It was nearly half after six when Stacy heard his friend's big voice echo across the campus. As he pattered down the stairs in his stiff, new Bluchers, he could not help wishing that Stehman had come a little earlier. Not that he was hungry, but the campus would then have been more crowded, while Stehman called, "Hello, Ray Stace." As they passed under the lamp-post and Jack said "Hello" to somebody going in the other direction, Stacy remembered how that once he would not have believed that he should ever be walking as he was now with Stehman's big, strong arm upon his shoulder, the same arm that had brought down many a canvas jacket. But that was long ago. When they reached the club, Stehman kicked the mud from his big, heavy shoes on the porch steps, and Stacy did the same for his bright new little ones. The door flew open and the brightly lighted interior of the club was before them. Stacy caught a glimpse of an open fire and deep, comfortable places to lounge in beside it, and some etchings on the wall. He heard knives and forks and many voices, all going at once, and laughter and exclamations. He spied a waiter hurrying in with a tray full of dishes. A little nigger boy, with innumerable buttons on his jacket, began to help him off with his overcoat, and just then he heard one voice exclaim emphatically, "Doc., I say they can't do it," and he wondered what it was and who could not do it. Stehman said, "Come over here a moment--no, this way." "Oh, this way?" said Stacy. He was led to a large open book with names written on it. "Will you give us your distinguished signature?" said Stehman, dipping the pen in ink and handing it to him. "Where shall I write--oh, yes, of course." Stacy wondered how many people would read Horatio B. Stacy, introduced by John Carter Stehman. Though he had made up his mind to have confidence he felt a little flustered. Perhaps the voices of many diners and the sight of many rooms and various passage-ways and the negro buttons were a little too much for him. Besides his glasses were blurred at coming in from the cold and that always rattled him. Possibly his host noticed this, for he said, "Boo, I'm cold. Let's warm up before grubbing," and led him to the fire and pushed him into a chair big enough to hold two Horatio B. Stacys. He was perspiring now, but he held out his hand to the cheerful blaze as if to get all he could of it. He looked at the andirons and the crackling wood and glanced up at the etchings. He thought, "It must be very fine to have all this every day." "Well, do you feel as though you could eat something?" Stehman lifted him by the coat-collar. Stacy made answer, in a familiar tone, "I'm ready any time you are, Jack," and then to himself, "Keep cool now."