Northcote's School we learned to weave mats and paint on
china, and I can give instructions in them. In their turn they will
instruct me, for I shall learn much about Housing Conditions and have an
opportunity to examine at first hand the various industrial problems of
the day. Who knows? when we are through, I may prepare a paper for the
_Nation_." Her sisters indicated their disapproval by rocking
hopelessly.

Tom, too, had met with difficulties. Upon thinking the matter over he
had little doubt as to its outcome. Enough of his Ephesus life remained
with him to tell him that factory hands are not to be reached by
lectures from academic ladies and gentlemen. He blushed, too, for
certain sentiments he had expressed upon the essence of education, but
they might be credited to the delicate frenzy of the dance and his
unexpected reconciliation. It was, of course, all Nancy. He could not
imagine himself proceeding upon such an affair with anyone else. Still,
he found it necessary to placate his conscience for the time taken from
the study of Beowulf which he was then making for his Ph.D. "All work
and no play makes Jack a dull boy" seemed, after a somewhat desperate
search, as sound a principle as any; and, furthermore, he would save
time from his exercise by running around the cemetery--the classic
running course--instead of playing squash at the Country Club. So that
problem was settled.

The young physiologist, however, upon whom he had been counting had
developed appendicitis, and he didn't feel that he knew any of the other
men in the department well enough to take their time for such a
speculative cause. Then he met old Professor Sprig, a Star man of '65,
who had been a celebrated physiologist in his time and who was now an
almost equally celebrated eccentric. Having complained of the present
status of the department and explained his problem, Tom was invited by
the old gentleman to bring Nancy to his rooms. "You know, I suppose,
where I live?" he asked with a crafty smile.

Tom did know where he lived. The old four-story frame building in
Whitmanville, the Diamond Building, the highest in the town, had been
made famous by his residence. The top floor was said to be his apartment
and it was commonly supposed that he kept chickens in it. There were
some dreadful stories about midnight dissections, but cooler heads
affirmed that if there were any chickens there at all, they were there
as the companions and not as the