"Have you heard anything about Regan?" said Stover, between puffs. "In what way?" "Have any of the sophomores been around to see him?" McCarthy exploded into laughter. "_Have_ they? Didn't you hear what happened?" "No. What?" "They spent half the night locating his diggings, and when they got them the old rhinoceros wouldn't receive them." "Why not?" "Hadn't time, he said, to be fooling with them." "The old chump!" "Lucky dog," said McCarthy, between his teeth. "I wish I had the nerve to do the same." "What the deuce?" "It makes me boil! I can't sit up and have a solemn bunch of fools look me over. I can't be natural." "It's give and take," said Dink, smiling. "You'll think yourself the lord of the universe next year." "I'm not so sure," said McCarthy, gloomily. "Rats!" "Oh, you--you've a cinch," said McCarthy. "They're not picking you to pieces and dissecting you. Half the crowd that come to see me have got some friends in the class they'd rather see in than me. I'm darned uncertain, and I know it." Stover, who believed the contrary, laughed at him. He rose and went out, determined to find Regan and make him understand conditions. His walk led him along the dark ways of College Street into the forgotten street where, under the roof of a bakery, Regan had found a breathing-hole for five dollars a month. For the first time a little feeling of jealousy went through Stover as he swung along. Why should he help build up the man who might snatch from him his ambition? Why the deuce had Le Baron mentioned Regan as a possible captain? No one else thought of such a thing. Compared to him, Regan was a novice in football knowledge and experience. Still, it was true that the man had a stalwart, unflinching way of moving on that impressed. There was a danger there with which he must reckon. He found Regan in carpet slippers and sweater, bending grimly over the next day's Greek as if it were a rock to be shattered with the weight of his back. "8-16-6-9-47," said Stover, in a hallo, giving the signal that had sent him through the center. Regan started up. "Hello, Dink, old bantam; glad to hear your voice." Stover entered, with a glance at the room. A cot, a bureau, a washstand reënforced by ropes, a pine table scorched and blistered, and a couple of chairs were the entire equipment. Half the gas globe was left and two-thirds of the yellow-green shade at the window. In the corner was the battle-scarred valise which had brought Regan's whole effects to college. "Boning out the Greek?" said Stover, placing a straight chair against the wall so that his feet could find the ledge of the window. "Wrestling with it." "Don't you use a trot?" said Stover in some surprise, perceiving the absence of the handy, literal short-cut to recitation. "Can't afford to." "Why not?" said Stover, wondering if Regan was a gospel shark, after all.