Which wa'n't any wild statement of the case, either. He's a tall, loose jointed, slope shouldered young gent, with a long, narrow face, gen'rally ornamented by a cigarette; and he has his straw colored hair cut plush. His costume is neat but expensive,--double reefed trousers, wide soled shoes, and a green yodler's hat with the bow on behind. He talks with the kind of English accent they pick up at New Haven, and when he's in repose he tries to let on he's so bored with life that he's in danger of fallin' asleep any minute. Judgin' from Dyke's past performances, though, there wa'n't many somnolent hours in it. But in spite of all the trouble he'd got into, I couldn't figure him out as anything more'n playful. Course, rough housin' in rathskellers until they called out the reserves, and turnin' the fire hose on a vaudeville artist from a box, and runnin' wild with a captured trolley car wa'n't what you might call innocent boyishness; but, after all, there wa'n't anything real vicious about Dyke. Playful states it. Give him a high powered tourin' car, with a bunch of eight or nine from the football squad aboard, and he liked to tear around the State of Connecticut burnin' the midnight gasolene and lullin' the villagers to sleep with the Boula-Boula song. Perfectly harmless fun--if the highways was kept clear. All the frat crowd said he was a good fellow, and it was a shame to bar him out from takin' a degree just on account of his layin' down on a few exams. But that's what the faculty did, and the folks at home was wild. Dyke had been back and on the unclassified list for nearly a year now, and the prospects of his breakin' into the divinity school was growin' worse every day. He'd jollied Mr. Mallory into lettin' him have a little two-cylinder roadster, and his only real pleasure in life was when he could load a few old grads on the runnin' board and go off for a joy ride. But after the old man had spent the cost of a new machine in police court fines and repairs, even this little diversion was yanked away. The last broken axle had done the business, and the nearest Dyke could come to real enjoyment was when he had the price to charter a pink taxi and inspire the chauffeur with highballs enough so he'd throw her wide open on the way back. Not bein' responsible for Dyke, I didn't mind having him around. I kind of enjoyed the cheerful way he had of tellin' about the fam'ly boycott on him, and every time I thinks of Aunt Elvira still havin' him framed up for a comer in the Bishop class, I has to smile. You see, having gone so far with their fairy tales, the Mallorys never got a chance to hedge; and, accordin' to Dyke, they was all scared stiff for fear she'd dig up the facts some day, and make a new will leavin' her rentroll to the foreign missions society.