That evening, being alone, he stood again contemplating the evidence of Snorky Green's predatory progress among the ladies. He examined the four photographs carefully. "They can't all be sisters," he said gloomily; besides, he knew that his roommate, more fortunate than he, had to bear but one such cross. "Danged if I can see what gets them. If that fellow's a lady charmer, I'll hire out for a matinee idol!" On the pin cushion was a pin in the shape of an arrow (an arrow of course suggested a transpierced heart), which Snorky wore for important ceremonies, when he donned a perpendicular collar and a white coaching tie. On the wall was a Farmington banner and on the sofa five pillows worked by loving feminine hands. "Sisters never go to that trouble," said Skippy, secure in his knowledge of sister nature. "By the great horned spoon this can't go on. I've either got to lick the stuffin's out of him or--" Without finishing his phrase, he went to the table, drew forth Caesar's "Gallic Wars," and a copy of "Lorna Doone" and immediately began to concentrate. A moment later Snorky Green arrived chuckling from a foray down the hall where he had just deposited a moth ball in the lamp chimney of Beckstein, the Midnight Poler. He came in rollicking and triumphant, slamming and locking the door against a sudden reprisal. Then, seeing Skippy, he stiffened, scowled, and assumed an air of frigid dignity. Skippy, with his eye on a convenient mirror, followed his movements expectantly. Snorky, having glared sufficiently at the unresponsive back of his roommate, planted himself in front of him and said angrily: "Say, what in tarnation is biting you, anyhow?" Part of the pleasure which Skippy derived from his periodic application of ostracism was in the immediate success it achieved on his roommate's impressionable temperament. At present, being in an exceedingly grouchy mood, he drew forth a pad and pencil and tendered them with a plain intimation that only thus would he receive any communications. "What are you sore about?" said Snorky, flaring up at once. "Just because I took a crack at your old Souvenir Toothbrush? Is that it?" Skippy drew forth a handy literal translation and ostensibly began to apply it to the baffling text. "My lord, you act like a sick girl! You're a pleasant roommate, you are! How long are you going to sulk like this?" Skippy began to whistle softly to himself: "You can't play in my backyard; I don't love you any more." Whereupon Snorky, having slammed a book on the table, advanced with doubled fists, exclaiming: "You stop that, do you hear! You stop that or--or--I'll--" Skippy, whose calm was delightfully reinforced by this show of temper, again, but without looking up, indicated the pad and pencil. "I can lick you!" said Snorky hoarsely.