"Here! no quitting!" "Cowards!" "Come back!" "Shut up; it's the football crowd!" "Oh, football, eh?" "Right." "Splendid!" Stover with a serious face, shook hands with Troutman, a red-haired fellow with sharp advancing features who said impressively: "Mr. Stover, I wish to express for my friends the gratification, the extreme gratification, the extreme moral gratification we feel at seeing a football--a football candidate showing such moral courage--moral--it's wonderful--it moves me. Mr. Stover, I'd like to shake your hand." Dink laughed and escaped, seeing, in a last glance at the vaporous fitful room, Troutman solemnly giving his hand to Waters, whom he was congratulating on his extreme moral courage in remaining. Tommy Bain, in the confusion, slipped out unnoticed and joined them. The last swollen burst of the song was shut from them. They went back toward the campus in twos and threes, over the quiet, moist pavement, past the noisy windows of Mory's--where no freshmen need apply--to the Common, where suddenly, in the moonlit shadow of a great elm, they found a vociferous group with Tom Kelly and McNab in the midst. At this moment something fell from the skies within perilous distance. "What the deuce is that?" said Hungerford, jumping back. "Why, it's a pool-ball," said Stone, stooping down. Another fell, just missing Hunter's shoulders. "It's Kelly," said Bain, "and he's firing at us." With a rush they joined the group, to find Kelly, determined and enthusiastic, solemnly discharging his ammunition at the great bulbous moon that was set lumberingly above them. They joined the group that surrounded him, expostulating, sober or fuddled: "Don't be an ass, Tom." "The cops are coming." "I say, come on home." "How many more has he got?" "Get him home, you fellows." "Stop him." Meanwhile, abetted by the admiring, delighted McNab, Tom Kelly, taking the most solicitous aim, was continuing his serious efforts to hit the moon with the pool-balls which he had procured no one knew how. "I say, McNab," said Stover, drawing him aside, "better get him to stop now. Too many cops around. Use your influence--he'll listen to you." McNab's sense of responsibility having thus become violently agitated, he wabbled up to the laboring Kelly, and the following historic dialogue took place: "I say, Tom, old fellow, you know me, don't you? You know I'm a good sort, don't you--one of the finest?" "I know you, Dopey McNab; I'm proud to know you." "I want to speak a word with you seriously." "What?" "Seriously." "Say on." "Now, seriously, Tom, do you think you can hit it?" "Don't know; going to try's much as in me. Biff!" "Hold up," said McNab, staying his hand. "Tom, I'm going to appeal to you as man to man." "Appeal." "You understand--as man to man." "Sure." "You're a man; I'm a man." "The finest." "Now as man to man, I'm going to tell you the truth." "The whole truth?" "Solemn truth." "Tell on." "You can't hit it."