e
through the realistic if somewhat irreverent medium of the professor's
son, Tom, presently pursuing a somewhat leisurely course toward a
medical degree. As Tom appeared in the college hall he was immediately
surrounded by an eager crowd, the most eager of whom was Robert Duff,
the sworn ally of Mr. Finlayson.

"Did Finlayson see your father?" inquired Mr. Duff anxiously.

"Sure thing," answered Tom.

"And did he inform him of what has been going on in this college?"

"You bet your life! Give him the whole tip!"

"And what did the professor say?" inquired Mr. Duff, with bated breath.

"Told him to go to the devil."

"To what?" gasped Mr. Duff, to whom it appeared for the moment that the
foundations of things in heaven and on earth had indeed been removed.
It was only after the shout of laughter on the part of the "sinners" had
subsided that Mr. Duff realised that it was the spirit only, and not
the ipsissima verba, of the devout and reverent professor, that had been
translated in the vigorous vernacular of his son.

Unhappily, however, for Boyle, the report of his heretical tendencies
had reached other ears than those of the sane and liberal-minded
professor, those, namely, of that stern and rigid churchman, the Rev.
Alexander Naismith, some time minister of St. Columba's. Not through
Finlayson, however, be it understood, did this report reach him. That
staunch defender of orthodoxy might, under stress of conscience, find it
his duty to inform the proper authority of the matter, but sooner than
retail gossip to the hurt of his fellow-student he would have cut off
his big, bony right hand.

The Rev. Alexander Naismith was a little man with a shrill voice, which
gained for him the cognomen of "Squeaky Sandy," and a most irritatingly
persistent temper. Into his hands, while candidates and examiners were
disporting themselves in the calm waters of Systematic Theology,
fell poor Dick, to his confusion and the temporary withholding of his
license. It was impossible but that in the college itself, and in the
college circles of society, this event should become a subject of much
heated discussion.

Professor Macdougall's student parties were not as other student
parties. They were never attended from a sense of duty. This was
undoubtedly due, not so much to the popularity of the professor with his
students, as to the shrewd wisdom and profound knowledge of human nature
generally and of student nature particularly,