Very slowly the excitement of the game cleared from Squibs' brain. That night he could talk of nothing else, begging George for an opinion of each player and his probable value against Yale the following Saturday. George, to cover his confusion, generalized. "We'll beat Yale," he said, "as we ought to have beaten Harvard, because this team isn't afraid of colours and symbols. Most of these youngsters have been in the bigger game, so final football matches no longer appeal to them as matters of life and death and even of one's chances in the hereafter." Bailly looked slightly sheepish. "I'm afraid, George, I'm going to New Haven to look at a struggle of life and death, but then I was only in the Y. M. C. A. I'd feel many times better if you were sound and available." "You might speak to the dean about me," George laughed. By the next evening, however, the crowd had departed, and with Princeton's return to normal Squibs for the time overcame his anxieties. That night George and he sat in a corner of the lounge of the Nassau Club, waiting for Lambert and Wandel to drive in from the Alstons. George grew a trifle uncomfortable, because he suspected Squibs was staring at him with yesterday's curious scrutiny. Abruptly the tutor asked: "What did you say to Allen after the game?" "Offered him another job," George answered, shortly. Bailly frowned. "See here, George. What are you up to? Is that fair and decent? Allen is struggling--for the right." "Allen," George answered, "has put some of his views to the test, and the results have made him discouraged and uneasy. He's been tainted by the very men he's tried to help. I've no idea of debauching him. Quite the reverse. Please listen." And he entered upon a sort of penitence, speaking, while the tutor's wrinkled face flushed with pleasure, of his recent efforts to understand the industrial situation and its probable effects on society. "I have to acknowledge," he said, softly, "that pure material success has completely altered its meaning for me. I'd like to use my share of it, and what small brains I have, to help set things straight; but I'm not so sure this generation won't have too sticky feet to drag itself out of the swamp of its own making." Lambert and Wandel arrived just then, talking cheerfully about football. "What do you mean to do?" Bailly asked George as the others sat down. George smiled at Wandel. "I'm not sure, Driggs, that the hour hasn't struck for you." Wandel raised his hands. "You mean politics!" "I used to fancy," George said, "that I'd need you for my selfish interests. Now my idea is quite different." He turned to Squibs.