Thus Delilah: to which Samson replied that a modern college is by no means a blind alley; that from the presidential retreat he would keep a close eye upon the march of affairs, doubtless doing his share toward moulding public opinion through contributions to the _Post_ and the reviews; that, in fact, public life had long had an appeal for him, and that if at any time a cry arose in the land for him to come forward ... "For a public career," said Delilah, with a sigh, "I should think you had far rather be editor of the _Post_, for example, than head of this college." Samson made an engaging reply that had to do with Colonel Cowles. The talk ran off into other channels, but somehow Delilah's remark stuck in the young man's head. Soul is not all that flows at the Thursday German, and it has frequently been noticed that the dance becomes gayest after supper. But it becomes, too, sadly brief, and _Home Sweet Home_ falls all too soon upon the enthralled ear. Now began the movement toward that place, be it never so humble, like which there is none; and amid the throng gathered in the vestibule before the cloak-rooms, West again found himself face to face with Miss Weyland with whom he had stepped many a measure that evening. "I've been thinking about it lots, President West," said she; "it grows better all the time. Won't you please teach all your boys to be very good, and to work hard, and never to grow up to make trouble for the State Department of Charities." She had on a carriage-robe of light blue, collared and edged with white fur, and her arms were as full of red roses as arms could be. "But if I do that too well," said he, "what would become of you? Blaines College shall never blot out the Department of Charities. I nearly forgot a bit of news. Gloomy news. The _Post_ is going to fire your little Doctor." "Ah--_no!_" "It looks that way. The directors will take it up definitely in April. Colonel Cowles is going to recommend it. He says the Doc has more learning than society requires." "But don't you think his articles give a--a tone to the paper--and--?" "I do; a sombre, awful, majestic tone, if you like, but still one that ought to be worth something." Sharlee looked sad, and it was one of her best looks. "Ah, me! I don't know what will become of him if he is turned adrift. Could you, _could_ you do anything?" "I can, and will," said he agreeably. "I think the man's valuable, and you may count on it that I shall use my influence to have him kept." So the Star and the Planet again fought in their courses for Mr. Queed. West, gazing down at her, overcoat on arm, looked like a Planet who usually had his way. The Star, too, had strong inclinations in the same direction. For example, she had noted at supper the lily-of-the-valley in the Planet's buttonhole, and she had not been able to see any good reason for that.