At first he revolted at the extremes. Then he considered. Even their life and their point of view was something unknown. It was true he was only a part of the machine of college, one of the wheels that had to revolve in its appointed groove. He had thought of himself always as one who led, and suddenly he perceived that it was he who followed. A step sounded by him, and the winking eye of a pipe. Some one unaware of his tenancy approached the steps. Stover, in a flare-up of the tobacco, recognized him. "Hello, Brockhurst," he said. "Hello," said the other, hesitating shyly. "It's Stover," said Dink. "What are you doing this time of night?" "Oh, I prowl around," said Brockhurst, shifting from one foot to the other. "Sit down." "Not disturbing you?" "Not at all," said Stover, pleased at this moment at the awe he evidently inspired. "I got sort of restless; thought I'd come out here and smoke a pipe. Amusing old spot." "I like it," said Brockhurst. Then he added tentatively: "You get the feeling of it all." "Yes, that's so." They puffed in unison a moment. "You're hitting up a good pace on that _Lit_ competition," said Dink, unconscious of the tone of patronage into which he insensibly fell. "Pretty good." "That's right. Keep plugging away." "Why?" said Brockhurst, with a little aggressiveness. "Why, you ought to make the chairmanship," said Dink, surprised. "Why should I?" "Don't you want to?" "There are other things I want more." "What?" "To go through here as my own master, and do myself some good." "Hello!" Stover sat up amazed at hearing from another the thoughts that had been dominant in his own mind; amazed, too, at the trick of association which had put into his own mouth thoughts against which a moment before he had been rebelling. "That's good horse sense," he said, to open up the conversation. "What are you going to do?" "I'm going to do the best thing a fellow can do at our age. I'm going to loaf." "Loaf!" said Dink, startled again, for the word was like treason. "Just that." "But you're not doing that. You're out to make the _Lit_. You're heeling something, like all the rest of us," said Stover, who suddenly found himself on the opposite side of the argument, revolting with a last resistance at the too bold statement of his own rebellion. "I'm not 'heeling' the _Lit_," said Brockhurst. His shyness disappeared; he spoke energetically, interested in what he was saying. "If I were, I would make the chairmanship without trouble. I'm head and shoulders over the rest here, and I know it. As it is, some persistent grubber who sits down two hours a day, thirty days a month, nine months of the year for the next two years, who will regularly hand in one essay, two stories, a poem, and a handful of portfolios will probably beat me out." "And you?" "I? I write when I have something to write, because I love it and because my ambition is to write." "Still, that's not exactly loafing."