But this did not satisfy him. He stood up and suddenly inspired sunk to his knees and hurriedly gathered together the sand into a mound capable of burying Miss Vivi's little body. Across it he laid the opened book. At its head he placed the box of chocolates as a headstone. Then below he wrote in the sand (symbol indeed of transient loves): SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF VIOLET BALOU SLAIN BY HER OWN HAND August 27th, 1896. Then as a masterly afterthought he added savagely: GONE AND NOW FORGOTTEN Mr. Skippy Bedelle then wriggled away through the sand dunes just as Miss Vivi Balou with malice aforethought came up the beach accompanied by Mr. Charles Brownrigger. CHAPTER XXXVIII THE PHILOSOPHICAL ATTITUDE IT happened on the day before school opened; at that moment when Skippy returning from his first sentimental summer had no other thought than to rest up from the fatigue of the vacation and devote his activities to the serious business of life. There were the freshman (a discouraging lot) to be properly educated, taught to punctuate their sentences with a humble "sir," "if you please" and "thank you;" there was a certain score to be settled with Al at the Jigger Shop and the basis of a new credit to be argued, there was the prize room on the third floor overlooking the campus to be re-decorated with the loot of the summer, and one crucial question to be decided forthwith: "Shall we start training now or gorge ourselves for just one more day?" "The Jiggers are peach, soft and creamy," said Snorky with a pensive look. "But we should set an example you know, old top, and all that sort of thing." "Keerect, we must." "I can see the crowd up at Conover's putting away the pancakes," said Snorky insidiously. "Be firm," said Skippy, returning to his trunk. "It isn't only the Jiggers," said Snorky, who sometimes practised virtue but without the slightest enthusiasm, "it's--it's those eclairs--never tasted anything like them, big, fat, luscious, oozing with cream--" "Shut up," said Skippy indignantly. "Where's your house spirit?" "Can't a fellow be human?" said Snorky in an aggrieved tone. "All right, all right--but put your mind on other things," said Skippy nervously. He disengaged an armful from the bottom of his trunk and spreading it on the window seat, contemplated the touch of many feminine hands with an expression that was as cynically blase as that of the traditional predatory bachelor. Whenever Skippy found a mood too elusive to be expressed in words, his lips instinctively resorted to boyhood's musical outlet. His eyes traveled appraisingly over sofa cushions, picture frames, knitted neckties and flags that represent those select institutions where young ladies are finished off. He began to whistle,