They shook hands and Stover, overcome by the look of pain he had seen in the eyes of the patriots on their final surrender at ten dollars, said, with a patriotic remorse: "Poor devils! Think what they're fighting for! If I hadn't been so lavish to-day, I'd have given them the full price." "I feel sort of bad about it myself." About ten o'clock they rose by a common impulse and, seeking out the cigars with caressing fingers, indulged in another smoke. "Dink, this is certainly living," said McCarthy, reclining in that position which his favorite magazine artist ascribed to men of the world when indulging in extravagant desires. "Pretty high rolling, old geezer." "I like this better than the first one." "Of course with a well-seasoned rare old cigar you don't get all the beauty of it right at first." "By George, if those chocolate patriots would come around again I'd give 'em the four plunks." "I should feel like it," said Dink, who made a distinction. The next morning being Sunday, they lolled deliciously in bed, and rose with difficulty at ten. "Of course I don't believe in smoking before breakfast, as a general rule," said McCarthy in striped red and blue pajamas, "but I have such a fond feeling for Cuba." "I can hardly believe it's true," said Dink, emerging from the covers like an impressionistic dawn. "Smoke up." "How is it this morning?" "Wonderful." "Better and better." "I could dream away my life on it." "We ought to have bought more." "Too bad." After chapel, while pursuing their studies in comparative literature in the Sunday newspapers, they smoked again. "Well?" said Stover anxiously. "Well?" "Marvellous, isn't it?" "Exquisite." "Only ten cents apiece!" "It's the way to buy cigars." "Trouble is, Dink, old highroller, it's going to be an awful wrench getting down to earth again. We'll hate anything ordinary, anything cheap." "Yes, Tough, we are ruining our future happiness." "And how good one of the little beauties will taste after that brutalizing Sunday dinner." "I can hardly wait. By the way, I blew myself to a few glad rags," said Dink, bringing out his purchases, "I rather fancy them. How do they strike you?" McCarthy emitted a languishing whistle and then his eyes fell on the cause of all the trouble. "Keeroogalum! Where did you get the pea-soup?" The expression did not please. However, Stover had still in the matter of his sentimental inclinations a certain bashfulness. So he said dishonestly: "I had 'em throw it in for a lark." "Why, the cows would leave the farm." "Rats. Wait and see," said Dink, who seized the excuse to don the green shirt. When Stover's blond locks were seen struggling through the collar McCarthy exploded: "It looks like you were coming out of a tree. What the deuce has happened to you? Are you going out for class beauty? Holy cats! the socks, the socks!"