maybe it was n’t a very good poem, but it had— well, it had—it had something in it that was n’t just pretty.
He began to visit the lake less often and to wish that September and the opening of college would arrive. When the day finally came to return, he was almost as much excited as he had been the year before. Gosh! it would be good to see Carl again. The bum had written only once. Yeah, and Pudge Jamieson, too, and Larry Stillwell, and Bill Free¬ man, and—yes, by golly! Merton Billings. He’d be glad to see old Fat Billings. He wondered if Merton was as fat as ever and as pure. And all the brothers at the Nu Delta house. He’d been too busy to get really acquainted with them last year; but this year, by gosh, he’d get to know all of them. It certainly would be great to be back and be a sophomore and make the little frosh stand around.
He didn’t carry his suit-case up the hill this time; he checked it and sent a freshman for it later. When he arrived at Surrey 19 Carl was already there—and he was kneeling before a trunk when Hugh walked into the room. Both of them in¬ stantly remembered the identical scene of the year before.
Carl jumped to his feet. “Hullo—who are you?” he demanded, his face beaming.
Hugh pretended to be frightened and shy.
