That programme was duly followed――even to the merciless waking of David――and Phillip only parted from his new friends when a clock in a nearby tower tolled nine. Then he walked through Boylston Street to his room feeling very happy, Maid, now a quiet and sedate old lady, following close at his heels. CHAPTER VI Phillip struggled into an old coat, performed Maid’s toilet――removed her collar and rubbed her neck――and took up a book. But study didn’t appeal to him, and presently he turned the volume face down in his lap, stretched his legs in front of him, clasped his hands back of his head and reviewed the evening. For the first time since he had reached Cambridge he felt that he really belonged there; that he was a part of the college. Yesterday he had been a separate atom circling around the outer rim of things, occasionally touching other atoms for a space, only to be borne off again. To-day he had suddenly been drawn into the vortex; had jostled and overlapped others of his kind, and had, in fact, become a particle in the coherent body. He was sensible of a certain elation that bordered on excitement; he wanted to tell some one about it. To that end he lighted a pipe, seated himself at the table, drew paper and ink to him and wrote steadily for an hour. The letter was inscribed, “Dear Little Mamma and Margey,” and in it he set forth all that had happened since his last writing on Friday. He told of the theatre party of the previous evening, of attending church that morning, and then of John North’s appearance on the scene and their walk. “I wish you could see North,” he wrote. “He’s a fine fellow every way. He’s over six feet high, I reckon, with very broad shoulders. I feel pretty small alongside him. But of course it isn’t his size that makes you like him so right away, though I reckon that has something to do with it, but the way he looks and what he says and the way he does things. I can’t explain just what I mean, although I know myself. He’s mighty good-looking; awfully manly and honest; that kind of handsome, you know. He has nice dark eyes that always seem as though they were smiling at you, and a straight nose and a square chin that makes you feel that you wouldn’t care to have him right angry at you. He has a funny, quiet way of talking, and you can’t help feeling that if you were in a fix he’s just the fellow you’d like to have come along. And of course he’s awfully smart, only he isn’t the sort of man that tries to make you know it. That’s where he’s different from Guy Bassett. He’s not as handsome as Bassett, but you like his looks better somehow.