h the pardonable pride of one who
knows his own worth.

The next moment two books went flying across the room, and Skippy, now
thoroughly infuriated, stood before him, arms akimbo, a sneer on his
disgusted lips.

"Don't let me stop you. Go on, kiss it, fondle it. Put it under your
pillow and hug it, you great big mooncalf! Say, why do you come to
Lawrenceville, anyhow? Why don't you go to Ogontz or Dobbs Ferry?"

Then Snorky, tasting the sweets of revenge, went to the table and,
picking up the pad and pencil, presented them to Skippy with a mocking
bow.

Skippy's reply is not to be found even in the most up-to-date
dictionaries. Furious at his roommate, the world in general, and himself
most of all, he shed his clothes and dived into bed.

"Girls--faugh!" he exclaimed in disgust And, pulling the covers over his
head, he retired to his own ruminations.

CHAPTER X

LOVE LIGHTLY CONSIDERED

TO understand what Skippy felt one must have known the springs of
boyhood's impulse towards perfect manhood.

To Skippy a man was that completed being, who wore trousers that never
bagged at the knees, neckties that never slipped below the collar
button, who displayed a gold watch-chain across a fancy vest, from whose
lower lip a cigarette was pendent, who possessed a latchkey and the
right to read far into the night, and who shaved once a day. The
sentimental complications had escaped him. Whatever attracted man to the
frizzled, giggling, smirking, smiling bipeds in shirts remained a
mystery to Skippy.

All at once he had to face this problem. He had gone resolutely up the
steps towards perfect manhood. He had learned the art of pressing
trousers to a thin razor-edge from Snorky, who was a year his senior in
boarding-school knowledge.

The necktie question was not yet settled, though every morning he
subjected his throat to a strangle-hold.

He had bought a razor and twice a week, trembling and apprehensive, drew
it across his maidenly cheek. He slashed himself fearfully but he did
not mind that. He wore his scars proudly, a warning to all that
adolescence was on him, as the young Heidelberg student flaunts his
wounds.

The cigarette (known as the Demon Cigarette, the Filthy Weed, and the
Coffin Nail) had been a dreadful struggle. But he had won out.

He loathed the Demon Cigarette as he abhorred tobacco in any form, but
he had martyrized himself until he was able to puff up the cold-air flue
in the stilly r