The change from Hodge’s jubilation of a short time before to his present attitude and appearance of dejection was rather startling. Merry paused an instant, then stepped forward quickly, exclaiming: “Bart!” Hodge did not stir. Frank’s hand fell gently on his shoulder. “What’s the matter, old man?” asked Merry, softly. “Nothing,” mumbled Hodge. “Oh, but there is,” declared Frank. “You were feeling well enough a short time ago. What’s the meaning of this change?” Hodge was silent. “Look here, Bart,” said Merry, gently, “I’m your friend—I’m the one for you to talk to about this matter, old man.” Bart looked up, now, but there was something like defiance in his face. “There isn’t anything to talk about,” he asserted. “Can’t a fellow have the blues once in a while, if he wants ’em!” “Nobody wants the blues, Hodge. A man in good health, with a liver that is not torpid, should not have the blues. Is there anything the matter with your liver?” “Dunno.” “There was a cause for the sudden change in you,” said Merry, seriously. “A little while ago you seemed in better spirits than you have shown before for a month. And now you are in the funks.” “Oh, don’t use that word!” “What word?” “Funk.” “What’s the matter with that word?” “It’s Yale slang.” “What of that?” Hodge sprang up and walked the floor. “I don’t want to hear it!” he cried, fiercely. “I don’t want to hear anything that will remind me of Yale! Isn’t it bad enough for me to know you are going back there!” “I’m afraid I do not quite understand you,” said Merry, slowly. “Why should you feel that way about it?” “I am an outcast! You are going back to finish your course.” “Is that it?” “Yes.” “Are you jealous, Hodge?” “No; I’m glad you’re going—I’m glad for you!” “Then what is the matter? You seem to be completely off your trolley, old man. You’re getting freakish.” “Oh, I suppose so! Rub it in! I had a letter from my mother yesterday. She said she was sorry to give me up, but I had been a terrible disappointment to her. She did hope I would get through college. She was sending me money to get through on, you know. I was a fool! I gambled her money away, and she sent it without letting my father know, for he would have stopped her had he known. Oh, isn’t there a reason why I should feel blue?” “I think you are inclined to make things out worse than they are, Hodge.” “Worse! worse! Ha! ha! How could they be any worse? Here my mother, who has clung to me all through everything, is giving up in despair! She thinks I have gone to the dogs.” “And I suppose you do not write and tell her all the truth?” “What’s the use?” said Bart, bitterly. “She knows I ran away from college. Do you fancy it would make her feel any better to know I did so because I could not meet the gambling debts I had contracted? In this case, it is better not to tell the truth.” “I think I will write to your mother, Bart.” “What for?” “I have something to tell her.” “What?”