her of men,
Love us, guard us, hold us true...."

The dormitories were dim masses broken by rectangles of soft yellow
light. Somewhere a banjo twanged. Another student passed.

"Hello, Carver," he said pleasantly. "Nice night."

"Oh, hello, Jones. It sure is."

The simple greeting completed his happiness. He felt that he belonged,
that Sanford, the "mother of men," had taken him to her heart. The music
in the chapel swelled, lyric, passionate--up! up! almost a cry. The
moonlight was golden between the heavy shadows of the elms. Tears came
into the boy's eyes; he was melancholy with joy.

He climbed the stairs of Surrey slowly, reluctant to reach his room and
Carl's flippancy. He passed an open door and glanced at the men inside
the room.

"Hi, Hugh. Come in and bull a while."

"Not to-night, thanks." He moved on down the hall, feeling a vague
resentment; his mood had been broken, shattered.

The door opposite his own room was slightly open. A freshman lived
there, Herbert Morse, a queer chap with whom Carl and Hugh had succeeded
in scraping up only the slightest acquaintance. He was a big fellow,
fully six feet, husky and quick. The football coach said that he had the
makings of a great half-back, but he had already been fired off the
squad because of his irregularity in reporting for practice. Except for
what the boys called his stand-offishness--some of them said that he was
too damned high-hat--he was extremely attractive. He had red, almost
copper-colored, hair, and an exquisite skin, as delicate as a child's.
His features were well carved, his nose slightly aquiline--a magnificent
looking fellow, almost imperious; or as Hugh once said to Carl, "Morse
looks kinda noble."

As Hugh placed his hand on the door-knob of No 19, he heard something
that sounded suspiciously like a sob from across the hall. He paused and
listened. He was sure that he could hear some one crying.

"Wonder what's wrong," he thought, instantly disturbed and sympathetic.

He crossed the hall and tapped lightly on Morse's door. There was no
answer; nor was there any when he tapped a second time. For a moment he
was abashed, and then he pushed open the door and entered Morse's room.

In the far corner Morse was sitting at his, desk, his head buried in his
arms, his shoulders shaking. He was crying fiercely, terribly; at times
his whole body jerked in the violence of his sobbing.

Hugh stood by the door embarrassed