But, first of all, he must see Blair. He had behaved shamefully that afternoon to the fellow who had done a distasteful thing purely for his own good, and Bob felt that he could not rest until he had apologized. Slipping into his coat, he hurried out of Vanderbilt and made his way swiftly across to Lawrence. It must be confessed that his heart rather failed him as he mounted the stairs and stood before Hildebrand’s door, but without hesitation he raised his hand and knocked. “Come in,” called a voice. Hollister opened the door and stood hesitating on the threshold. Hildebrand sat alone by the table, and, as he glanced up and saw who his caller was, his face darkened. “Well?” he said curtly. Hollister flushed and took a step forward. “I—I’ve been—a fool, Blair,” he stammered. “I beg your pardon for what I said this afternoon.” “Oh, you’ve found that out, have you?” Hildebrand inquired sarcastically. He was still sore over the result of his attempt that afternoon to open Hollister’s eyes as to the real character of Blake. It had not been a pleasant nor an easy thing to do, and Bob’s reception of it had cut him to the quick, besides making him furiously angry. “Yes; he’s all you said of him and more,” Hollister returned in a low tone. “I just found out, and I couldn’t rest until I had told you how sorry I am about the way I talked to you.” His manner was so dejected, and the look of penitence in his eyes was so very real as he turned toward the door again, that Hildebrand could not help but relent. “Come back here, you old idiot!” he exclaimed, springing to his feet. “You certainly did made me hot this afternoon, but what’s the use of keeping mad? Give us your fist, and the next time don’t be so infernally set in your way.” Hollister’s eyes brightened as he gripped the proffered hand. “You’re all to the good, Blair,” he said quickly. “Most fellows would have felt like kicking me downstairs.” “I felt worse than that this afternoon,” the big guard grinned. “But nobody can stay mad with you very long, Bobby. Sit down and let’s hear about it.” Hollister told the story briefly, and then, in spite of his friend’s urging, he departed to put in the rest of the evening in hard studying. Since it was the first time he had really applied himself to his books in weeks, he naturally did not make much progress, but at least it was a beginning. The blow came the next morning, when the first mail brought him a letter from the dean’s office. He opened it with trembling fingers and glanced through the brief contents. The typewritten communication was short, terse, very much to the point, and bore the scrawly signature of the dean himself. “DEAR SIR: Since you have seen fit utterly to disregard my advice of a week ago, I am forced to tell you that unless you attain a grade of at least sixty in every recitation from now until the beginning of the winter vacation your name will be dropped from the rolls of the senior class.”