"They gave up their rooms last Monday, not very long after you left," said the clerk. "A lady took your friend to her house." "Who was she?" asked Jimmy, with dark foreboding. "A Mrs. Payson." Perkins collapsed on his suit-case. Jimmy made for the desk and began to scan the directory. "What are you looking for?" "The P's. I'm going to haze that rattle-weeded Freshman and slay the doctor." When the two defeated joshers paused inside the Payson gate, a scene of touching domesticity met their gaze. Under a jasmine-covered corner of the piazza, nestling in the depths of a great easy chair, lay Freshman Van Dyke. Senorita Dolores, in the role of ministering angel, was bending unnecessarily close. Dr. Mead, as near his patient as was consistent with delicacy, was lounging in a hammock, and smoking a good cigar. It is a tradition in Los Angeles clubdom that John Payson imports his cigars direct. In the middle-distance, Mrs. Payson was approaching with a cup of nourishing beef-tea. Jimmy Mason, afraid to trust himself to the expression of his thoughts in the presence of ladies, was about to vanish gracefully, but Van Dyke caught sight of them. "Hello, fellows. Hear you had a frost in San Diego," cried he. "You must be very much better--able to be moved, I notice," with a look in Jimmy's eyes that pointed to future trouble. "Oh," said the Freshman, "almost recovered. I've had the very best of care--and a very satisfactory nurse," and for the last time, in this story, he gazed into those Andalusian eyes. "But not the nurse we engaged," said the aggrieved Perkins. "No," said Van, "this young lady was engaged only last evening." "S-sh," said Senora Payson, pointing to the open window, "Papa may hear you." POCAHONTAS, FRESHMAN. Pocahontas, Freshman. "But when they lookt round for the Ladye Pocahontas, she hadde gone to her Yorke woodes, weepyng they saye." ROWE'S LIFE OF POCAHONTAS. I. To begin with, the college never called her Pocahontas to her face, and no one would have found anything pat in the name until a long-remembered spring afternoon in her Freshman year. After that day, although her instructors still registered her as Hannah Grant Daly, she was generally known as "Pocahontas." Students with visitors would point her out in the Quad. "That's the girl they call Pocahontas." Then they would tell briefly her story. She knew through her room-mate that the college had nicknamed her, and she grieved over it. She did not know that John Smith himself never called her Pocahontas; she had never dared to look at him since the day they had named her.