By this time it was a case of save the pieces. The whole thing had been as mysterious as the plague. We were getting mortal blows, we couldn't tell from whom. All political signs were failing. The game was going backward. A lot of the leaders got together and held a meeting, and some of them were for declaring a constitutional monarchy and then losing the constitution. My! But they were bitter. Everybody accused everybody else of double-crossing, underhandedness, gum-shoeing, back-biting, trading, pilfering and horse-stealing. I think there was a window or two broken during the discussion. But we didn't get anywhere. The next day the Senior class elected officers, and every frat went out with a knife for its neighbor. A quiet lady by the name of Simpkins, who was one of the finest old wartime relics in school, was elected president. That night I began putting two and two and fractional numbers together and called in calculus and second sight on the problem. I remembered what the Hicks girl had said to me the year before. That was more than the ordinary girl ought to know about politics. I remembered seeing her doing more or less close-harmony work with the other midnight-oil consumers--and the upshot was I went over to Browning Hall that night and called on her. She came down in due time--kept me waiting as long as if she had been the belle of the prom--and she shook hands all over me. "My dear boy," she said, sitting down on the sofa with me, "I'm so delighted to renew our old friendship." Now, I don't like to be "my dear boyed" by a Sophomore, and there never had been any old friendship. I started to stiffen up--and then didn't. I didn't because I didn't know what she would do if I did. "How are all the other good old chaps?" she said as cordially as could be. "My, but those were grand days." [Illustration: "How are all the other good old chaps?" she said _Page 270_] I didn't see any terminus in that conversation. Besides, she looked like one of those most uncomfortable girls who can guy you in such an innocent and friendly manner that you don't know what to say back. So I brushed the preliminaries aside and jumped right into the middle of things. "Miss Hicks," says I, "why are you doing all this?" "Singular or plural you?" she asked. "And why am I or are we doing what, and why shouldn't we?" "Help," said I, feeling that way. "Do you deny that you haven't been instrumental in upsetting the whole college with those fool elections?" "I am a modest young lady," said she, "so, of course, I deny it. Besides, this college isn't upset at all. I went over this morning and every professor was right side up with care where he belonged. And, moreover, you must not call an election a fool because it doesn't do what you want it to. It can't help itself."