There were little knots of men talking on the piazzas of the clubs on Mount Auburn Street when he turned the corner. Out of the tail of his eye, he could see the agitation that seized them as he and the Millstone came into view. Then he heard windows opening upstairs and down, and knew, without turning around, that from every window craned a neck or two. He held his breath, and prayed to Heaven that his companion wouldn’t take it into her head to stop and rest, or gaze dreamily up and down the street, or slap him with her fan. Once safely inside Claverly, he didn’t wait to listen to her exclamations of surprise and admiration, but left her purring to herself at the foot of the stairs and dashed up to Billy’s room. Billy wasn’t there, but his door was unlatched and his room strewn with garments. His cap and gown were hanging over the back of a chair. Billy was somewhere in the building, probably in the tank, as unsuspicious of impending catastrophe as a playful dolphin. So Beverly hurried down the back stairs to the tank. As he opened the door, Billy, lying on his back on the marble ledge, shot suddenly into view like a long white projectile. “I’ve invented a new game,” he gasped; “you make the marble all wet, and lie on your back with your feet against the wall, and then give yourself a push and--zip! You could go miles if there wasn’t a partition. But you have to lift up when you get to this crack, or you’ll tear your shoulder-blades out by the roots. Now watch me--” “Shut up, Billy, and listen; your cousin is out here in the hall waiting for you.” Beverly mopped his forehead. “My cousin?” Billy struggled to his feet. “Yes, your cousin,--a lady. Now hurry up and get dry. I’ve got to go. She’s at the foot of the stairs. No, I’m not fooling, I swear to God I’m not. It’s the cousin you invited to Beck.” “Wait, wait, don’t leave me, man. It’ll take me hours to dress,” said Billy, piteously, dabbing himself with a bath towel. “I haven’t any cousin; I never invited one to Beck; my family is away--they’re abroad. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he went on. But he continued to dry himself frantically nevertheless. “I’m simply telling you what I know,” answered Beverly, calmly. “A person, female, aged--say forty-five; of abundant tonnage and affable manners, would like to meet blond gentleman named Fields about to graduate from Harvard; object, a family reunion. Oh, never mind your hair. Here, put on your wrapper and come on.” He helped Billy, half dry, with his hair dripping stringily over his eyes, into a striped blanket covering, and pushed him gently into the hall. The Millstone, who had been sauntering up and down the corridors in Beverly’s absence, received them as they emerged. “Oh,” she said, and peered at them over the rim of her circular fan. “Allow me to present your cousin,” said Beverly, gravely.