Clif yielded the chair to Wattles at the West Hall entrance, and, much to his confusion, since a half-dozen fellows were looking on over the tops of their papers, Loring held his hand out. Clif took it, uncomfortably aware of the curious stares of the audience, and discovered that Loring Deane, whatever his physical disabilities might be, had plenty of strength in his fingers. Loring smiled, but rather gravely, and "Thanks, Bingham," he said simply.
"Shucks, that's all right," said Clif hastily, and got his hand back feeling rather as if it had been just drawn from a vise. "I don't believe I helped much. Well, see you later. I'll bring this back by three, sure."
"Keep it as long as you want," answered Loring. "Don't return it at all unless you want to, although I hope you will because I'd like to have a visit from you."
"Why, I—sure, I'll be around."
Wattles pushed the chair on toward East Hall, and Clif, swinging the paper ostentatiously, picked his way up the steps, nodding here and there, certain that as soon as he was beyond hearing the group would join in an effort to find an explanation of that ceremonious hand shake. Going to his room Clif wished impatiently that Deane hadn't staged that silly scene out there. There'd be all sorts of crazy stories around the Hall as a result. School was a gossipy hole, anyway. But by the time he had triumphantly tossed the paper into Walter's lap he had become more len-
