They walked on in silence for a few minutes, each busy with his own thoughts. The sun slanted across the campus, and glinted through the stained glass windows of Booker chapel, coloring the sward with a wonderful combination of violet and red. Back of the main college was a bank of purplish and olive tinted clouds, which Tom paused to gaze at in admiration.
"Look, fellows!" he exclaimed, softly. "It's just like one of those pictures of Venice, painted by what's his name."
"Yes, great artist," put in Phil. "Second cousin to 'who's this.'"
"No, but look at those colorings," protested Tom. "Did you ever see such cloud masses? The only thing about them is that they tell of fall coming on, and winter and leafless trees, and"
"Oh, for cats' sake cut it out!" groaned Sid. "You must be in love again. Got a new girl?"
"Shut up!" ordered Tom, peremptorily, as he started toward their dormitory. "The next time I try to elevate the minds of you fellows by pointing out the beauties of nature you'll know it!"
"All right, old chap," came in soothing accents from Phil. "Those clouds are worth looking at, for a fact. Sid has no soul for anything above the commonplace."
