sify them according to their possibilities as they unveiled
themselves to his boyish eyes. Three of the cadaverous sophomores he
dismissed with a glance. They were impossible. They lacked all
spiritual yeast and, to the end of time, they would be waiters in one
sense or another. Scott Brenton was different. A fellow with those eyes
must have it in him to count for something, some day. Lounging in his
seat at table, Opdyke kept his eye on Scott, talked at him, then talked
to him; and then, obedient to some boyish whim or other, a few days
later, the meal ended, he took him by the elbow and walked him off to
Mory's for a second supper.

Mrs. Brenton, on her knees beside her bed, that night, prayed long and
fervently and with full particulars concerning the education of her
son. Her heart would have frozen with horror, had she seen the
smoke-filled room where her son was sitting, with Reed Opdyke across
the table from him. Her hopes for his future would have shrivelled into
naught, could she have realized that, over that very table, her son,
her Scott, was to receive a lesson, new and quite unforgettable. One
hour of jovial human comradeship had opened Scott Brenton's eyes to
more things than he ever yet had dreamed of. It had taught him once for
all that irresponsible, carefree youth is not, of necessity, vicious.

As the days and the weeks ran on, the comradeship increased. Measured
by the days of Opdyke, overflowing full of interests, it took the
smallest possible share of time: a look of comprehension, a word of
casual greeting, and, on rare occasions, a bit of a walk together when
their ways chanced to coincide. Still more occasionally, a stray hour
was spent at Mory's, or in Opdyke's room in Lawrence. As yet, a boyish
delicacy had kept Opdyke from seeking to invade what he knew could not
fail to be the barrenness of Scott Brenton's quarters.

Slight as was their intercourse, viewed in Opdyke's eyes, to Scott it
filled the whole horizon, the one near and vital fact which broke in
upon its emptiness and cut away the barren wastes about him. He lived
alternately upon the memory of Opdyke as he had seen him last, and upon
the anticipations of their next meeting. His hours of table service,
ceasing to be wearisome, had become veritable social functions, for was
there not always the chance of a random word and smile? Those failing,
there was always the pleasure of watching Opdyke, now lounging lazily
in his seat and mock