han, her
parents had been dead some years, and she was employed at serving in a
quaint little tea room under the brow of the university.

It was quite natural that a girl of her circumstances should have roped
Davies in. Any girl who had really cared would have insisted that he
wait until after graduation. Should this marriage become known to
college authorities, Davies would be expelled. And then where would he
be? Disgraced! His career ruined! And ruined by a girl who had
cleaved to him only for the money that he represented!

Martin S. Davies made a special, hurried trip to Cambridge to make his
son see all these points. And the elder man brought plenty of money to
make any others concerned see as he wanted them to see. The affair was
successfully hushed up. Carrington Davies, threatened with being
disowned if he did not do exactly as his father dictated, had stood by
powerless.

He reflected now that this had been the biggest mistake of his life.
But years of strict obedience to his parent had awed him, awed him into
letting his father approach Hazel Nubbins, the girl who had so shortly
before become his wife. What the elder Davies said to her or what
proposition he made, the son never knew. But he recalled the satisfied
expression his father wore on returning from the interview, when he
said:

"It's all right, son. I've fixed everything. Now, for God's sake
don't ever get into a jam like this again!"

And the next day Carrington Davies heard that the girl had left the
place of her employ, pleading ill health. Weeks later, when he had
come out of the daze occasioned by these happenings, Davies had been
unable to obtain any information as to Hazel's whereabouts. And
gradually, as the weeks stretched out into months, the whole affair
shaped itself into the memory of a vaguely pleasant dream which had
turned out a blundering nightmare.

Now, as he sped over the rails on the football special bound for
Cambridge, his thoughts came racing back to the present at the dash of
something against his window, a something that left a running streak.

"Rain!" exclaimed Davies disappointedly. "Drizzling, cold rain! The
devil hang the weather man, anyhow!"

As the trip progressed the rain did likewise, true to forecast. At
twelve fifteen, when the special arrived at Brighton, a stop one mile
from the stadium, Davies stepped into a sullen, sweeping downpour.
There was little hilarity among the detraining f