uiringly from one to the other.

"Ah, come on!" he invited. "Be sports! Let's celebrate the end of the
course. Just to show how good I feel, I'm going to scorch a three-mile
hole through the atmosphere between here and Mount Barlow faster than it
was ever done before. Tumble aboard and help hold this barouche down on
the pike while I burn the top off it for the last time."

Pulling out a book of tissue wrappers and a sack of tobacco, he began to
roll a cigarette with twitching, yellowed fingers.

"Anybody got a match? No? Then I'll have to dig one up myself."

He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a lucifer. Soon he was inhaling
the smoke and talking rapidly.

"I'm so glad this is my last week here I feel like kicking my head off.
Once I shake the dust of this dump off my tires, you can bet you'll
never catch me here again. Say, do you know what this Main Street
reminds me of? An avenue in Metairie Cemetery in New Orleans, with a row
of white tombs on each side. I saw it last Christmas. They bury 'em
aboveground there, too. The Rubes in this burg are just as dead, only
they don't know it."

Drawing a final, long, luxurious whiff, he tossed the half-smoked
cigarette away.

"Well, so long! My dad's coming on the five-ten to see his only son
graduate _cum laude_. And me loaded down with conditions a truck-horse
couldn't haul! Wouldn't that jar you? Guess I'll have to do my
road-burning before he gets here. Hold a watch on me, will you? I'm out
for the record."

"Careful, or you'll get pinched for over-speeding," cautioned Stevens.

Whittington spat contemptuously.

"Pinch your grandmother!" he jeered. "I've been pinched too many times
to mind a little thing like that."

Off darted the gray car. The three gazed after it in silence. Then
Spurling spoke.

"Must seem rather pleasant to have a bank-account you can't touch the
bottom of, mustn't it? They say his father's all sorts of a millionaire.
Hope he doesn't get smashed up or run over somebody."

"He's a good-natured fool," commented Lane. "But you can't help liking
him, after all. Now let's get back to business."

It was Commencement week in mid-June at the old country academy nestled
among the New England hills. The lawns before the substantial white
houses were emerald with the fresh, unrivaled green of spring. Fragrant
lilacs sweetened the soft air. The walks under the thick-leafed elms
were thronged with talking, laughing groups. Bright-colored dre