almly, "absolute rot. There has never been a good
deed done in His name; just the Inquisition and the what-do-you-call-'ems
in Russia. Oh, yes, pogroms--and wars and robbing people. Christianity
is just a name; there isn't any such thing. And most of the professional
Christians that I've seen are damn fools. I tell you, George, it's all
wrong. We're all in the dark, and I don't believe the profs know any more
about it than we do."

"Oh, yes, they do," Hugh exclaimed; "they must. Think of all the
studying they've done."

"Bah." Burbank was contemptuous. "They've read a lot of books, that's
all. Most of them never had an idea in their lives. Oh, I know that
some of them think; if they didn't, I'd leave college to-morrow. It's
men like Davis and Maxwell and Henley and Jimpson who keep me here. But
most of the profs can't do anything more than spout a few facts that
they've got out of books. No, they don't know any more about it than we
do. We don't know why we're here or where we're going or what we ought
to do while we are here. And we get into groups and tell smutty stories
and talk about women and religion, and we don't know any more than when
we started. Think of all the talk that goes on around this college about
sex. There's no end to it. Some of the fellows say positively there's no
sense in staying straight; and a few, damn few, admit that they think a
fellow ought to leave women alone, but most of them are in a muddle."

He rose and stretched. "I've got to be going--philosophy quiz
to-morrow." He smiled. "I don't agree with Nutter, and I don't agree
with George, and I don't agree with you, Don; and the worst of it is
that I don't agree with myself. You fellows can bull about this some
more if you want to; I've got to study."

"No, they can't," said Ross. "Not here, anyway. I've got to study, too.
The whole of you'll have to get out."

The boys rose and stretched. Ferguson rolled lazily off the couch.
"Well," he said with a yawn, "this has been very edifying. I've heard
it all before in a hundred bull sessions, and I suppose I'll hear it all
again. I don't know why I've hung around. There's a little dame that
I've got to write a letter to, and, believe me, she's a damn sight more
interesting than all your bull." He strolled out of the door, drawling a
slow "good night" over his shoulder.

Hugh went to his room and thought over the talk. He was miserably
confused. Like Ferguson he had believed everything that