“Hal’s as bad as any, too,” Clyde went on glumly. “He’s got the social bug. Talks about folks I’ve never heard of, and reads the society bunk in the papers every Sunday until I want to bean him.” He was silent a moment and then added almost shyly: “Say, I don’t believe he will stick with me after the holidays, Barry; not if I give up the gang, anyway; and I was wondering whether you’d care to come over. It’s a pretty good diggings, and it’s a lot more fun being on the campus, you know. What do you say?” “Why, thanks, Clyde, but I don’t believe I’d want to change. Not this year, anyhow. Perhaps in the fall, if you don’t find some one else.” “Well, you better think it over,” Clyde added, a trifle gruffly. “No hurry about deciding.” “I’ve already decided. For one thing, I’d hate to leave the Lyles with an empty room on their hands, Clyde. They need the money, and if I got out I don’t believe they’d be able to let again.” “Yes,” said the other, dryly, “and for another thing there’s Crawford Jones.” “Yes,” assented Barry, evenly, “there’s Jones, too. He’s a fine chap, Clyde. I wish you and he would quit being so down on each other.” “Oh, I’ve got nothing against him――especial,” said Clyde, with something of an effort. “I just don’t―― He’s so plaguey fond of himself, hang him! Thinks he’s too good for any one――except you. Besides, he hates me like poison.” “Oh, no, he doesn’t!” laughed Barry. “You just think he does. I’ll bet that if you and Peaches――” There was a call from the cabin door, and the two arose and went back toward the lights. Half-way across the grass Clyde said: “Well, things are sort of cleared up between you and me, Barry, aren’t they? I wish we could manage to get together a bit oftener. Of course, I know you don’t like Hal much, but he’s out a good deal.” “I’ll be glad to drop around oftener, Clyde, but you’ll have to do the same. Lyles’ isn’t quite out of the world, you know!” “No, of course not,” muttered the other. “Sure, I’ll come and see you.” There was an hour before the big fireplace, the fellows seated on the benches or on the floor in front of them. No one spoke of the morrow, nor was football an approved subject of discourse. After a while Sinclair and Pete Zosker produced banjos and singing began. To-night the fellows’ taste ran to the old, well-known songs and they sang a number of them before the Major suggested, glancing at his watch: “Let’s have ‘Sunny Fields,’ fellows, and hit the hay.” So they got to their feet, many sleepily, and the school song was sung through, very feelingly; and Barry, for one, felt just a little weepy and rather noble! Breaking up, the throng strove to get back to its former mood of noisy jollity, but it wasn’t wholly successful and many of the fellows sought their bunks in silence. Skirting an overturned bench, Barry passed close to where the Major and Mr. Graham were smoking ruminatively in the firelight, and the former, glancing up, spoke.