“Why, you are, of course,--or you will be,” said Curtiss, gaily. “I was myself, once upon a time. It’s good fun too; my little ‘boom’ was a trifle belated--the tenth man’s usually is; but it only seems to make the more noise for going off all by itself; while it lasts you almost feel as if people were being superlatively nice to you in order to make up for lost time. Nine times out of ten though”--the sweeping phrase was beginning to assume the dignity of a formula--“it’s the other way. The ‘tenth man’ at Harvard would never have escaped from his obscurity and comparative isolation to become the ‘tenth man,’ if it were not for something that seems very much like chance.” “How is a fellow going to find his chance in a place like this?” Hewitt exclaimed scornfully. “Do you suppose, if I knew where to look for it, that I wouldn’t run out to meet it more than half way?” “Unfortunately it’s the chances that usually seek the introduction,” answered Robinson, oracularly. “You mean to say then, in all seriousness, that a man--a gentleman--who comes here as I did, has no reason to expect that, as a matter of course, his friends will be the kind of people he’s been used to at home; that instead of at once finding his own level, he has to sit twirling his thumbs and waiting for the improbable to happen--which it perhaps doesn’t do in the course of four years?” Hewitt was scornful, incredulous, defiant. “He is at perfect liberty to hope,” said the graduate, quietly; “but I can’t see that he has the slightest reason to expect. As for ‘twirling his thumbs,’ I think he might be better employed if he spent his spare time in going in for foot-ball and glee clubs and the ‘Lampoon’ and the hundred yards’ dash, and all that sort of thing; they bring your name before the college public--make you known and definite, and in that way widen the possibilities.” “Then I can’t see that college is very different from any place else--from the outside world,” said Hewitt, disappointedly. Curtiss had taken considerable pains to tell him as much some time before; but with Hewitt mere information frequently failed in its mission; he was the sort of person whom to convince, one was first obliged to ensnare into believing that he had arrived at conviction unaided. “No, it isn’t different; that is to say, Harvard isn’t,” assented Curtiss; “except that it is smaller, younger and possesses its distinctly local atmosphere.” “Then coming here, under certain circumstances, may be like going to a strange town and living in a hotel.” “Both ventures have been known to resemble each other.” “And it’s about as sensible to suppose that your fellow students are going to take any notice of you, as it would be to expect people you had never met to lean out of their front windows and ask you to dinner if you were to stroll down the Avenue some fine evening.” Hewitt’s manner had become grim and facetious. “You seem to have grasped the elements of the situation,” said Curtiss.