Tony drew in the fragrance of the May flowers that a fresh breeze stirred. “Bully, isn’t it? This always was a favorite spot of yours, wasn’t it, Reg?” “Rather—oh, the time I’ve wasted here, little one—scribbling verse and stuff, dreaming dreams that never came true!” “You mooning here, poetizing—you must let me see your latest, by the way,—always remind me of those jolly verses in the Harrow Song Book—remember—‘Byron lay, lazily lay’?” “More or less—mostly less; let’s have it.” Tony essayed it in his clear voice. “’Byron’ lay, lazily lay, Hid from lesson and game away, Dreaming poetry all alone, Up-a-top of the Peachy stone. All in a fury enters Drury. Sets him grammar and Virgil due; Poets shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have, Poets shouldn’t have work to do.” “That’s all; I don’t know the rest. But when we sing it at General Singing or on the steps of the Old School these spring nights, I always think of you, and wonder if you scribble verses at Kingsbridge as much as you used to at school.” “Oh, yes, still,” laughed Reggie, “as much as ever—and to as little purpose as ever, I fancy. But look here, boy; I don’t like to suggest unpleasant things to you such as the fact that school won’t last forever, but I want to be sure of one thing—” “Yes?” “You will certainly be coming up to col. next year?” “Oh, yes, if I pass my exams. But of course there’s not much doubt about that. I’m not in much danger of being flunked.” “Money matters all right?” “So, so. Yes, much better, thank goodness. But it’s going to be mighty hard to pull out of the old school.” “There is one thing that helps the pulling out a lot, and particularly in your case,—” said Carroll, “—more than it did in mine—such a lot of the fellows go up to Kingsbridge from the School—quite the best of the form usually, it seems to me; so that you feel quite at home there from the beginning. Then there’s always a lot of Dealonians among the upper classmen who look out for you more or less. Most of your chums are going up, aren’t they?” “Yes—all, I think, except Ned Clavering. Too bad—but Ned’s going to wear the blue—and I hope we’ll line up against each other some time.” “That’s hard luck; but I didn’t know Ned Clavering was in your crowd.” “Oh, our crowd!” exclaimed Tony, with something like a sigh. “What! do you mean to say that you and Kit Wilson are still on the outs?” “I’m ashamed to say, we are.” “You still sore at Kit?” “Not in the least!” “Well, then, what’s the trouble?” “I haven’t the faintest idea. Sheer asininity on both our parts, I reckon. I’ve started over to Kit’s rooms a hundred times this term, I should say, and turned back.” “All serene with the rest of the crowd?” “Oh, absolutely. After the Finch affair last term everybody except Kit went out of their way to be decent. Even Tack, whom I had been rather nasty to.”