There was, his father had bluntly indicated, no place for him at home; and suddenly he realized that his duties at college had been a tedious grind for inconsiderable return. This admission brought to him the realization that he detested the whole thing--the hours in class; the droning negligent recitations of the men; the professor of philosophy and letters' pedantic display; the cramped academic spirit of the institution. The vague resentment he had felt at the half-concealed disdain of his fellows gave place to a fiery contempt for their majority; the covert humility he had been forced to assume--by the thought of Hester and the few miserable dollars of an inferior position--turned to a bitter freedom of opinion. The hour for supper approached and passed, but Elim did not leave his room. He walked from wall to wall, by turns arrogant and lost in his new situation. Of one thing he was certain--he would give up his occupation here. It might do for some sniveling sycophant of learning and money, but he was going forth to--what? He heard footfalls in the bare hall below, and a sudden easy desire for companionship seized him; he drew on the sturdy Meikeljohn coat and descended the stairs to the lower floor. Harry Kaperton's door was open and Elim saw the other moving within. He advanced, leaning in the doorway. “Back early,” Elim remarked. “What's new at Parker's?” Kaperton was unsuccessful in hiding his surprise at the other's unexpected appearance and direct question. “Why--why, nothing when I left;” then more cordially: “Come in, find a chair. Bottle on the table--oh, I didn't think.” He offered an implied apology to Elim's scruples. But Elim advanced to the table, where, selecting a decanter at random, he poured out a considerable drink of pale spirits. Harry Kaperton looked at him in foolish surprise. “Had no idea you indulged!” he ejaculated. “Always took you to be a severe Puritan duck.” “Scotch,” Elim corrected him, “Presbyterian.” He tilted the glass and the spirits sank smoothly from sight. His throat burned as if he had swallowed a mouthful of flame, but there was a quality in the strong rum that accorded with his present mood: it was fiery like his released sense of life. Kaperton poured himself a drink, elevated it with a friendly word and joined Elim. “I'm going home,” the former proceeded. “You see, I live in Maryland, and the situation there is getting pretty warm. We want to get our women out of Baltimore, and our affairs conveniently shaped, before any possible trouble. I had a message this evening to come at once.”