He never could tell when some of these fellows were in earnest, and Dougal Davis was something awful to him anyway because he stood higher in the class than Stacy himself, and yet had time to be mixed up with half a dozen outside interests of college life and did a comfortable amount of loafing besides. "I suppose you have it all down fine, Stace?" asked Timberly, agreeably, "and will pound out a first group as usual." "Naw," boldly replied Stacy, "I've barely looked at it. Don't intend to bother with it." That was the way to talk. But it was all wasted, for just then Lamason came in with a suit-case in his hand and his town clothes on, and everybody was crying "Yea-a" in loud, shrill tones, and some one began singing "Oh, to-day is the day that he comes from the city," and all joined in, even little Stacy, though he did not know the words and blushed and closed his mouth again when any one looked in his direction. Meanwhile Lamason, without smiling, or seeming to be aware of the noise, said, "Bring me some dinner, Henry, please," and taking a _Princetonian_ from his pocket began to read an editorial on the lack of lamp-posts on the south campus, and paid no more attention to the remarks about his good-looking clothes than to Timberly, who was painstakingly mussing up his nicely brushed hair. It impressed Stacy. Except that they no longer considered it funny to throw things or to be profane without necessity, the fellows seemed to be as free and jolly as in under-classmen days. He had supposed that there would be some dignity about a great fine elective club with white curtains at the window and a board of governors. While beginning upon his roast beef the waiter placed a small, narrow glass by his plate. He heard the "pop" of a drawn cork behind him. He had understood that the club constitution forbade alcoholic beverages. The waiter was filling his glass. He heard something hiss and sizzle, but he did not like to look because it would be so obvious. This would be a good opportunity to show these fellows that he was not such a shark as they supposed. Still, after keeping out of temptation so many years, he did not like the idea of running the risk of becoming a drunkard now. But, perhaps, it would not be wrong to taste a little of it. "Are you fond of Apollinaris, Ray?" asked Stehman, emptying his glass at a gulp. "I'm a disgusting guzzler of it." "Oh, yes, I'm--I like it very much," said Stacy. Stehman asked him to have another piece of roast just to keep him company, and without giving time for answer, Stacy heard him say, "Two second, Henry--rare." Jack made him drink another bottle of Apollinaris, too, though it pricked his tongue, and he said he did not want it, and he felt that he was imposing upon his friend when he saw him write out another voucher for the amount.