A loud clear voice beside him called "Hello, Charlie Symington." It was Tucker looking for him in the dusk, and he called him just as they called to college men. Symington was to meet the captain again later on. Tucker put his arm about Charlie's shoulders as they stepped along toward Reunion. Perhaps he did it unconsciously. "You can amuse yourself with these," said Tucker, tossing into Charlie's lap a copy of the _Bric-a-Brac_, which he had read long ago at school, and a lot of photographs. "And if you want a nap," he added "just read that." He threw across the room the last number of the _Nassau Lit_. That's a very old joke. Tucker then turned to his desk and got to work over something. Symington did not know what it was, and of course did not ask. But it was not fifteen minutes before "Hello-o, Tommy Tucker" came in a loud voice from the quad, below. Tucker frowned and did not look up. Then it came again, with a sharper accent on the second syllable, "Hell_oo_, Tommy Tucker." "Hello," Tucker replied, shortly. "Are you up there?" "No, I'm down at the 'varsity grounds running around the track." "You busy?" "Yes, Ted, I am. Don't come up." "All right." Then a whistled tune began, and the shuffling of a pair of feet along the walk. Gradually they faded and mingled with other whistling and feet scraping. While Symington was thinking this over he heard another voice calling for someone else, and when a muffled response came back, the clear, outside voice said, "Stick your head out!" He heard a window lowered and the inside voice say "Well?" "Stick it in again." The window slammed and the man below went on down to Dohm's, whistling softly to himself. Symington, the prep., thought that was very funny and laughed aloud, and hoped he did not disturb his host by so doing. Presently someone else yelled for Tucker, and when he replied, "Yes, of course, I'm busy," the man below called back, "Too bad," and the entry stairs began to clatter. In a moment a broad smile and a pair of clean duck trousers burst into the room. "Timberly," said Tucker, smiling in spite of himself, "I thought I told you not to come up here this evening." "I believe you did. That's so." Timberly was trying to look serious. Then brightening up at the sight of Symington as if remembering something. "But you see," he said, "I wanted to meet the pitcher." Tucker grinned and introduced them. Timberly shook Symington's hand vigorously and said, "Wasn't that a smooth song I sang on the steps--hey? I'm a good one, only none of 'em appreciate me. Oh, yes, I nearly forgot--I'm up here on business. I'm up here on business, Tommy Tucker," he repeated, and daintily kicked off Tucker's cap and disappeared into one of the bedrooms. Tucker kept on working. Symington wondered what Timberly was doing.