The bellows gave out. Overcome by the mournfulness of the last verse, he dropped wearily on the bank, continuing doggedly: About five miles from anywhere, my boys, Where old Lawrenceville evermore shall stand; For has she not stood, Since the time of the flood-- Whether the accuracy of the last statement or the forced rhyme displeased him, he broke off, heaved a sigh, and said viciously: "They lied, both of 'em." "Well, how's the boy?" said a familiar voice. Beauty came out of the vale of bitterness to perceive at his side the great form of Turkey Reiter, preparing to adjust his skates. "Oh, Turkey," said Beauty, clutching at the straw, "I've been looking everywhere----" "What's the matter?" "Turkey, I'm in an awful hole." "Out with it." "I say, Turkey," said Sawtelle, stumbling and blushing--"I say, you know, my sister's coming to the Prom, and I thought if you'd like--that is, I wanted to know if--if you wouldn't take her dance-card and get it filled for me." Then he added abjectly: "I'm awfully sorry." Turkey looked thoughtful. This was a commission he did not relish. Beauty looked particularly unattractive that afternoon, in a red tobogganing toque that swore at his faded white hair, and the orange freckles that stared out from every point of vantage. "Why, Beauty," he began hesitatingly, "the way it is, you see, my card's already filled, and I'm afraid, honestly, that's about the case with all the others." "She's an awfully nice girl," said Sawtelle, looking down in a desperate endeavour to control his voice. "Nice girl," thought Turkey, "ahem! Yes; must be a good-looker, too, something on Venus's particular line of beauty." He glanced at his companion, and mentally pictured a lanky girl, with sandy hair, a little upstart nose, and a mass of orange freckles. But between Turkey and Sawtelle relations had been peculiar. There had been many moments in the last year at the Dickinson when the ordinary luxuries of life would have been difficult had it not been for the superior financial standing of Chesterton V. Sawtelle. The account had been a long one, and there was a slight haziness in Turkey's mind as to the exact status of the balance. Also, Turkey was genuinely grateful, with that sense of gratitude which is described as a lively looking forward to favours to come. "Oh, well, young un," he said with rough good humour, "give us the card. I'll do what I can. But, mind you, I can't take any myself. My card's full, and it wouldn't do for me to cut dances." Jumping up, he started to escape the effusive thanks of the overjoyed Sawtelle, but suddenly wheeled and came skating back. "Hello, Beauty!" he called out, "I say, what's your sister's name?" "Sally--that is, Sarah," came the timid answer.