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“Rather mean not to make him wait and have some of these after his hard work on us,” said Bertie. “I’d forgotten about them–“

“He ran out before you could remember, anyway,” said Billy.

“Wasn’t he absurd about his old notes? “Bertie went on, a new strawberry in his mouth. “We don’t need them, though. With to-morrow we’ll get this course down cold.”

“Yes, to-morrow,” sighed Billy. “It’s awful to think of another day of this kind.”

“Horrible,” assented Bertie.

“He knows a lot. He’s extraordinary,” said Billy.

“Yes, he is. He can talk the actual words of the notes. Probably he could teach the course himself. I don’t suppose he buys any strawberries, even when they get ripe and cheap here. What’s the matter with you?”

Billy had broken suddenly into merriment. “I don’t believe Oscar owns a bath,” he explained.

“By Jove! so his notes will burn in spite of everything!” And both of the tennis boys shrieked foolishly.

Then Billy began taking his clothes off, strewing them in the window-seat, or anywhere that they happened to drop; and Bertie, after hitting another cork or two out of the window with the tennis racket, departed to his own room on another floor and left Billy to immediate and deep slumber. This was broken for a few moments when Billy’s room-mate returned happy from an excursion which had begun in the morning.

The room-mate sat on Billy’s feet until that gentleman showed consciousness.

“I’ve done it, said the room-mate, then.

“The hell you have!”

“You couldn’t do it.”

“The hell I couldn’t!”

“Great dinner.”

“The hell it was!”

“Soft-shell crabs, broiled live lobster, salmon, grass-plover, dough-birds, rum omelette. Bet you five dollars you can’t find it.”

“Take you. Got to bed.” And Billy fell again into deep, immediate slumber.

The room-mate went out into the sitting room, and noting the signs there of the hard work which had gone on during his absence, was glad that he did not take Philosophy 4. He was soon asleep also.

IV

Billy got up early. As he plunged into his cold bath he envied his room-mate, who could remain at rest indefinitely, while his own hard lot was hurrying him to prayers and breakfast and Oscar’s inexorable notes. He sighed once more as he looked at the beauty of the new morning and felt its air upon his cheeks. He and Bertie belonged to the same club-table, and they met there mournfully over the oatmeal. This very hour to-morrow would see them eating their last before the examination in Philosophy 4. And nothing pleasant was going to happen between,–nothing that they could dwell upon with the slightest satisfaction. Nor had their sleep entirely refreshed them. Their eyes were not quite right, and their hair, though it was brushed, showed fatigue of the nerves in a certain inclination to limpness and disorder.

“Epicharmos of Kos
Was covered with moss,”

remarked Billy.

“Thales and Zeno
Were duffers at keno,”

added Bertie.

In the hours of trial they would often express their education thus.

“Philosophers I have met,” murmured Billy, with scorn And they ate silently for some time.

“There’s one thing that’s valuable,” said Bertie next. “When they spring those tricks on you about the flying arrow not moving, and all the rest, and prove it all right by logic, you learn what pure logic amounts to when it cuts loose from common sense. And Oscar thinks it’s immense. We shocked him.”

“He’s found the Bird-in-Hand!” cried Billy, quite suddenly.

“Oscar?” said Bertie, with an equal shout.

“No, John. John has. Came home last night and waked me up and told me.”

“Good for John,” remarked Bertie, pensively.

Now, to the undergraduate mind of that day the Bird-in-Hand tavern was what the golden fleece used to be to the Greeks,– a sort of shining, remote, miraculous thing, difficult though not impossible to find, for which expeditions were fitted out. It was reported to be somewhere in the direction of Quincy, and in one respect it resembled a ghost: you never saw a man who had seen it himself; it was always his cousin, or his elder brother in ’79. But for the successful explorer a dinner and wines were waiting at the Bird-in-Hand more delicious than anything outside of Paradise. You will realize, therefore, what a thing it was to have a room-mate who had attained. If Billy had not been so dog-tired last night, he would have sat up and made John tell him everything from beginning to end.