He went about it scientifically, and was surprised to find how much enthusiasm he had aroused in himself. He had never known before what a fine thing study was. He said he wished he had done more of it during his college course. He was surprised when he heard a few weeks later that Dougal Davis was in the field. Historical work he thought was still further out of Davis's line. But he only rolled over on the divan and went on reading. For he argued thus: "I like this stuff and I don't see how it can hurt me to learn a lot about something. If I don't fetch a fellowship I won't have to correct examination papers. I'd hate to correct examination papers." One day at the club he asked Dougal--he sat opposite--what he wanted with political science. Davis cleared his throat and said every preacher of modern times should know something of sociology, which was undoubtedly true. But that was not the reason. And somehow Linton guessed it. * * * * * It was twilight and the class had gathered together on the steps of Old North for their last senior singing. Only they were no longer seniors; it was "by and by" now, and they were out in the "wide, wide world." They huddled up close together as if half frightened at the thought of its being the last time. There were but few undergrads. stretched out under the elms to listen, and most of these were the juniors--seniors they were now--waiting to rapaciously take possession of the steps the moment the present occupants marched off for their last supper together at nightfall. These and a handful of the out-of-town visitors were all that were left of the big Commencement crowds that had been gathering there every evening to hear the seniors sing. Sometimes they had felt that they would have preferred being left a little more to themselves, if it were possible, during the last days of college life. But now this unmolested aloneness only added to their dreariness and made them feel the ghastly certainty of this evening's being the end of all. The grass was trampled and faded, and the crowd that had trodden it was gone. The bell in Old North belfry rang out painfully loud. "Well, fellows, let's sing," said the leader, rising slowly. He raised his chin and then bobbed his head and started up, "The Orange and the Black," just as they had all seen him do many times before.