party at the Nassau Inn, where punch was dispensed from immense bowls, and the whole down-stairs became a delirious, circulating, shouting pattern of faces and voices.
"Hi, Dibby—'gratulations!"
"Goo' boy, Tom, you got a good bunch in Cap."
"Say, Kerry"
"Oh, Kerry—I hear you went Tiger with all the weight-lifters!"
"Well, I didn't go Cottage—the parlor-snakes' delight."
"They say Overton fainted when he got his Ivy bid—Did he sign up the first day?—oh, no. Tore over to Murray-Dodge on a bicycle—afraid it was a mistake."
"How'd you get into Cap—you old roué?"
"'Gratulations!"
"'Gratulations yourself. Hear you got a good crowd."
When the bar closed, the party broke up into groups and streamed, singing, over the snow-clad campus, in a weird delusion that snobbishness and strain were over at last, and that they could do what they pleased for the next two years.
Long afterward Amory thought of sophomore spring as the happiest time of his life. His ideas were in tune with life as he found it; he wanted no more than to drift and dream and enjoy a dozen new-found friendships through the April afternoons.
Alec Connage came into his room one morning and woke him up into the sunshine and peculiar glory of Cambell Hall shining in the window.
"Wake up, Original Sin, and scrape yourself together. Be in front of Renwick's in half an hour. Somebody's got a car." He took the bureau cover and carefully deposited it, with its load of small articles, upon the bed.
"Where'd you get the car?" demanded Amory cynically.
