"You bet your life he did but it wasn't all nice and pretty. Pinwheels and whispering cheers in his ears and all that. You weren't close enough to see what happened when Jim came out with the sponge." "What did happen?" "He put his lunch, but that isn't pretty enough to get in your story." "That's not going to disable him for life." "I didn't say it would. He was just a sick pup and he would have liked to go off some place and lie down. But you can't. I'd die for dear old Harvard and all that. He had to get up and go on with it. If you don't you're a quitter and you haven't got any guts. I tell you I think it's damn rot. It's phoney like your story." "Maybe you'll have a chance to write a better one some day," said Peter. He had hard work to steady himself. He didn't believe Bullitt had been hurt any worse than he was at that moment. Pat didn't answer. "Wasn't there anything that gave you any kick all afternoon?" asked Peter after a pause. "Sure, just one thing. It was the Yale stands singing 'Die Wacht Am Rhein.' I know they've got terribly silly words, but there is something that has got guts. I think that's just about ten times as exciting as all the football games ever played. There was our crowd tooting away, 'Hit the line for Harvard, for Harvard wins today' and that big song with all those marching feet in it throbbing over across the field." "German feet," objected Peter. "Well, but they are feet and you can't take the beat and the sweep out of it. Maybe we did win the game but they did sing the heads off us." "Another moral victory for Yale," suggested Peter. CHAPTER VIII When Peter came into his office one afternoon a couple of weeks after the Yale game he found Pat sitting at his desk waiting for him. "I'm through," said Pat. "What's the matter?" "Well, as a matter of fact, they're through with me. They've fired me." Pat looked across the desk expectantly awaiting a question. Peter didn't ask it. "I'm sorry," was all he said. "You know about it. I suppose you must have the letter from the dean by now. It took me three days getting back from Cambridge." "I don't know anything about it. You can tell me if you want to." "Well, I got fired the worst way. It wasn't just flunking courses. I didn't even mean to do it. Not ahead of time anyway. It just sort of happened." Peter waited and then suddenly he remembered his interview with Miles years ago, the day he came to the office in bandages and was never offered a chance to tell about it. A question would be kinder. "What happened, Pat?" he asked. "The proctor reported me. I had a girl in my room. No, that's slicking it up and making it sound romantic and pretty. What I mean is I had a woman in my room. You know ... a woman." "I know," said Peter.