“I’ll give Hope another three weeks to come around,” he said to himself, as he passed Society House and turned toward Academy Building. “If by that time he hasn’t consented to give me the captaincy, I’ll--I’ll eat my hat. I never saw such a duffer in a boat as that fellow they had to-day in my place at seven. And Kirk thinks the same way, too; he tried to hide what he felt, but I know his way of tugging at his mustache and grinning pleasantly when he is worried; and he was worried to-day, all right. And I don’t blame him”--with a grin--“for there are three men in that first squad that wouldn’t last half a mile in a race with a girls’ school! Oh, yes, I guess old Hope will be around to see me before long!” And Taylor pushed his way past the green leather doors of the library and, finding a book, went busily to work with pad and pencil--for whatever else might have been said about Roy Taylor, he was at least diligent at his studies, and stood high in his class. Dick, followed by Trevor and the rest of the first squad, finished a mile run over the soft road, and came swinging up to the gymnasium an hour before supper-time, panting and tuckered, but in a most enjoyable glow and with appetites that protested strongly against the time that must elapse ere they could be satisfied. After a shower-bath Dick and Trevor walked across to Masters together, and, pulling a blanket over their feet, perched themselves on the broad window-seat in the lingering glow of the sun, and leaned back luxuriously against the pillows. Ever since the morning four days previous, when Dick had looked out to find the Hudson clear of ice, the boys had scorned fires, and, although the room had a way of getting cold toward evening, they insisted that spring had come, and that wood fires were a survival of the dark ages of midwinter. Trevor stretched his arms and yawned, and the Latin book on his lap fell unheeded to the floor. “That was something like, to-day,” he said. “It was worth all that work in the gym, every minute of it. I say, Dick, Kirk looked rather well satisfied with us, I thought, eh?” “He looked that way,” answered Dick, “but don’t deceive yourself into thinking that he felt so. Not a bit of it; he was grumpy clean through; you could tell that by his grin; he always grins when he’s grumpy; makes you think of the--thingumbob--what is it that cries when it eats people?” “Mouse?” asked Trevor innocently. “Get out! Crocodile, I mean. That’s Kirk’s way. No, he wasn’t happy to-day, and I don’t blame him, for, oh, Trevor, my child, Jones fills Taylor’s place about as well as a wax doll would. And Rankin means well, but hasn’t got it in him, and Arnold’s just a makeshift, after all; I thought he was going to prove a good man; and Milton doesn’t seem to understand what he’s doing half the time.” “And Nesbitt rows as though he was chopping wood,” laughed Trevor, with a questioning accent.