible ideas about the old place; said it was a rich man's college, and if I got through it at all I should learn nothing but extravagance and evil. I have rather changed his notions now, I think; but, Rattleton, I should be afraid to show you to him, as my nearest approach to a friend."

"Why," the ingenuous Rattleton had replied, opening his mild eyes as though a little hurt as well as wondering; "I dare say I am an ass, but I don't do you any harm, do I?"

"Not a bit," answered Varnum, smiling; "on the contrary, you do me lots of good. Horrible example, you know; but if my old father ever comes to see me, don't offer to take him out in that dog-cart of yours."

"Why, it is perfectly safe," Jack had declared; "and I should be very glad to give him a drive."

As Varnum left the Yard and turned into the Square, he saw a tall thin figure approaching, astride of a diminutive polo pony, and followed by a brindled bull-terrier. Why do the men with the longest legs always ride the smallest horses, while the little men invariably perch up aloft on the tallest animal they can find? The long-legged rider put his ill-matched steed into a canter when he saw Varnum, and pulled up alongside of him.

"Hullo, Varnum," he called with a little drawl; "while I think of it, here's that five I owe you for tutoring. Why didn't you remind me of it before?"

"I have just been looking for you to dun you," answered Varnum. "I want a little cash very much just at present, so I am not going to tell you to wait until any time that is convenient."

"Fool if you did," said Jack. "No time is ever convenient with me. Somehow or other I seem to be hard up all the time. Oh, you needn't laugh. I know I have rather more to spend than most fellows out here, but that doesn't help me a bit when I've spent it. You needn't grin at this nag either, you old monk, it hasn't been mine for some time. I had to give it to that robber Flynn, the livery-man, for his bill. Don't seem to have made much on the transaction, though, because now I have to hire the beast. Flynn has my horse, hang him, and somehow I've still got his bill."

"There is no doubt about it, Rattleton," said the other; "you will be renowned as a philosopher some day. You keep discovering great truths all the time."

"Are you going to the game?" asked Rattleton, turning the subject.

"That would be a useless question to ask most men," said Varnum; "it is equally useless to ask me. Of course I am not."

"Not?" exclaimed Jack. "Nonsense! You're not going to stay all by yourself here in Cambridge? Come now, old grind, do take a day off."

"No," said Varnum, a little sadly, shaking his head; "I can't do it. I can't spare either the time or the money. Besides I have something on my hands that I can't drop just at present."

"Bet I know," said Rattleton. "It is some of your confounded indigent kid business. Of course, that sort of thing is bully and I admire you for it, you know, and all that; but I should think you might leave the indigents alone for one day."

"Well, you see I am one myself," laughed Varnum. "Really I can't afford it, so I don't deserve any credit for sticking by the other paupers."

"The special rates to Springfield are very low," urged Jack. "I tell you what you can do;—just what I'm going to do. Bet your expenses on the game and then it will all be on Yale."

"And if we lose?" queried Varnum.

"Oh, well, if we lose, we'll only be hard up, just as we are now," was the assuring response.

"I see I have not been tutoring you in Pol. Econ. for nothing," said Varnum. "No, Rattleton, I'd give anything I could afford to see that game, but I can't afford anything, so don't stir me up about it."

"All right, have your own way. Come 'round and dine with me to-night."

Varnum assented, and Rattleton, calling out to his dog, "come along, Blathers," rode off to the stables. On the way to his room to change his clothes he met the other men of his club table going from Holworthy's room to dinner. He told them that Varnum was coming to his table, and warned them not to talk constant foot-ball all through dinner.

"I wish I could help that chap out somehow," he said, discontentedly; "he has got on to the tutoring dodge. He won't tutor me now, except when there is an hour exam. coming, and he knows I have got to go to somebody to be put through if I don't come to him."

On the following day the Harvard forces began to move on Springfield. The game was to be played on Saturday, but many men went on Friday afternoon, for there is great joy to be had in Springfield on the eve of battle. The Glee Club always gives a concert, after which there is a very fine ball, one of the Springfield Assemblies, I believe. There is also apt to be another ball, a "sociable" of the something-or-other coterie. Holworthy and Gray were on the Glee Club, and were going to the Assembly. The others decided to go to Springfield on that night also, and attend the other ball.

"Down with the bloated silk-stockings," declared Burleigh. "Let the kid-gloved dudes dally with the pampered aristocracy. We are the people; we'll go where we can turn in our waistcoats, stick our sailor-knots in our shirt fronts, and be right in the top flight!"

The Glee Club men had rooms engaged. Hudson was on the shooting-team, and therefore also had a room secured, and the two Jacks, Rattleton and Randolph, were going on one of the club sleeping-cars. Burleigh and Stoughton had no rooms, but were willing to take their chances of getting one. Indeed, these two very rarely failed on an expedition of this sort in getting the best of everything. They were both sons of the energetic West, besides which Stoughton was famed for his craft, and was the recognized Ulysses of "the gang." They had a very effective method of working together in a crowd. Ned Burleigh was six feet three, and his weight had never been accurately ascertained by his friends. Dick Stoughton, on the other hand, was of a slight and active build. On arriving at any town where there was a rush for the hotels, Burleigh would breast the crowd with all the weight of his broad front. Stoughton, following close at his back with both the portmanteaus, would swing them, one on each side of Burleigh's legs, about knee high. Thus they would cut their way through any crowd, and arriving at its front, Ned would take the baggage and come along by slow freight, while Dick dashed for the hotel.

This man[oe]uvre was successfully executed at Springfield, and Stoughton secured the last room at the Massasoit House.

The Glee Club concert in the evening was a great success, and after it was over the respectable element, consisting of Gray and Holworthy, passed a very delightful evening at the Assembly ball. So, I grieve to record, did the low-toned members of "the gang" at the other ball. At the soirée of the Social Club, Ned Burleigh obtained control of the cotillion early in the evening. With Rattleton and Stoughton as right hand men, he introduced many new and pleasing figures of his own invention. In some way these three got unto themselves huge and gorgeous badges, labelled "Floor Committee," and managed the whole affair with wild success. Randolph, who came from the Sunny South, and "Colonel" Dixey, of Kentucky, picked up one or two Yale men from their section of the country, and organized an extempore Southern Club. If the governors of the Carolinas had been with them, those celebrated dignitaries, I suspect, would have experienced none of their proverbial trouble. As the evening wore on, the Southern Club, in a true brotherly spirit, extended its privileges to all the states and territories of the Union, and initiated each new member. Hudson, at first, was disconsolate, for he was on the shooting-club team that next day was to shoot a clay-pigeon match against Yale before the game. He had strict orders to go to bed early, and keep his eye clear for the next morning. At Dick Stoughton's able suggestion, however, he hunted up a member of the Yale shooting-team, and agreed to pair off with him. The excellence of this fair parliamentary procedure forcibly struck all the representative shots of both universities, except the captains. The captains of both teams at first stormed, and swore that none of their men who stayed up late or indulged in other startling innovations on the eve of battle, should be allowed to shoot on the morrow. When they found, however, that all their substitutes had "paired" also, they went off arm in arm, and were found later in a corner with a large earnest bottle between them. Altogether, as Burleigh said, "it was a very enjoyable occasion."

Next morning the clay-pigeon match came off, as usual, on the grounds of the Springfield Gun Club. It resulted in a close and glorious victory for Harvard, as the Yale team shot a little bit worse. It was a rather costly triumph, however, for both teams with their supporters drove back in a barge to the Massasoit House, and there had another meeting at the expense of the victors. Those Harvard-Yale shooting-matches are a very pleasant sport, and prolific of the best of feeling.

Before it was time to start for the battle-ground at Hampden Park, certain financial transactions took place at the hotel. The slender balance at the Cambridge National Bank, standing in the name of John Rattleton, had been wiped out on the previous day, and most of it was now deposited at the office of the Massasoit House in the joint names of J. Rattleton and a man from New Haven, to become later the sole property of one or the other. As Jack turned away from the clerk's desk, he met the steady Holworthy face to face, and looked guilty.

"Have you been betting all your quarter's income as usual, you jackass?" demanded Holworthy.

"No, only what is left of it," said Rattleton. "Might as well. If I didn't bet it, I should have to lend it all to the rest of the gang, if we get beaten. And suppose we win, as we are almost sure to, and I hadn't taken a blue cent out of New Haven, and had to pay for my own celebration; how should I feel then?" he demanded, triumphantly.

"Will you ever grow up?" asked Holworthy, shaking his head. "Don't come running to me if we get thrashed, that is all. I hope you have kept your return ticket to Cambridge."

"Oh, yes, I have that," answered Rattleton, reassuringly; "and I have twenty-five dollars that I sha'n't put up unless I can get it up even. These fellows want odds here, but I think I can find even money on the field."

The Yale men are prudent bettors, however, and Jack did not "find even money" at Hampden Park. In fact, at the last minute he could not get a taker at any odds that even he was willing to offer. So he kept his last twenty-five dollars, and took his seat with his friends, feeling that he had not done his full duty.

All the morning the trains from New Haven, from Boston, from New York, from everywhere within a six-hour radius, had been pouring their heavy loads into Springfield. The north side of Hampden Park was a crimson-dotted mass, nearly ten thousand strong; the south side was equally banked up with blue, and the two colors ran into each other at the ends. It is never weary waiting for the foot-ball game to begin, when the weather is good. It is amusing to see the grads come swarming to the standard. Familiar and popular faces turn up, that have been out of college only a year or two, and their owners are greeted enthusiastically by their late companions. There, too, come numbers of faces far more widely known, those of governors, congressmen, judges, architects, and clergymen. Other faces, not so conspicuous, are apparently equally interesting over the top of glowing bunches of Jacqueminots, or of violets, as the case may be. Jack Rattleton's terrier Blathers, who was rarely separated from his master on any occasion, took more interest in a big dog with a blue blanket on the other side of the field, a familiar figure at recent foot-ball games.

At about half past two o'clock a great cheer rolled simultaneously along both sides of the field, and there trotted into the lists twenty-two young specimens of this "dyspeptic, ice-water-drinking" nation. It is sometimes said that Americans are overworked and deteriorated from the physical standard of the race; but as these youths of the Western branch pulled off their sweaters and faced each other, they did not look a very degenerate brood. Harvard had the ball and formed a close "wedge," Yale deployed in open line of battle. For a moment they stood there, all crouching forward, their heads well down, their great limbs tense, all straining for the word to spring at each other. There was not a sound around the field. "Play!" called the referee, and the Harvard wedge shot forward, and crashed with a sound of grinding canvas into the mass of blue-legged bodies that rushed to meet it.

For nearly three quarters of an hour the mimic battle was fought back and forth along the white-barred field. All the tactics of war were there employed; the centre was pierced, the flanks were turned, heavy columns were instantaneously massed against any weak spot. It was even, very even; but at last a long punt and a fumble gave Harvard the ball, well in the enemy's territory. A well-supported run around the right end by Jarvis, the famous flying half-back, two charges by Blake the terrible line-breaker, and a wedge bang through the centre drove the ball to Yale's five-yard line. Another gain of his length by the tall Rivers. Another. Then with their backs on their very line the Yale men rallied in a way they have. Down, no gain. Now for one good push or a drop kick! Time. The first half of the game was over and neither side had scored.

"Everything is lovely," declared Hudson. "We'll have the wind with us next half. We've had the best of it so far, as it is. It's a sure thing now." That was the general feeling among the Harvard supporters, and every one was happy. To the excited spectators the interval was a grateful relief, almost a necessary one to little Gray, who was nearly beside himself. He moaned every now and then over his physical inability to carry the Crimson in the lists.

After fifteen minutes' rest, the giants lined up again. The wind did seem to make a difference, for the play from the start was in Yale's ground. Jarvis the runner, who had been saved a good deal in the first half, was now used with telling effect.

Within fifteen minutes, an exchange of punts brought the ball to Yale's thirty-yard line. After three downs Spofford dropped back as though for a kick, and the Yale full-back retreated for the catch. Instead of the expected kick, Rivers the guard charged for the left end, and the blue line concentrated on that point to meet him, when suddenly Jarvis, with the ball tucked under his arm, was seen going like a whirlwind around the right, well covered by his supports. The Yale left-end was knocked off his legs, and the whole crimson bank of spectators rose to its feet with a roar, as it realized that Jarvis had circled the end. The Yale halfs had been drawn to their right, and every one knew that with Jarvis once past the forwards, no one could run him down.

On he went at top speed for the longed-for touch-line. The full-back, however, was heading him off, he had outrun his interferers, and a Yale 'Varsity full-back is not apt to miss a clear tackle in the open. They came together close to the line. Just as his adversary crouched for his hips, Jarvis leaped high from the ground, and hurled himself forward, head first. The Yale man, like a hawk, "nailed" him in the air, but his weight carried him on, and they both fell with a fearful shock—over the line! The next minute they were buried under a pile of men.

Then did all the Harvard hosts shout with a mighty shout that made the air tremble. For five minutes dignified men, old and young, cheered and hugged each other, and acted as they never do on any other occasion, except perhaps a college boat-race. The two elevens had grouped around the spot where the touch-down had been made. Suddenly the pandemonium ceased as the knot of players opened, and a limp form was carried out from among them. "It's Jarvis!" ran along the crowd, followed by an anxious murmur. A substitute ran back to the grand stand and shouted, "nothing serious, only his collar-bone." Those near the place where the plucky half-back was borne off the field could see that his face was pale, but supremely happy, and he smiled faintly as he heard the cheers of thousands, and his own name coupled with that of his Alma Mater.

The touch-down had been made almost at the corner too far aside for the try for goal to succeed. Spofford's kick was a splendid attempt, but the ball struck the goal post.

Then the battle began again. The Harvard team had suffered an irreparable loss in the fall of the famous Jarvis, but the score was four to nothing in its favor, and all it needed to do now was to hold its own. The Crimson was on the crest, and it was for the Blue to come up hill. Every one on the north side was elated and confident. Then began a struggle grim and great. The Yale men closed up and went in for the last chance. There was no punting for them now, the wind was against them; but they had the heavier weight and well they used every ounce of it. Steadily, as the Old Guard trod over its slain at Waterloo, did the Blue wedge drive its way, rod by rod, towards the Harvard line. And as the fierce red Britons tore at Napoleon's devoted column, so did the Crimson warriors leap on that earth-stained phalanx. The rushers strained against it, Blake would plunge into and stagger it, Rivers and Spofford would throw their great bodies flat under the trampling feet, and bring the whole mass down over them. At last there would be a waver in the advance, three forward struggles checked and shattered, and on the fourth down, the ball would be Harvard's. On the first line up with the ball in Harvard's possession, would be heard the sound of Spofford's unerring foot against the leather and the brown oval would go curving and spinning over the heads of the rushers, far back into Yale's territory, with the Harvard ends well under it. A great "Oh!" of relief would go up from the north side. Then those Yale bull-dogs would begin all over again. Again and again did they fight their way almost to the Harvard line, only to be driven all the way back by a long Spofford punt.

"How those Elis do fight!" exclaimed Gray in admiration. "Don't they," admitted Burleigh; "and isn't it nice to be able to be magnanimous and admire them? What a lot of credit you can give a fellow when you are licking him."

"Those chaps aren't thrashed yet, my boy," said Holworthy. "They won't be, either, until the game is called, and, by Jove, they may not be then."

This observation was perfectly true. The Waterloo simile extended no further than the appearance of battle. A Yale touch-down would tie the game, and if made near the goal would probably win it. For the fourth time the New Haven men struggled to the Cantabrigian twenty-yard line. There had been many delays in the game, and the short November afternoon had grown dark. A bad pass by the Harvard quarterback, a slip, a fumble by Spofford, might turn the result. The time was nearly up. The cheering had died almost entirely; the excitement was too deep for that, and every one was too breathless. A short gain for Yale.

"Rattleton? Is Mr. Rattleton here?" called a messenger boy walking along the front of the long stand.

"Hullo, here. What's wanted?" answered Jack.

"Telegram for you, sir," said the boy. Rattleton did not take his eyes from the game while he tore open the envelope. Having opened it, he glanced hurriedly at the message, then jumped to his feet with a whistle. He had read:

"Come to Massachusetts General Hospital immediately when back from game.

"Varnum."

"When does the next train leave for Boston?" he asked the boy.

"There is one in a few minutes," was the answer.

"Whoop it up for me, children," he said to the others, "I've got to leave. Come along, Blathers."

"Why, Jack, what's up?"

"I don't know. Varnum wants me," and he jumped to the ground, pulling the dog after him. "The poor devil may be dying for all I know," he added to himself, as he made for the gate; "but there is no need of spoiling their fun by telling 'em."

He stretched his long legs for the station at a rate that made his four-footed chum gallop to keep up with him. The train was just starting. As he jumped aboard, he heard, from the direction of Hampden Park, the distant roar of ten thousand throats. "Hear that?" he exclaimed to the brakeman, "either the game is over or Yale has scored." Not a very enlightening conclusion.

There was a dining-car on the train, and the sight of it reminded Jack that he had had no lunch. He did not need to be reminded that he was extremely thirsty also, and actually a little worn by the afternoon's excitement. He entered the moving restaurant, and with one of his accustomed happy thoughts at such moments, was about to order an attractive lunch and a pint of champagne. Suddenly it occurred to him that if that noise had gone up from the wrong side of Hampden Park, he had just twenty-five dollars to carry him over the Christmas vacation and through January. "Furthermore," he reflected, with a knowledge born of bitter experience, "if that is the Eli yell, there won't be a mother's son in Cambridge, that I know well enough to borrow from, who will have any thing to lend,—except perhaps old father Hol. I suppose he will step into the breach as usual and pay our car-fares, but he can't support the whole gang. Hang it, I wish I was on an allowance again; then the governor would pay my bills at Christmas and give me a blowing up. This being my own paymaster isn't what I expected when I was a Soph."

He concluded that a sandwich would support life until he got to Boston, where he could find a precarious credit. He also decided that beer was an excellent beverage, at any rate until he learned the result of the game. After this unusually prudent repast he pulled a cigar out of his pocket, and smoked it carefully in the thought that he might not have another like it for some time—at his own expense. However, he remembered consolingly that his half-colored meerschaum needed attention.

The moment Jack arrived in Boston he jumped into a herdic and drove straight to the hospital. He inquired for Varnum, and, after a little red tape had been untied, was shown into one of the public wards.

At the end of a long room on a narrow bed was Varnum, looking very white, his eyes closed. He opened them as Rattleton and the nurse approached softly, and his face seemed to light up a little when he saw Jack.

"How was the game?" he asked, faintly.

"Splendid. Harvard four, Yale nothing," answered Jack, promptly. He did not think it worth while to mention that he had left before the end.

"Good," murmured Varnum. "Bowled over by a wagon. Awfully sorry to bring you here, Rattleton, but they thought at first I might be done for, and I don't know any one——"

"Yes, I know, old man; cut all that," broke in Jack. "Don't tire yourself talking. Is there anything I can do for you right away?"

"Yes. There is a sick boy at 62 Sloven Street. Tenement house. Jimmy Haggerty. I promised to see him. There is a can of wine-jelly and a book. They must have brought them here when they picked me up. Will you take them to him and tell him that I am laid up? It is not exactly in your line, Rattleton," he added, with a smile, "but it won't give you much trouble."

"Not a bit," declared Jack, cheerfully. "Great play for Phil. XI., you know. I can make a special report on the Sloven Street district, and it ought to pull me through the course."

"You mustn't talk to him too long, sir," said the nurse.

"All right, I'll go right off. 62 Sloven St.—Haggerty. You make yourself easy, old man, I'll look after all your indigent kids for you, and I'll tell the other fellows you are here. I'll be back soon."

In answer to Rattleton's inquiries, the nurse told him how Varnum had been knocked down and run over by a runaway team in a narrow street. He had been brought to the hospital, and the doctors had at first thought his injuries fatal. Subsequent examination, however, had proved that his condition was not so serious. At his request the telegram had been sent to Rattleton. Jack left directions to have Varnum put in a private room when he could be moved, and every comfort given him. "And, by the way," he added, "don't let him know that there is any expense about it. If he objects, tell him the public wards are chuck-full; tell him there is small-pox in 'em; tell him any good lie that occurs to you. Send the bill to me."

The jelly and the book had not been brought in the ambulance, and no one knew anything about them. So Rattleton, stopping at the hospital office for Blathers, who had been there deposited, went first to a hotel, for all the shops were closed. From the restaurant he replaced the wine-jelly, and added some cake and a bottle of champagne. "I don't know much about what a sick boy ought to have," he thought, "but fizz is always good."

At the newspaper-stand he bought all the picture papers, and found a colored edition of nursery rhymes, which he concluded would be just the thing. "Now we are all right," he said, "come along, Blathers."

Jack had been very ready and cheerful about his mission when talking to Varnum, but he had misgivings about it as he took his way to Sloven Street, in the heart of the poorest tenement-house district. "I suppose it is easy enough just to leave this stuff and come away," he thought; "but I am sure to make some fool break." He knew there were lots of men in college who "went in for that sort of thing"; but he had had no experience of that kind himself, and Varnum was the only man he knew well, who had. He had a vague idea that Varnum held prayer-meetings among the poor, and preached as well as ministered, and he feared he might be called upon to do something of the kind himself.

It was quite dark, so he heard only one or two requests to shoot the dude, as he was passing lamp-lights, and to his infinite relief nothing was thrown at Blathers. He had expected certainly to have a row on the dog's account. In front of 62 Sloven Street he found a small boy smoking a cigarette, and inquired from him whether Jimmy Haggerty lived within.

"Sure!" assented the youngster, removing the cigarette from his lips and holding the lighted end for Blathers to smell. "Is you one o' de Ha'vards?" "Ye-es," acknowledged Jack, doubtfully, feeling that he was deceiving the little man; for he suspected that he was not exactly the kind of "a Ha'vard" that was expected in those quarters.

"Well say, how did de game come out? I ain't seen de bulletin-boards."

Jack's heart leaped towards the boy at once; he discovered that there was a bond of sympathy between them after all.

"I don't know," he answered; "I came away before the end. It was four to nothing in our favor then."

"Chamesy Haggerty lives on de tird floor. I'll show ye up." Jack followed his pilot up the dark, smelly stairs, answering questions all the way as to the foot-ball game.

"A-ah, ye can't do notin' widout Jarvis," commented the youngster, upon hearing of the half-back's injury.

"Dat's a nice lookin' purp yer got," he said, eyeing Blathers, as they arrived at the third floor. "Guess he's a good 'un to fight, ain't he? Le 'me take care of him for yer, while you're inside."

Jack did not accept this kind offer. His guide, pointing to a door, said: "Well, dat's Chimmie's. I ain't goin' in, 'cause he's got scarlet fever."

"The devil he has!" exclaimed Jack.

"Yare; leastways dat's what dey all say. Wait till I get down-stairs 'fore yer open de door." And with a vain whistle to Blathers he disappeared down-stairs.

Rattleton knocked at the door indicated as "Chimmie's," and opened it in response to a voice within. The small room was pretty well lighted by a lamp, the first thing that Jack's eye fell on. It was Varnum's student-lamp; Jack knew it at once from a caricature he had himself drawn on the shade. A hard-faced, slovenly old woman was sitting near a stove, and looked at him in surprise as he entered.

"Is this Mrs. Haggerty?" he asked.

"I am," she answered; "what do you want?"

"Mr. Varnum sent these things," replied Rattleton. "He couldn't come himself because he has been hurt, and is in the hospital."

"Is that so? Sure, I'm sorry to hear that," said the woman with real regret in her tone. "Mr. Varnum has been kind to us, I tell you. He's helped me with my boy Jimmy here ever since he's been sick."

"Dat's too bad," complained a thin voice from the corner. On the other side of the lamp was a bed, from under the dirty quilt of which protruded a little pale face. "Ain't he coming to read to me? What's de matter wid him?"

Jack explained, with an accompaniment of sympathetic "tut-tuts" from the woman and more forcible expressions from the sick boy.

"I'm obliged to him for the things," said the former, as Rattleton handed her his burden. She looked at the bottle with a puzzled and half-frightened air.

"That's the first time ever Mr. Varnum give us anythin' like that. The poor young feller must be dizzed, by the hurt of him. I'll hide that." And to Rattleton's horror she shoved the bottle of Irroy under the stove.

"Would you do me a bit of a favor, sir," she asked, "like Mr. Varnum would do?"

"With pleasure,—that is if I can," answered Jack, cautiously, wondering what she wanted, and with a dread that it might be in the nature of religious services.

"I got to go out to see the doctor, and I'd take it friendly would you sit wid th' boy, till I get back. I'll not be long."

"Why, yes, of course," said Rattleton, feeling how much worse it might have been.

The woman took down her shawl, and throwing it over her head, drew out the bottle she had just hidden, and tucked it under her arm out of sight. "I'll ask the doctor whether this is good for the kid," she muttered. "If Jamsey don't need it, I can sell it. I know some one else it ain't good for."

Opening the door she first looked out cautiously, then hurried down-stairs.

"Wonder what I ought to do now?" thought Rattleton. Blathers was over at the bed making friends with the patient.

"Dis your dog? nice one, ain't he. Is you one o' de student fellers?"

Jack admitted that he was, knowing that the word "student" was used in its generic, not its strict sense.

"You're a friend o' Mr. Varnum's, eh? He's nice, ain't he?"

Rattleton agreed emphatically that Varnum was "nice."

"Yare," continued the boy, "he's a daisy. He comes in and reads to me all de time. Mr. Talcot, he comes too sometimes; but he ain't as nice as Mr. Varnum. Hullo, you been to de game?"

This last question was elicited by the sight of the little bit of crimson ribbon stuck through Rattleton's buttonhole,—an insignium brought from the seat of war. In cheerful compliance with the demand to hear all about it, Jack sat down by the bed, and recounted, as well as he could, all the details of the afternoon's battle. He described Jarvis' splendid run, and how he had scored and at the same time broken his collar-bone in his great plunge for Harvard and glory. As he told of it he thought of Varnum lying alone in the hospital.

"Would you like me to read to you?" suggested Jack, when the foot-ball subject had been exhausted.

"You bet," assented the patient. "I ain't heard no readin' all day. Mudder can't read; and Sis ain't been here."

"Here's a book I brought," said Rattleton, picking up the bright-pictured nursery rhymes. "I don't know whether it's interesting," he added, doubtfully.

For a little while he read the classics of Mother Goose in his gentle drawl, until the boy interrupted him.

"Say, what sort o' baby's stuff is dat, anyhow? I don't t'ink much o' dat. I'd sooner hear Dare-Devil Dick dan dat."

"I am inclined to agree with you," replied Rattleton. "Really, you see, I hadn't read this for so long that I had forgotten just what it was like. Let's have Dare-Devil Dick."

"I ain't got it now. I give it away. Mr. Varnum, he gi' me a book he said was better, and I guess it is. It's got an A-1 scrapper in it, too, dat could do Dare-Devil Dick wid one hand. He didn't kill so many people, but I t'ink he was a better feller. 'Dere it is at de foot o' de bed."

Rattleton took up the book indicated. It was Westward Ho! He sat down again by the bed, and opened the book at a place where there was a mark. Then the two went out from the little squalid room, and sailed away over the Spanish Main with tall Amyas Leigh and his good men of Devon. For over half an hour the little invalid street-arab and the hare-brained Harvardian were both wrapped in the spell of the apostle to the Anglo-Saxon youths.

Before Rattleton had finished reading he heard the door open and close, and a rustle of skirts. Looking up he saw, not the old woman, but a rather gaudily-dressed young one. Jack thought he had seen her face before somewhere. That was quite possible, I regret to say.

"Hullo, Sis," said the boy. "Me sister," he explained to Rattleton. The young woman looked with surprise at the latter, as he rose to his feet. Her eye glanced at his stick and his bull terrier, and all over his clothes, from his shoes up; then narrowly scrutinized the face of the thoroughly uncomfortable youth. Though the shyest of men, this was the first time he had ever felt very bashful in such a presence. Then she asked, disdainfully, "What's one o' your kind doing here?"

Jack colored to his hair. "I—I don't know exactly, myself," he stammered. "You see I came to take the place of my friend who is ill," he explained, apologetically.

"I know you now," said the girl, her look softening a little. "You're the sport that done up Dutch Jake for kickin' a kid one night in Stuber's restaurant."

"I have been in there occasionally," Jack confessed. He was going to add "I am sorry to say," but remembered that might be rude. "I promised Mrs.—er—Mrs. Haggerty, to sit here until she returned," he continued, "but I suppose I am not needed now?"

"No, much obliged to you, I'll stay with Jimmy till she gets back."

Jack took up his hat and stick, but paused a moment awkwardly as he turned to leave.

"Would you—er—would you mind," he said, hesitatingly, "my—er—my—er—my lending a little money—for the boy, you know?"

The girl laughed bitterly. "I guess we can stand it," she said. "If you never spent your money worse than that, I'm mistaken. You can give us the tin. We ain't proud."

"Thanks," murmured Jack, vaguely feeling that he was being helped out of an awkward attempt. He pulled out the contents of his pocket, both bills and change. "I dare say you will spend it better than I."

Just as he was handing the money to the girl, there was a knock on the door, and in answer to her heedless "come in" a man entered. It was a classmate, named Talcot, whom Jack knew only by sight as one of Varnum's "Y. M. C. A. pals." He stopped in astonishment, and then frowned, as he recognized Rattleton, and saw him giving the money.

"Mr. Rattleton, I believe?"

Jack looked him in the eye, and nodded stiffly.

"Don't you think, sir," asked the worthy student, with an indignant sneer, "that you had better confine yourself to your expensive clubs, and to your regular haunts in town?"

Jack colored again, the shade of his little ribbon; but this time it was not a blush. He bit his lip for a moment, and gripped his stick hard.

"I am afraid I had," he said very slowly, as he moved towards the door. "But I will tell you one thing, Mr. Talcot," he added as he paused in the doorway. "I am an awful fool, I know, but I am not mean enough to think that every damn fool must be a damn rascal. I will give you an opportunity later to apologize. Good-night, Jimmy. Come along, Blathers," and he strode down-stairs.

"Pheugh," puffed Rattleton, as he got out in the grateful fresh air again. "I got it in the neck twice in that round. Guess I'd better keep out of that kind of a ring hereafter."

He went back to the hospital, and found that Varnum was asleep, and resting comfortably. "Now, by Jove, Blathers, we'll have dinner!" he exclaimed, joyfully, as he left the hospital. "I'm nearly dead," he thought, "we'll go to the Victoria and have a bang-up din, and a bot—No we won't, either," he suddenly concluded, as he thrust his hands into his pockets, "we'll go to Billy Parks." He had a bill at Park's. There was also a fair prospect of his walking out to Cambridge that night, unless he met a friend; for he had forgotten to keep even a car-fare. Holworthy always declared that Rattleton would forget his head some day, and Jack now expressed a fear of that nature himself, when he discovered the void in his pockets.

Annoyance never chummed long with Jack Rattleton, however, and it had left him by the time he got to Park's restaurant. He looked over the bill-of-fare with the delight of anticipation and expended a good deal of careful thought in his selection.

"Let's see, shall I fool with Little Neck clams? Yes, I can have those while they are cooking the rest. Mock turtle soup, and then filets of sole; they are mock, too, but they are very good. Then bring me some of that chicken pasty. Yes, you can call it vol-au-vent if you like, but don't stick me extra for the name; I would just as lief eat it in English. Then I want half a black duck. Tell the cook it is for me, and I don't want coot. After that I'll decide as to the next course. Bring me a half bottle of Mumm, and a long glass with chopped ice in it, and bring that right away. Oh! by the way," he called, as the waiter was starting off with the order, "find out at the desk how the game came out. Gad, I'd nearly forgotten it!"

"Why, sir," replied the waiter, "haven't you heard? Too bad. Six to four. Yale made a touch-down in the last five minutes, and kicked a goal from it."

"Wha-at!" exclaimed Jack. "Hi! waiter! Hold on a minute; come back here! Make that order one English chop and a mug of musty."

THE WAKING NIGHTMARE OF HOLLIS HOLWORTHY.

Holworthy had accepted an invitation to dine at the Tremonts' in Boston. There was nothing remarkable about that; but so had Jack Rattleton, and that was remarkable. He had done so chiefly on Holworthy's account. He rarely went anywhere in Boston society, as he held that to do so was a waste of precious time given to him for a college education. He could employ his evenings much better in Cambridge in his study, with a select party, or in one of the clubs. True, he often went over the bridge; but that, as he said, was always with some earnest purpose, such as a study of the drama at the Howard Athenæum, or to attend a benefit of Prof. Murphy or some other revered instructor. He never frittered away his moments in the vapidity of a polite ballroom. Dinners he especially abhorred (except, of course, serious masculine dinners); chiefly because dinner engagements had to be kept, and worse, kept punctually. For that reason they were, in Jack's estimation, as bad as lectures to a man on probation. He had decided to bind himself to this dinner, however, because he knew the Tremonts very well, and happened to know they were going to invite Holworthy, and also happened to know that some one else was going to be thereabout whom Holworthy did not like to be chaffed. He foresaw a possible opportunity of "seeing Hol do the devoted and breaking him up"; so for this benevolent purpose he determined to sacrifice himself.

Now, Holworthy knew naught of this, and when Rattleton casually mentioned to him that he (Jack) had been bidden to a dinner at the Tremonts', and asked him for the most approved form for a lying regret, he used all his powers of persuasion to make Rattleton accept. He preached a sermon on the evil effects of Jack's Bohemian ways and neglected opportunities. He said he was going to that same dinner and would bring Jack back in a cab. Finally, after much objection, and after getting as many bribes out of his mentor as possible, Rattleton agreed to go, and also agreed to do his best not to be late.

On this latter point Hollis spent half an hour. He insisted, and impressed upon Jack in every way, that a man could do nothing more outrageous than to keep his hostess waiting for him for dinner. Holworthy, it may be observed, had been brought up with old-fashioned ideas of good breeding. His father had taught him never to fail, or be late at a dinner or a duel, if once engaged for either. He cautioned Rattleton not to put his faith in excuses, for they were always weak and as naught. "Everybody," said he, "knows you are lying, and you know that they know you are lying, and they know that you know that they know you are lying."

"That's so," acknowledged Jack, with a melancholy shake of his head. "At one time, when I went in for these vanities, I used to have some pretty good excuses, but they are all played out now. I have broken down every cab in Cambridge, given every horse the blind staggers, and ruined the reputation for sobriety of every driver. I have broken my own leg once or twice, and limped painfully into the room; that was very effective, until I once favored the wrong leg. The electric cars were a great help when they first came in, but I have long since dislocated every trolly on the line."

"Well, above all," said Holworthy, "if you should happen to be late, don't try that worn out chestnut about the drawbridge being open, as I heard a poor young Freshman do the other night, with a happy confidence."

"Do you take me for a Freshman?" responded Jack, indignantly. "At the first dinner I went to when I first came up, I started to use the drawbridge, and the old grad. with whom I was dining took the words out of my mouth and then laughed at me."

"The best thing for you to do," suggested Hollis, as his final advice, "is to get a chain and make yourself fast to your bedstead from now until the evening of the dinner. I'll come round and unchain you when it is time to dress. At any rate, I shall endeavor to keep you in sight all that day." All of which Rattleton took humbly, and promised to do his best.

But on the afternoon of the appointed day Jack was not to be found. Holworthy hunted in vain for him at all his usual haunts, and in the evening began dressing himself with many misgivings. While he was still in his room, his chum Charles Rivers came in from the afternoon's work in the University boat. Holworthy complained to him of the way in which the man Rattleton was turning his hair gray.

"Looking for Lazy Jack, are you?" laughed Rivers, reassuringly; "well, he was in a four-oar above the Brighton Abattoir not very long ago. I couldn't see him, because I had to keep my eyes in the boat, but I could hear him objurgating Steve Hudson for hitting up the stroke. We passed them as we were pulling back from Watertown. It wasn't half an hour ago."

Holworthy made a short remark about Rattleton that has nothing to do with the story. "I have only just time to get into the Tremonts' now," said he, as he threw on his cloak, "but I will stop at the shiftless beggar's room before I go in. He may possibly have got back and dressed."

He hurried along Harvard Street, and on the corner ran into a lot of men coming up from the river. Sauntering along in their flannels, perfectly happy after the glorious exercise and bath, he saw Hudson, Randolph, Stoughton,—and the long form of Mr. Rattleton, quite as usual, hands in his pockets, head thrown back, a smile on his face, content in his soul, and nothing on his mind. There was a sudden change in his aspect, however, when he caught sight of Holworthy's silk hat and white tie. He stopped, aghast, with a "By Jove!" and then, "Oh, the devil!"

"Yes," exclaimed Holworthy, hotly, "and that is just where you will go some day from sheer carelessness. That is the one appointment you'll keep,—though, I believe, you will be late for your own funeral."

"Don't wait for me, old man. I'll be there as soon as I can," answered Jack, ambiguously.

"Wait for you!" Hollis cried, "I wash my hands of you! If you choose to disgrace yourself, it is none of my business. As it is now, I may be late myself," and he boarded a car for Boston.

Now it was so that Holworthy did not know the Tremonts. They were old friends of his family, and he ought to have called on them when he first came to college; but he had not, and they had been abroad since his Freshman year. He was not even perfectly certain of where they lived, and he had forgotten, in his hurry on leaving his room, to look at the address on the invitation! He thought of this fact when he was over the bridge and well into Boston. However, he pretty clearly remembered having sent his acceptance to 142 Marconwealth Street. It was either 142 or 242; but to make sure he decided to look it up in a Blue Book. He, therefore, got out at Park Square and went into a druggist's, to consult the little directory.

He first looked up 142 Marconwealth Street, and found the name of Jones. Then he looked for 242, 342, 442,—he felt there was a 42 in the combination somehow,—but all were vacant of Tremonts. He tried the 42's of other streets, but in vain. Then, in desperation, he ran down the whole list of Tremonts. Reader, dost thou know aught of the ancient town of Boston? If not, look some time into a Boston Blue Book, open anywhere, and see what Holworthy saw. In Boston, when they want to describe a particularly luxuriant forest, they say that its leaves are as the Tremonts. Hollis was not even sure of the first name of his intended host; he thought it was Mayflor. There were three Mayflor Tremonts on Marconwealth Street, one at each end and one in the middle. Of other Tremonts on that street there were fourteen.

The cold sweat stood on Holworthy's brow in the most approved style. It was already half past seven, the hour of dinner, for he had spent several minutes in his Blue Book research. Only one plan occurred to him. He bought the book at an extravagant price and jumped into a cab, determined to hunt down that dinner if he had to go to every Tremont in Boston. He began with the Mayflor Tremonts. When the servant answered the bell, he would ask if there was a dinner-party going on in that house. He was not sure whether he was taken for a lunatic or a society reporter, but did not care which. None of the Mayflor Tremonts were giving dinners on that evening. Then he began at one end of Marconwealth Street, and tried every Tremont in order.

All this time the minutes were joining the past eternity, and he, Hollis Holworthy, was getting later and later for dinner. At the sixth house, however, as a maid opened the door, he heard the sounds of gentle revelry and small talk, and his heart leaped for joy. The maid said, "Yes, we have a party here to-night." He rushed back and paid for his cab, not stopping for the paltry change due him, amounting to half that he gave. He left his coat and hat in the hall to save time and, without asking further questions, strode by the maid into the dining-room. He was twenty-five minutes late, and glad they had not waited for him.

Going up to the hostess, he began, "Mrs. Tremont, I can't tell you how mortified—" the table was filled! There was no vacant chair! Then he noticed that the hostess was looking a little blank, though smiling and polite. "I beg your pardon," he said, as his heart sank, "have I made some awful mistake? My name is Holworthy; did you not invite me to dinner this evening, or have I got the wrong house?—or the wrong night?"

"I am afraid you have made a mistake, Mr. Holworthy," replied the lady, "and I think it must be in the house."

"Well, can you tell me," asked the blushing and desperate youth, trying to keep a groan out of his question, "whether you happen to know of any other Mrs. Tremont who is giving a dinner to-night? I have lost the address, and I am dinnerless in the streets of Boston."

The hostess laughed a little at Holworthy's despair, but relieved him by saying that her cousin, Mrs. Mayflor Tremont, had said something that day about a dinner.

"But I have been to the houses of three Mrs. Mayflor Tremonts on this street," protested poor Hollis. "Is there another one?"

"Why, Hol," spoke up Ernest Gray, an intimate friend, who was present to Holworthy's great comfort, "that is where Jack Rattleton told me that you and he were going—the Mayflor Tremont's, 142 Marconwealth Street."

"That is just what I thought," said Holworthy, "but the Blue Book gives one Jones at 142."

"Oh!" explained Mrs. Tremont, "they have only just moved in, and their name has not been changed in the Blue Book."

"Then that was my ruin," Hollis exclaimed. "Thank you very much, indeed. I hope you will forgive me for making such a scene," and he retreated with as much dignity and haste as could be combined. He was too much relieved to mind Gray's remark, "That is one on you, Hol," or the laugh that he heard as he got to the front door.

His cab had only moved to the corner, and he hailed it again. The driver repaid his recent generosity by getting him to 142 in less than three minutes.

Let us now see how it fared with Jack, the grasshopper. At the moment when Holworthy took the car in Harvard Square, there was seen a rare phenomenon of nature;—Rattleton showed acute animation. He went up Harvard Street with two leaps to a block. Riley's cab, as usual, was standing at the corner of Holyoke Street, and as Jack dashed by, he yelled for Riley. The latter came tumbling out of Foster's, and, in forty-three seconds and two fifths, had his chariot at the door of Rattleton's staircase. Both Riley and his horse are as well drilled to emergencies as are the men and steeds of a fire-engine. Jack reached his room in record time, and only stopped to wash his face and hands. He grabbed his evening clothes and shoes, a "boiled" shirt and tie, and was in the cab almost as soon as it got to the door.

"Riley," said he, "get me to 142 Marconwealth Street before Mr. Holworthy, and I'll try and pay what I owe you this week. It is a matter of life and death, and I expect you this day to do your duty. Don't be beaten by an electric car."

The latter part of this exhortation had its effect. Riley follows the Golden Rule and never duns anybody, but his weak spots are his professional pride and his sporting blood. Touch him there, and you will travel in his cab as in the car of Ph[oe]bus. He has never lost the day when it was possible for man and horse to save it. Ned Burleigh used to say that he would back Riley's nag against Salvator, provided the former should have behind him the cab, Riley, and a load. On this particular occasion he fully maintained his reputation.

While rushing towards Boston, Rattleton proceeded to dress. He at first complimented himself on not having forgotten anything; but, when he came to his shirt, behold, there were no studs! He had been wearing a soft cheviot, and had only a collar button. The absence of sleeve buttons would probably not be noticed, but he could not go to dinner with a studless chest. For a minute he thought the game was up, wrecked by such a little thing. Then an inspiration came to him. With his knife he cut three little pearl buttons out of his under-shirt, leaving a piece attached to each button. These he pushed through his shirt, and they were held in place by the pieces of flannel at their backs. It had always been suspected by his friends that Jack Rattleton really had brains, though he never made the exertion to use them. It had even been said that some time in an emergency he might show positive genius. He looked at those improvised studs with satisfaction, as he reasoned to himself that they would be taken for imitation buttons and, therefore, go unnoticed. If they should be recognized as real, that would be all the better; it would look like a new fashion, and one of most "swagger" simplicity. He tied his cravat all right by feeling; but he had not thought of a hair-brush, and his hair was all damp and on end after his shower-bath at the boat-house. This did not trouble him, however, as he was sure of finding a brush at the Tremonts, in the room where the men would leave their coats.

He had hardly finished this flying toilet when he arrived at the house, not two minutes late. He instructed Riley to come back at ten, and that the return trip would be "on Mr. Holworthy." In the dressing-room there were hair-brushes, as he had expected, and he went down to the drawing-room in faultless order, feeling that he had made a great discovery. Undoubtedly a cab was just the place for a hurried man of business, like himself, to dress.

He called the attention of his hostess to his punctuality, and assured her that such a thing in him was a sign of the greatest devotion. "You see," said he, "when I am late, everyone says, 'Oh, it is only that shiftless Jack Rattleton,' and when I am on time, I want the credit for it. Now it is nothing particularly praiseworthy for a man like Holworthy to be on time. If he should ever slip up, it might well be put down as an insult, because he never forgets or dawdles. Some day his good reputation will be the ruin of him. I think my system is the better." After which airy persiflage, Rattleton noticed that Holworthy was not in the room; and ten minutes later, when the latter was still absent, he began to wish he had let airy persiflage alone. Everybody else had arrived. Five minutes more went by, and when twenty minutes were gone and no Holworthy, Jack went to Mrs. Tremont and told her how Hollis had left Cambridge in plenty of time, and, in fact, had refused to wait for him. "Something must have happened to him," he said, rather anxiously, "and I am prepared to back up as strictly true any excuse he may offer, for I can swear he left Cambridge more than an hour ago, and was coming right here."

"No accident to himself, I hope," replied Mrs. Tremont. "At any rate, I think we had better go in, as I am sure Mr. Holworthy will feel more comfortable if we do not wait for him."

So in they went, Rattleton taking her whom Holworthy should have taken, for Jack was one of two extra men.

And Hollis, where was he? Suffering in the cab.

Ten minutes later, as he went up the stoop of 142, an insidious policy stole into Holworthy's brain. He had lost the invitation and mistaken the number of the house,—why should he not have mistaken instead the hour of dinner? Was that not better than to be ignorant of the address of his hostess, upon whom he ought to have called long before this? He was in good time for an eight o'clock dinner, and most dinners are at eight nowadays. Then, too, Rattleton would be just about half an hour late, and would probably be utterly unconcerned about it, and offer no excuses. That would lend color to a suspicion that Mrs. Tremont had herself made the mistake, in writing some of the invitations. He would not need to tell any actual untruth—to say distinctly that he thought dinner was at eight. He need only imply it, and apologize for his evident mistake. It would be a pretty poor plea for a very bad crime, but at any rate it was a more polite explanation than the real one, and less ridiculous. Oh, Hollis Holworthy, that thou shouldst thus forget the veritas, the watchword of thine Alma Mater!

In the dressing-room was a straw hat with a colored ribbon. "Hullo," he surmised, "Jack is here. Wonder if the rest of his outfit corresponds, and he has come in his blazer." As he went into the dining-room, his eye first lighted on that interesting person whom Mr. Davis has capitally termed "A Girl He Knew." On her right was Rattleton, on her left a vacant chair. She must have had to go in alone!

With a look of gentle surprise and concern, that, he flattered himself, was rather well done, he went up and saluted Mrs. Tremont.

"Have I been mistaken," he asked, "in thinking that dinner was at eight o'clock, or has my watch betrayed me?" There was no fib in this and what could be more diplomatic?

Mrs. Tremont stood it for a second, then she happened to catch sight of Rattleton's face. It was too much for her, and she burst out laughing. After all, it was the best thing to do.

"Now, Mr. Holworthy, tell us what really happened, and we will believe and forgive you. Jack, here, has testified to the time of your departure from Cambridge, and you must fill in the interim somehow."

Then Hollis made a clean breast of the whole thing, and made the tale of his sufferings as moving as possible, finishing with a request for some dust to put on his head. He was so humble that even Rattleton was sorry for him; but the memory of many of Holworthy's lectures came to Jack and he could not resist suggesting to Mrs. Tremont, as Hollis took his seat, that as Holly's blood had run so cold she ought to have some soup warmed up for him.

That evening, on the way back to Cambridge in the cab, was spent one of the pleasantest half hours of Rattleton's life. He told Holworthy how a man could do nothing more outrageous than to keep his hostess waiting for dinner. He said he had a very good chain that he used for his dog Blathers, but which he could lend Hollis. He warned him some day that he would surely go to the devil by his careless habits. "Above all," said he, "never put your faith in excuses. Everybody knows you are lying, and even if you don't know that they know, etc., you sometimes find out."

Holworthy smoked his cigar vigorously without saying a word in reply. When they arrived at their club in Cambridge he asked, resignedly, "Well, what do you want for supper?"

"I know I ought to take champagne," answered Jack, graciously, "but as you are so very humble and I don't really want any more fizz, I will let you off with a rarebit and beer. But don't you ever jump on me again."

THE PLOT AGAINST BULLAM.

Something had to be done about the case of Sergeant Bullam. For years he had ruled his beat with a rod of iron. Many a noble spirit had fallen a prey to his desire for notoriety and promotion. The slightest offence, the most innocent or technical infringement of the law, was sufficient pretext for him to indulge his thirst for student incarceration. The lettres de cachet and the Bastile were nothing to Bullam and the Cambridge jail. In the dark days when the ungrateful University town went prohibition, the tyrant had revelled in his opportunities. He had raided several of the club-houses and had charged Hollis Holworthy, the president of one of the clubs, with keeping a liquor nuisance. Of course this little joke on the superb Holworthy had exceedingly pleased all his friends; but it did not excuse Bullam. There had been isolated attempts at resistance and vengeance, and these had sometimes been successful, but never yet had Bullam suffered any great public downfall worthy of his oppression. He was wary to a high degree, and never ventured into the sacred Yard, where his uniform would have been only blue cloth and his buttons common brass.

The crafty Stoughton, however, had a scheme. He had been pondering over the case for some time, and Dick rarely pondered for nothing. He was known to his intimates as Machiavelli, called Mac the Dago for short. This particular plan was indeed worthy of his great namesake. He imparted it to Jack Randolph, who had the heaviest personal score against Bullam, and, therefore, the best title to share in his humiliation. They fixed the following night as Bullam's Ides and announced it to all their friends. They posted it in all the clubs, and in every way spread the glad tidings that on the morrow Bullam should be utterly cast down. They fixed the hour at about ten o'clock in the evening, and exhorted the people to gather themselves together in a great concourse to see their enemy made a cause of laughter unto them. The promise of the avenging prophets was to conduct a triumph along the whole length of Harvard Street and to lead in their train the haughty Bullam, humbled and a captive; he should even act as their body-guard if they so chose, and prevent all interference by his brothers of the force. How this millennial spectacle was to be brought about, they kept carefully secret.

There is, perhaps, in every man a certain element of moral obliquity, which, as he is put through any civilizing process, is squeezed out of him from time to time in varying forms and quantities. It comes to the surface, makes itself acutely felt and apparent for a short time, and then drops off,—just as a physical poison would act in his veins. At any rate, this is the only theory that can explain the highly reprehensible but firmly established custom among Harvard Freshmen of "ragging" signs. "Ragging," uninitiated reader, simply means stealing. What amusement, profit, or glory the Freshman finds in it has never been ascertained. He cannot tell exactly himself, and, as soon as he ceases to be a Freshman, wonders why he ever indulged in the habit. Perhaps the charm lies in the chance of getting into a scrape; but in most instances a sign can be taken with perfect safety. Now I cannot possibly think why I—but that is another story, as Mr. Kipling says.

I am going to digress, however, for one story in this connection. Ned Burleigh used to tell it on his room-mate, Steve Hudson. Steve always denied it vehemently, and declared that Burleigh did not even deserve the credit of a fabricator; that the story had been in college for years, and he had heard it told by a '42 man. Ned held that made no difference; that some one had to carry it for our four years and Steve was the best man for the position. According to him, Hudson, in walking back from Boston on a dark night in Freshman year, spied a tempting sign hanging on a door-post. He secured it by some difficult climbing, and tucking it under his overcoat, went on his way. On arriving in his room he announced that he had a prize, and, unbuttoning his coat, he displayed to Burleigh's delighted gaze, his only evening suit and the sign "Fresh Paint."

This practice of stealing signs had made Bullam's meat of many a Freshman. In fact, the diligent Sergeant depended upon it for most of his [Greek: kudos] so Dick Stoughton had determined to play upon his keenness in this respect, and use a sign as the bait with which to hook his fish. On the appointed evening he and Randolph went to Cambridgeport, and bought a barber's pole. They were careful to get a receipted bill from the barber with an accurate description of the pole. The latter was marked with the barber's name in gilt letters, and was small enough to be nearly, but not quite, covered with an overcoat. Thus provided, they started back for Cambridge proper (the Port being usually known as Cambridge improper) along Main Street, keeping as much as possible in the shadows. At the end of half a dozen blocks, they came on a policeman, and promptly crossed the street in a most alluring manner. The vigilant officer, noticing the suspicious shape of Randolph's overcoat held under his arm, gave chase. The end of the pole stuck out from the coat, and it was useless for the students to protest that they had nothing that did not belong to them. They assured their captor that the pole was theirs, that they had paid for it and could prove the fact; but he insisted upon taking them before the captain of the precinct.

The captain had had a hard day, and was preparing to go to bed when they were brought before him. He was tired and cross, and his humor was not improved by this new arrival. When Stoughton showed the receipt, however, he at once discharged the prisoners with much pleasure, and reprimanded the overcareful officer.

The two then went on to the next guardian of Main Street, and he bit equally well. They warned him of the result, and gave him their word of honor that the pole was not stolen. He hesitated, and for a moment they feared that he was going to be decent enough to believe them. But he was a new and zealous recruit on the force and the bait was too inviting; so he decided not to trust them. He was as polite as possible about it and when he even apologized for not taking their word, they came near melting and showing the receipt. But the fall of Bullam was not to be averted, simply because gentler tyrants might be entrained. So back they went to headquarters.

The captain came down in a red dressing-gown, the skirt of which flapped idly in the breeze that came through an open window in the office. His bare feet were shoved into a pair of carpet slippers, each foot in the wrong slipper. With one hand he held a candle that wiggled in the candle-stick and dropped wax on his wrist, and with the other hand tried to keep the dressing-gown about his person. His frame of mind faithfully carried out the spirit of the picture. To any guilty prisoner he would have been indeed a terrifying spectacle; but he could do nothing to the innocent and insulted gentlemen who had been haled before him. He therefore relieved himself on their captor. The poor man got such a dressing down, that when they left the office, Randolph presented him with full forgiveness, a dollar bill, and the advice to learn as soon as possible to tell a Senior from a Freshman.

The next policeman they met was old George Smith. He held them up with a look of surprise, and a remark that he thought they had been in college too long to be "ragging" barber's poles. When they explained to him, however, he of course believed them, and grinned as he perceived something in the wind.

"It is lucky that was George," said Stoughton, as they went on. "If we had struck a strange cop, who thought we were liars, we should have brought down the wrong bird. That police captain is just exactly primed and loaded to the muzzle, and all ready to go off. Now for Bullam!"

They had now reached Quincy Square, and saw the fated form of Bullam loom in the offing. They made for him boldly; there was no need of finessing in his case. The moment his hawk eye caught sight of the ill-concealed pole, he bore down on them with a grim joy.

"What have you got under that coat?" he demanded in his usual suave tone.

"None of your business," responded Jack Randolph, with an inward chuckle.

"It isn't, eh! Do you think I can't see that pole a-sticking out there? Do you think you can steal signs under my very nose? You come along with me now, and we'll see whether it's none of my business."

"If your insulting remarks refer to this barber-pole," replied Randolph, producing the pole with ostentatious confidence, "allow me to tell you that it belongs to us, and we have a perfect right to carry it wherever we please. Although, as I said before, it is none of your business, I will condescend to let you know that I bought it lately, and have a receipt for it in my pocket."

"You can't give me no such bluff as that," sneered Bullam. "You can tell that to the captain of the precinct. I'll give you a chance to show your receipt."

"Look here, my man," (nothing makes a gentleman of Bullam's class more angry than to call him "my man") answered Stoughton, "you don't deserve it after the language you have used to us, but, nevertheless, I give you fair warning not to do anything of the kind. If you take us to the captain, you will get into trouble."

Bullam was beside himself. The more they said to him the more furious he became, and finally threatened to use his club "if they gave him any more guff." So, in high delight, the two injured youths took their way a third time towards the house of the captain.

The policeman who had last had them in charge turned quickly away as they passed, and shoved his handkerchief into his mouth. It was a grateful balm to the new man to see a veteran going into the same trap that had just lacerated him. Moreover, Bullam was quite as unpopular in the force as with the students.

All was dark in the house where lay the uneasy head that wore the crown of the precinct. Bullam rang the bell, with a ferocious glare at his prisoners, as though tolling their death knell. A minute afterwards a window opened above, and a head was thrust forth.

"Who is there?" bellowed a voice, now familiar to our much-arrested pair.

"Sergeant Bullam, sir, with an arrest."

Dick and Jack took care to stand under a gas-lamp.

"Have you got two men there with a barber's pole?" asked the voice, rising from a roar to a shriek.

"Yes, sir," chuckled Bullam, gleefully, mistaking the direction of his superior's wrath. "I caught——"

"Didn't they tell you that it was their property, bought and paid for?"

"Yes, they had some cock-and-bull——"

"Stop!" thundered the captain, "you're too —— ready to think every gentleman you meet is a liar. Don't you be so —— —— hot after your promotion. If you'll give more attention to your important duties, and less to making capital out of the students, you'll get ahead faster. Now you go all the way back with these gentlemen, and see that they are not troubled any more. If they are brought here again I'll know who to blame for it. I'll have you up for a breach of special duty, and make it hot for you. What's more, you treat them civilly. I'll have no bullies on my squad. If this man gives you boys any lip, come around and see me about it in the morning. Now get out of here, and you, Bullam, mind what I tell you, and be —— —— careful."

All the blanks in the foregoing address were filled in with deep color, and the window went down with a slam that heavily sank in the sickened soul of the astonished Bullam.

"Come along, sergeant," cried Randolph, cheerfully, shouldering the barber-pole. He and Dick led the way back through Quincy Square, whistling the "Rogue's March" and the "Père de la Victoire." The overwhelmed Bullam fell in behind. As they turned down Harvard Street, he walked slowly and tried to drop back to a distance which would disguise his connection with the parade; but his conquerors allowed no such break in the procession. They slowed down, too, and kept about ten feet in front of him.

On the first corner of Harvard Street were stationed three or four small boys (the occasionally useful Cambridge muckers) employed as vedettes. Upon the approach of the triumph, they dashed off to the different clubs and gathering-places where the long oppressed people were eagerly awaiting the arrival of Bullam in chains. These all flocked to Harvard Street, Hudson bringing his cornet, Dixey a pair of cymbals, and Ned Burleigh flourishing the drum-major's baton, with which he had done mighty service in the last torch-light procession. It was going to be the most glorious triumph ever seen in the classic shades since Washington rode through them on his white charger.

But, alas! what a trivial thing may upset the grandest strategy; what a petty boor may defeat Ulysses! Yet it was not such a petty boor who caused the ruin in this case; it was the Cambridge mucker, and he should never have been overlooked by a man of Machiavelli Stoughton's experience. Those who know the Cantabrigian guerilla respect his power, though they abhor his ways. An influential member of this free lancehood, having demanded a quarter for the vedette service before mentioned, and being refused employment, nursed a vindictive spirit. He gathered a band on Harvard Street, near to the advanced scouts, and waited to see what was going to happen. As soon as Stoughton and Randolph came up with the attendant Bullam, this unforeseen enemy raised a joyful shout and marshalled his comrades behind the trio. As they proceeded along the street, he yelled to every mucker they passed, "Hey, ragsy, come on! Here's two o' de Ha'vards gettin' run in!"

Muckers gathered from every side like jackals, and Bullam, realizing the sudden turn in the aspect of affairs, no longer lagged behind, but forged up alongside of his would-be tamers, and assumed his old fierce and haughty air. He could maintain his dignity before the public anyway.

This was the way Dick Stoughton's great triumph looked when it reached a point opposite the Yard. The expectant crowd of undergraduates looked for a moment in surprise and grief, then, notwithstanding their disappointment at Bullam's escape, a great roar of laughter went up, as they concluded that the two daring plotters had egregiously failed in their attempt and were on their way to a dungeon.

"Let's bail them out," cried two or three. "Bail nothing, you idiots," shouted the chagrined Stoughton, "we are not arrested; this man is our body-guard. Come on, and we will take the procession around the Square and up Garden Street."

This had been Dick's original intention as to the line of march; but just at this moment the Dean of Harvard College came around the corner of Holyoke Street and stopped short. In the direction of Harvard Square lay the jail, and Stoughton at once decided that a triumph of such uncertain appearance had better be brought to a close right where they were. He and Randolph halted, therefore, and, waving aloft the barber's pole, gave Bullam their gracious permission to depart. As a little extra effect they ordered him to disperse the rabble, to which mandate he payed no attention. Then, with as much dignity as possible, they retreated into Foster's. It was the best effort they could make to retrieve the day, a weak ending to so magnificent a scheme.

They did not hear the last of their "grand pageant" for a long time; but their own recollection of it will always be softened by the memory of those sweet moments beneath the captain's window.

THE DOG BLATHERS.

Besides the "officers of instruction and government," and the instructed and governed, there are many classes and individuals that make up the university population of Cambridge—unofficial members, whose names do not appear in the catalogue. There are the camp followers, the goodies, the janitors, the Poco, John the Orangeman, Riley, the O'Haras who "understand th' busniz," and all the other dignitaries, as firmly established and well recognized as the Faculty. Probably the most numerous of the unofficial classes is the great four-legged one. There are undergraduate dogs, and law-school dogs, and post-graduate dogs, and I believe there were one or two Divinity dogs. During our time there were several very distinguished dogs in the Faculty, notably one huge bull-dog. Among the undergraduates, the ugliest and most perfect in form and feature, the most polished and attractive in manner, the most genial and popular, in every way the leader par excellence, was Rattleton's round head bull-terrier Blathers.

Blathers was named after the great man who bred him. That celebrated fancier was renowned throughout Cambridge for two things, his dogs and his profanity. He could outswear Sawin's expressman, Hitchell the black scout, and the janitor of Little's Block, and any one who could excel those three was indeed an artist. I do not believe, however, that the recording angel entered all of Blather's items in the debit column:—in the first place, he would not have had time, in the second place, most of Blather's oaths were not delivered in anger, in the sense of Raca, but flowed out innocently and unconsciously, merely as aids to conversation. One morning this worthy came into Rattleton's room, bearing in his hand a little brindled object about five inches long. It looked like a stub-tailed rat, whose nose had been smashed with a lump of coal.

"Good mornin', Mr. Rattleton; beg your pardon for intrudin', sir, but I've got sumpthin' here I want for to show yer. I've got a magnificent animal."

"Oh, get out, Blathers; I don't want a dog; had to give away the last one."

The following speech was bristling with profanity, but I have omitted even the indication blanks, except in one passage where they were too characteristic to be left out.

"I don't want yer to buy him, sir. I just want to show him to yer. He's a beauty. I know yer knows the points of a dog, sir, and its just a pleasure I'm givin' yer to look at him. Just take him in your hand, sir. Now, I sold Mrs. G. an own half brother of that feller. You know Mrs. G., surely, down here to the Theolog. school?" (Mrs. G. was a most charming and gentle lady, the wife of a celebrated clergyman.) "Well, I stopped at her house the other day to see how she liked the pup. She says to me, 'By ——, Blathers,' says she, 'that's the —— —— finest dog ever I see; d—— me, if it ain't,' says she. Yes, sir, that's just what she thought about him. You go ask her and see if it ain't. And she wouldn't say nothin' she didn't mean, just to tickle me, neither. Mrs. G. is a real lady, and knows the points of a dog, she does. She was —— ---- kind to my wife when she was sick last time. Oh, my wife's been orful sick, Mr. Rattleton. I had to pay for a lot of doctor's consults and other stuff; that's just the only reason, sir, I want to sell this beautiful pup. I 'd never part with him in this world, if I could help it."

Blathers never would have parted from any of his dogs had it not been for his frequent family afflictions. These afflictions were always very expensive and varied, from the funeral of his mother to the birth of twins. He buried four mothers in one year; that was his best work, though six children born during the following term pushed hard on the record.

"If I could only make up my mind to let yer have that dog, Mr. Rattleton," he went on, "it would work both ways. Maybe I ought to do it. It would be a favor and a kind thing in me to sell yer that pup at any price, and you'd be doin' a charity to a poor man in helpin' me along. It would be a good action all around, see? Oh, I need the money orful bad."

Rattleton during this speech had been playing with the puppy, and he was struck both by the brightness of the little fellow and the logic of his owner. He knew that Blathers really did have rather hard times with his family. In any case Lazy Jack never took the trouble to sift a tale of woe and apply the most enlightened and efficient remedy. He had no excuse for not doing so; he took the Social Ethics Course in Philosophy because it was easy, and of course he knew how wrong it is to give to a beggar; nevertheless, he rarely failed to do so if he had a coin in his pocket, because it was so much easier than making enquiries and giving advice. Moreover Jack was so lacking in principles, that if he thought the beggar looked cold and in want of a hot whiskey, he was, if anything, more apt to yield the ill-destined alms. In this instance the insidious Blathers had struck him in two vulnerable spots, his very weak nature, and his love of dogs. He also wanted to get rid of Blathers with his endless stream of lurid and decidedly rum-flavored eloquence, and the easiest way to do so was to buy the puppy.

It was in his master's Sophomore year that Blathers, the pup, began his career. He waxed fast in beauty and knowledge. His nose grew in and his teeth grew out, his ears assumed the correct angle and his legs the proper curve. His tail in babyhood had been scientifically bitten off by the gentleman after whom he was named, and was, therefore, of exactly the right length. He went through the distemper and gave it to every dog in his club. His spirit did not belie his points; before the end of his junior year he had tackled almost every dog in Cambridge and generally came out on top. He was a dog of marvellous tact, also; he learned not to growl at the proctor on his staircase. Rattleton spent much time on Blather's education—so did Rattleton's friends. The latter, among other accomplishments, succeeded after great effort in teaching him to drink beer; but Blathers never went beyond the bounds of propriety, as did frequently that disreputable Irish terrier of Dixey's.

Blather's most prominent virtue of all was devotion to his master, and his affection was fully returned. Those two were rarely apart, except in the mornings, before Rattleton was up. Blathers always got out with the nine o'clock lecture men and chapel goers, and would visit around at the various club-tables where he had friends, generally collecting five or six breakfasts before his master arose. At about eleven o'clock he would be seen, sitting with his arms akimbo, in front of the Holly Tree; then Jack was sure to be inside, getting the marvellous dropped eggs from the sad-eyed John. If ever Blathers frequented the steps of Massachusetts, Sever, or other lecture hall, all men would know that Jack Rattleton was again on probation. If they saw the dog on the grim stone Stair of Sighs in the south entrance of University, they would make sympathetic inquiries when next they met the master.

When the round black and brown head stuck out of the window of Riley's cab, it was certain that Rattleton was bound over the bridge. They even went once or twice to the theatre together, Blathers concealed under Jack's overcoat. Though pugnacious by nature, it was not because Blathers loved other dogs less, but fighting more. He loved a row for its own sweet self, had few enemies and several warm friends. He was particularly devoted to Hudson's Topsy, and engaged in many a combat on her account, and for her edification. There were only two dogs for whom he had any real aversion—Mike Dixey, of his own class, and Baynor's white bull-dog, of the class below him.

Probably the happiest moment of Blathers college life occurred one day on Holmes' Field. There was a class ball-game going on; the Sophomores were ranged on one side of the field, the Juniors opposite. The white bull-dog had been barking in time with the cheering, yelping at the players of the opposing team, trying to "rattle" the pitcher, and making himself generally conspicuous and obnoxious. Finally, in the excitement over some good play, he slipped his collar and ran into the outfield to congratulate the centre-fielder. Somehow or other (Ned Burleigh probably knew), Blathers happened to get loose at the same moment. With a heralding bark he flew into the listed field and made straight for the white champion. All interest in the ball-game ceased at once. With a great shout the two opposing crowds rose from the seats en masse, and swept across the diamond, "blocking off" the owners of the two dogs, who rushed to separate them. In the rush, five or six more terriers got adrift, and reached the front well ahead of their masters. In just about ten seconds there was a ball of at least seven dogs of various fighting breeds, rolling about in a halo of hair, howls, and pure delight. After a few minutes, their masters succeeded in pushing through the surrounding crowd, and each man laid hold of a dog's tail or hind leg. By dint of heaving and kicking, the happy party was at last broken up, and at the bottom of the pile were found Blathers and the white bull-dog. They were locked in a fond embrace, and it took hot water from the gymnasium to get them apart. Ever after that Blathers bore a scar on the side of his head; but he was proud of that mark, for there was a larger and more distinct one on the Sophomore dog.

Blathers got into a scrape in his Senior year that nearly caused his expulsion from the University, and compromised his master seriously. An aunt of Rattleton's came out to Cambridge one afternoon, for the purpose of attending the Thursday Vespers in Appleton Chapel. She notified Jack that she expected him to escort her. Jack got his room in order, with some difficulty, expurgated the ornaments and pictures, put his aunt's photograph on the mantel-piece and a Greek lexicon on the table, and sent Blathers to spend the afternoon with a friend. Aunt could not abide a dog, especially one of Blathers' type of beauty. So Mr. B. went off with Jack Randolph.

Randolph's room was in the back of Thayer, and his window commanded the approaches to Appleton Chapel. Blathers was squatted in the window-seat with his head on one side, idly watching the birds, and wondering where his master could have gone. Suddenly his eye fell on that very person, and with him one of that kind of humans whose legs are all in one piece. Blathers had seen lots of that kind, and knew well enough what they were; but what could one of them possibly be doing with his master, right here in Cambridge, at this time of year? He had never seen such a thing as that before, except once on Class Day. It was for this, then, that he had been dismissed for the afternoon! Well, well, well, pretty goings on! He betrayed his astonishment and irritation by a low "wuff!" jumped down from the window-seat, and scratched at the door.

"No," said Randolph, looking at him, "you can't get out. Did you see a cat?"

Blathers came over to the arm-chair, stood up, putting both hands on Randolph's knees, and looked at him appealingly.

"Yes, I know," said Randolph, "your master has deserted you for the afternoon, hasn't he? Mean trick, isn't it? And where do you suppose he has gone? To Vespers, think of that! Don't shake your head, Blathers, it's true——" "Wuff!" "Yes, rather remarkable, I know; no wonder you say so. But don't blame him; he couldn't help it, and it will do him good."

A few minutes afterwards Randolph threw away his book, and took his cap.