BURNING THE MIDNIGHT OIL Final examinations were now impending, and the preparation for them engaged our earnest attention night and day. The pressure upon Ray Wendell was particularly severe; for, being a Senior, his examinations took place during the first week in June. Ray, moreover, was determined to obtain a high rank in his class, and one of the honorary orations to which such a rank would entitle him. These orations were allowed to the first ten men in the Senior class, and as they were delivered on Commencement Day in the town hall before all the college faculty, trustees, and assembled guests, they were coveted and striven for as positions of marked distinction. The valedictorian was selected by the faculty, and for the oration they chose the best speaker among the first six men in the class. It was this particular position that Ray desired; and in the estimation of his fellow students, his securing it depended solely upon him winning a place amongst the first six, for Ray was well known to be one of the best speakers in his class. The week after our return from Berkeley, therefore, was one of steady, arduous work for Ray; and with the exception of the regular hours of baseball practice and meal time, he was to be found in his room, bent over his text books and lecture notes. And late at night, as I would retire, I could see his windows over in Warburton Hall shining brightly long after the rest of the building was darkened. On one of these occasions I could not resist the temptation to run over for a few moments and break in on his loneliness; so, slipping on my coat, I crossed the quadrangle, and ascended to his room. “Hullo, Harry,” he said, opening the door for me. “What are you doing out of bed at this hour of the night?” “Well, to tell the truth, Ray, I came over here to ask you the very same question. I saw this one solitary light burning, and I was drawn to it like a bug on a summer night.” “Come in and sit down,” he answered heartily. “I was pegging away at mathematics, and you know how I hate it. I was just wishing that some one would stroll in and vary the monotony when I heard your step.” “How are you making out with your preparation?” I asked, sitting down on the sofa. “Very well. I am losing no time――at it every minute, and I think I will win my place. Mathematics is all that troubles me. You know they examine us on the past two years’ work, and I find myself dreadfully rusty in my Junior year studies.” “I pity you heartily,” I answered, “and I know how you feel, for I am looking forward already to my own examinations three weeks from now. Why, that looks like a trigonometry,” I added, pointing to the book that lay on the desk before him. “It is,” he answered. “I am brushing up my Junior year work, and, as I said, I find myself very rusty.”