Hugh loved those nights: the shadows of the
- 1ms, the soft spring moonlight, the twanging banos, the happy singing. He would never, so long
is he lived, hear “Rosie O’Grady” without surrenlering to a tender, sentimental mood; that song vould always mean the campus and singing youth. Suddenly examinations threw their baleful influ:nce over the campus again. Once more the ex:itement, but not so great this time, the cramming, he rumors of examinations “getting out,” the semnars, the tutoring sections, the nervousness, the ear.
Hugh, however, was surer of himself than he lad been the first term, and although he had no •eason to be proud of the grades he received, he vas not particularly ashamed of them.
He and Carl left the same day but by different rains. They had agreed to room together again n Surrey 19; so they didn’t feel that the parting or the summer was very important.
“You ’ll write, won’t you, old man?”
“Sure, Hugh—surest thing you know. Say, it lon’t seem possible that our freshman year’s over lready. Why, hell, Hugh, we ’re sophomores.”
“So we are! What do you know about that?” iugh’s eyes shone. “Gosh!”
Carl looked at his watch. “Hell, I’ve got to seat it.” He picked up his suit-case, dropped it, hook hands vigorously with Hugh, snatched up his
