"I don't care so much--there's a reason. Well, let's get into the mess." The four went together, over toward the junior fence, already swarming. "Ten minutes of five," said Hungerford, looking at the clock that each had seen. "Yes." Some one stopped Stover to wish him good luck. He looked down on a diminutive figure in large spectacles, trying to recall, who was saying to him: "I--I wanted to wish you the best." "Oh, it's Wookey," said Stover suddenly. He shook hands, rather troubled. "Well, boy, there's not much chance for me." "Oh, I hope so." "Thanks just the same." "Hello, Dink, old fellow." "Put her there." "You know what we all want?" He was in another group, patted on the back, his arm squeezed, listening to the welcome loyalty of those who knew him. "Lord, if they'd only have sense enough." He smiled and made his way towards his three friends, exchanging salutations. "Luck, Dink." "Same to you, Tommy Bain." "Here's wishing." "Back to you, Dopey." "You've got my vote." "Thanks." He joined his room-mates under the tree, looking over the heads to the windows of Durfee where he saw Jean Story with her father and mother. Presently, seeking everywhere, she saw him. Their eyes met, he lifted his cap, she nodded slightly. From that moment he knew she would see no one else. "Let's keep together," said Regan. "Lock arms." The four stood close together, arms gripped, resisting the press that crushed them together, speaking no more, hearing about them the curious babble of the underclassmen. "That's Regan." "Story'll go first." "Stand here." "This is the spot." "Lord, they look solemn enough." "Almost time." "Get your watch out." "Fifteen seconds more." "Five, four, three, two--" "_Boom!_" Above their heads the chapel bell broke over them with its five decisive strokes, swallowed up in the roar of the college. "_Yea!_" "Here he comes!" "First man for Bones!" "Reynolds!" From where he stood Stover could see nothing. Only the travelling roar of the crowd told of the coming seniors. Then there was a stir in the crowd near him, and Reynolds, in black derby, came directly for them; pushed them aside, and suddenly slapped some one behind. A roar went up again. "Who was it?" said Story quickly. "Hunter, Jim Hunter." The next moment Hunter, white as a sheet, bumped at his side and passed, followed by Reynolds; down the convulsive lane the crowd opened to him. Roar followed roar, and reports came thick. "Stone's gone Keys." "Three Wolf's-Head men in the crowd." "McNab gets Keys." "Hooray!" "Dopey's tapped!" "Bully." "Wiggins fourth man for Bones." Still no one came their way. Then all at once a Bones man, wandering in the crowd, came up behind Bob Story, caught him by the shoulders, swung him around to make sure, and gave him the slap. Regan's, Hungerford's, and Stover's voices rose above the uproar: "Bully, Bob!" "Good work!" "Hooray for you!"