"It is from your point of view, from the college point of view. It isn't what I write that's doing me any good." "What then?" said Stover, with growing curiosity. "The browsing around, watching you other fellows, seeing your mistakes." "Well, what are they?" said Dink, with a certain antagonism. "Why, Stover, here are four years such as we'll never get again--four years to revel in; and what do you fellows do? Slave as you'll never slave again. Why, you're working harder than a clerk supporting a family!" "It's a good training." "For a certain type, yes, but a rather low type. Thank you, I prefer to go my own way, to work out my own ideas rather than accept others'. However, I'm a crank. Any one who thinks differently here must be a crank." While they were talking the hour of twelve had struck, and presently across the campus came a mysterious line of senior society men, marching silently, two by two, returning to their rooms. "What do you think of that?" said Stover, with real curiosity. "That. A colossal mumbo-jumbo that has got every one of you in its grip." He paused a moment and gave a short laugh. "Did you ever stop to think, Stover, that this fetish of society secrecy that is spread all over this Christian, democratic nation is nothing but a return of idol-worship?" This idea was beyond Stover, and so, not comprehending it, he resented it. He did not reply. Brockhurst, perceiving that he had spoken too frankly, rose. "Well, I must be turning in," he said. "So long, Stover. You go your way and I'll go mine; some day we'll talk it over--four years out of college." "The fellow _is_ a crank," said Dink, going his way. "Got some ideas, but an extremist. One or two things he said, though, are true. I rather like to get his point of view, but there's a chap who'll never make friends." And he felt again a sort of resentment, for, after all, Brockhurst was still unplaced according to college standards, and he was Stover, probable captain, one of those rated sure for the highest society honors. When he awoke the next morning, starting rebelliously from his bed, his head was heavy, and he did not at first remember the emotions of the night, as sleepily struggling through his sweater he ran out of his entry for a hurried cup of coffee. Bob Story hailed him: "Hold up, you crazy man." "What's the matter?" "What the deuce got into you last night?" "Last night?" said Stover, rubbing his eyes. "You hauled me out of bed to shout out a lot of crazy nonsense." "What did I say?" said Dink, trying to open his eyes. "Nothing new," said Bob maliciously. "You said you were a plain damn fool, and were anxious for me to know it." "Oh, I remember." "Well?" "Well what?" "Explanations?" Stover did not feel in the mood; besides, the new ideas were too big and strange. He wanted time to understand them. So he said: "Why, Bob, I just woke up, that's all. I'll tell you about it sometime--not now."