“Dodd!” broke in “the incongruous dog,” with a voice just like a saw's. “Dodd? Ah, that's the man who is just ploughed for smalls.” Ice has its thunderbolts. CHAPTER II WINNING boat-races was all very fine; but a hundred such victories could not compensate Mr. Kennet's female hearers for one such defeat as he had announced--a defeat that, to their minds, carried disgrace. Their Edward plucked! At first they were benumbed, and sat chilled, with red cheeks, bewildered between present triumph and mortification at hand. Then the colour ebbed out of their faces, and they encouraged each other feebly in whispers, “Might it not be a mistake?” But unconscious Kennet robbed them of this timid hope. He was now in his element, knew all about it, rushed into details, and sawed away all doubt from their minds. The sum was this. Dodd's general performance was mediocre, but passable; he was plucked for his Logic. Hardie said he was very sorry for it. “What does it matter?” answered Kennet; “he is a boating-man. “Well, and I am a boating-man. Why, you told me yourself, the other day, poor Dodd was anxious about it on account of his friends. And, by-the-bye, that reminds me they say he has got two pretty sisters here.” Says Kennet briskly, “I'll go and tell him; I know him just to speak to.” “What! doesn't he know?” “How can he know?” said Kennet jealously; “the testamurs were only just out as I came away.” And within this he started on his congenial errand. Hardie took two or three of his long strides, and fairly collared him. “You will do nothing of the kind.” “What, not tell a man when he's ploughed? That is a good joke.” “No. There's time enough. Tell him after chapel to-morrow, or in chapel if you must; but why poison his triumphal cup? And his sisters, too, why spoil their pleasure? Hang it all, not a word about 'ploughing' to any living soul to-day.” To his surprise, Kennet's face expressed no sympathy, nor even bare assent. At this Hardie lost patience, and burst out impetuously, “Take care how you refuse me; take care how you thwart me in this. He is the best-natured fellow in college. It doesn't matter to you, and it does to him; and if you _do,_ then take my name off the list of your acquaintance, for I'll never speak a word to you again in this world; no, not on my death-bed, by Heaven!” The threat was extravagant; but Youth's glowing cheek and eye, and imperious lip, and simple generosity, made it almost beautiful. Kennet whined, “Oh, if you talk like that, there is an end to fair argument.” “End it then, and promise me; upon your honour!” “Why not? What bosh! There, I promise. Now, how do you construe [Greek text]?” The incongruous dog (“I thank thee, Taff, for teaching me that word”) put this query with the severity of an inquisitor bringing back a garrulous prisoner to the point. Hardie replied gaily, “Any way you like, now you are a good fellow again.”