e soft night the
tinkling of mandolins and the thrumming of guitars, a vibrant,
feverish life that suddenly seemed unreal to him. They were fast
approaching the Lodge. A sudden fear came to him that she would go
without understanding what the one, the only night had been in his
life.

"I say, Miss McCarty," he began desperately.

"Yes."

"I wish I could tell you----"

"What?"

"I wish I could tell you just what a privilege it's been to meet you."

"Oh, that's very nice."

He felt he had failed. He had not expressed himself well. She did not
understand.

"I shall never forget it," he said, plunging ahead.

She stopped a little guiltily and looked at him.

"You queer boy," she said, too pleasantly moved to be severe. "You
queer, romantic boy! Why, of course you're going to visit us this
summer, and we're going to be good chums, aren't we?"

He did not answer.

"Aren't we?" she repeated, amused at a situation that was not entirely
strange.

"No!" he said abruptly, amazed at his own audacity; and with an
impulse that he had not suspected he closed the conversation and led
the way to the Lodge.

When at last he and Tough were homeward bound he felt he should die if
he did not then and there learn certain things. So he began with
Machiavellian adroitness:

"I say, Tough, what a splendid mother you've got. I didn't get half a
chance to talk to her. I say, how long will she be here?"

"They're going over to Princeton first thing in the morning," said
Tough, who was secretly relieved.

A button on the borrowed vest popped with Stover's emotion.

"How did you get on with Sis?"

"First rate. She's--she's awful sensible," said Dink.

"Oh, yes, I suppose so."

"I say," said Dink, seeing that he made no progress, "she's been all
around--had lots of experience, hasn't she?"

"Oh, she's bounded about a bit."

"Still, she doesn't seem much older than you," said Dink craftily.

"Sis--oh, she's a bit older."

"About twenty-two, I should say," said Dink hopefully.

"Twenty-four, my boy," said Tough unfeelingly. "But I say, don't give
it away; she'd bite and scratch me all over the map for telling."

Stover left him without daring to ask any more questions--he knew what
he wanted to know. He could not go to his room, he could not face the
Tennessee Shad, possessor of the trousers. He wanted to be alone--to
wander over the unseen earth, to gulp in the gentle air in long,
feverish breaths, to think over w