Side by side the three walked through to Nassau Street and past the campus. George said nothing, drinking in the scarcely comprehensible talk of the others about team prospects and the appalling number of powerful and nimble young men who would graduate the following June. Near University Place he noticed Rogers loafing in front of a restaurant with several other youths who wore black caps. He wondered why Rogers started and stared at him, then turned, speaking quickly to the others. Green went down University Place. George paced on with Bailly. In front of the Nassau Club the tutor paused. "I'm going in here," he said, "but you can come to my house at eight-thirty. We'll work until ten-thirty. We'll do that every night until your brain wrinkles a trifle. You may not have been taught that twenty-four hours are allotted to each day. Eight for sleep. Two with me. Two for meals. Two at the field. Two for a run in the country. That leaves eight for study, and you'll need every minute of them. I'll give you your schedule to-night. If you break it once I'll drop you, for you've got to have a brain beyond the ordinary to make it wrinkle enough." "Thanks, Mr. Bailly. If you don't mind, what will it cost?" Bailly considered. "I'll have to charge you," he said at last, "twenty-five dollars, but I can lend you most of the books." George understood, but his pride was not hurt. "I'll pay you in other ways." Bailly looked at him, his emaciated face smiling all over. "I think you will," he said with a little nod. "All right. At eight-thirty." He limped along the narrow cement walk and entered the club. George started back. The group, he noticed, still loitered in front of the restaurant. Rogers detached himself and strolled across. He was no longer suspicious. "You been down at the field with Mr. Green?" "Yes." "What for?" "Running a little, kicking a football around." "Trust Bailly to guess you played. What did Green say?" "If I get in," George, answered simply, "I think he'll give me a show." "I guess so," Rogers said, thoughtfully, "or he wouldn't be wasting his time on you now. Come on over and meet these would-be Freshmen. We'll all be in the same class unless we get brain-fever. Mostly Lawrenceville." George crossed and submitted to elaborate introductions and warm greetings. "Green's grooming him already for the Freshman eleven," Rogers explained. George accepted the open admiration cautiously, not forgetting what he had been yesterday, what Sylvia had said. Why was Rogers so friendly all at once? "What prep?" "Where'd you play?" "Line or backfield?" The rapidity of the questions lessened his discomfort. How was he to avoid such moments? He must make his future exceptionally full so that it might submerge the past of which he couldn't speak without embarrassment. In this instance Rogers helped him out. "Morton's bummed around. Never went to any school for long."