Mr. Gulmore liked to spend his evenings with his wife and daughter. It amused him to hear what they had been doing during the day. Their gossip had its value; sentimental or spiteful, it threw quaint sidelights upon character. On the evening before the Faculty meeting Ida was bending over a book, while Mr. Gulmore smoked, and watched her. His daughter was somewhat of a puzzle to him still, and when occasion offered he studied her. “Where does she get her bitterness from? I'm not bitter, an' I had difficulties, was poor an' ignorant, had to succeed or go under, while she has had everythin' she wanted. It's a pity she ain't kinder....” Presently Mrs. Gulmore put away her work and left the room. Taking up the thread of a conversation that had been broken off by his wife's presence, Mr. Gulmore began: “I don't say Roberts'll win, Ida. The bettin' 's the other way; but I'm not sure, for I don't know the crowd. He may come out on top, though I hev noticed that young men who run into their first fight and get badly whipped ain't likely to fight desperate the second time.--Grit's half trainin'!” “I wish I could be there to _see_ him beaten!” Ida had tried to turn her wounded pride into dislike, and was succeeding. “I hate to feel he's in the same town with us--the coward!” At this moment Mrs. Gulmore reentered the room. “To think of it! Sal left the gas-stove flarin'. I made her get up and come downstairs to put it out. That'll learn her! Of all the careless, shiftless creatures, these coloured people are the worst. Come, Ida, it's long after nine, and I'm tired. You can read in your bedroom if you want to.” After the usual “good night” and kisses, Ida went upstairs. While Mrs. Gulmore busied herself putting “things straight,” Mr. Gulmore sat thinking: “She takes after her mother in everythin', but she has more pride. It's that makes her bitter. She's jest like her--only prettier. The same peaky nose, pointed chin, little thin ears set close to her head, fine hair--the Yankee school-marm. First-rate managin' women; the best wives in the world to keep a house an' help a man on. But they hain't got sensuality enough to be properly affectionate.” On the following afternoon Roberts stopped before the door of his house and looked back towards the University. There on the crest of the hill stood the huge building of bluish-grey stone with the round tower of the observatory in the middle--like a mallet with a stubby handle in the air. While gazing thus a shrill voice reached him, the eager treble of a newsboy: “Great Scandal!” he heard--and then “Scandal in the University! Full Report! Only five cents! Five cents for the 'Herald's' Special!”