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Closeted with Oscar and his notes, they had, as Bertie put it, salted down the early Greek bucks by seven on Monday evening. By the same midnight they had, as Billy expressed it, called the turn on Plato. Tuesday was a second day of concentrated swallowing. Oscar had taken them through the thought of many centuries. There had been intermissions for lunch and dinner only; and the weather was exceedingly hot. The pale-skinned Oscar stood this strain better than the unaccustomed Bertie and Billy. Their jovial eyes had grown hollow to-night, although their minds were going gallantly, as you have probably noticed. Their criticisms, slangy and abrupt, struck the scholastic Oscar as flippancies which he must indulge, since the pay was handsome. That these idlers should jump in with doubts and questions not contained in his sacred notes raised in him feelings betrayed just once in that remark about “orriginal rresearch.”

“Nine–ten–eleven–twelve,” went the little timepiece; and Oscar rose.

“Gentlemen,” he said, closing the sacred notes, “we have finished the causal law.”

“That’s the whole business except the ego racket, isn’t it?” said Billy.

“The duality, or multiplicity of the ego remains,” Oscar replied.

“Oh, I know its name. It ought to be a soft snap after what we’ve had.”

“Unless it’s full of dates and names you’ve got to know,” said Bertie.

“Don’t believe it is,” Billy answered. “I heard him at it once.” (This meant that Billy had gone to a lecture lately.) “It’s all about Who am I? and How do I do it?” Billy added.

“Hm!” said Bertie. “Hm! Subjective and objective again, I suppose, only applied to oneself. You see, that table is objective. I can stand off and judge it. It’s outside of me; has nothing to do with me. That’s easy. But my opinion of–well, my–well, anything in my nature–“

“Anger when it’s time to get up,” suggested Billy.

“An excellent illustration,” said Bertie. “That is subjective in me. Similar to your dislike of water as a beverage. That is subjective in you. But here comes the twist. I can think of my own anger and judge it, just as if it were an outside thing, like a table. I can compare it with itself on different mornings or with other people’s anger. And I trust that you can do the same with your thirst.”

“Yes,” said Billy; “I recognize that it is greater at times and less at others.”

“Very well, There you are. Duality of the ego.”

“Subject and object,” said Billy. “Perfectly true, and very queer when you try to think of it. Wonder how far it goes? Of course, one can explain the body’s being an object to the brain inside it. That’s mind and matter over again. But when my own mind and thought, can become objects to themselves–I wonder how far that does go?” he broke off musingly. “What useless stuff!” he ended.

“Gentlemen,” said Oscar, who had been listening to them with patient, Oriental diversion, “I–“

“Oh,” said Bertie, remembering him. “Look here. We mustn’t keep you up. We’re awfully obliged for the way you are putting us on to this. You’re saving our lives. Ten to-morrow for a grand review of the whole course.”

“And the multiplicity of the ego?” inquired Oscar.

“Oh, I forgot. Well, it’s too late tonight. Is it much? Are there many dates and names and things?”

“It is more of a general inquiry and analysis,” replied Oscar. “But it is forty pages of my notes.” And he smiled. “Well, look here. It would be nice to have to-morrow clear for review. We’re not tired. You leave us your notes and go to bed.”

Oscar’s hand almost moved to cover and hold his precious property, for this instinct was the deepest in him. But it did not so move, because his intelligence controlled his instinct nearly, though not quite, always. His shiny little eyes, however, became furtive and antagonistic–something the boys did not at first make out.