But it was the love scenes that aroused the greatest ardor and joy. The hero was given careful instructions. "Some neckin', Harold!"... "Kiss her! Kiss her! Ahhh!"... "Harold, Harold, you're getting rough!"... "She's vamping you, Harold!"... "Stop it; Gloria; he's a good boy." And so on until the picture ended in the usual close-up of the hero and heroine silhouetted in a tender embrace against the setting sun. The boys breathed "Ahhhh" and "Ooooh" ecstatically--and laughed. The meretricious melodrama did not fool them, but they delighted in its absurdities. The lights flashed on and the crowd filed out, "wise-cracking" about the picture and commenting favorably on the heroine's figure. There were shouts to this fellow or that fellow to come on over and play bridge, and suggestions here and there to go to a drug store and get a drink. Hugh and Carl strolled home over the dark campus, both of them radiant with excitement, Hugh frankly so. "Golly, I did enjoy that," he exclaimed. "I never had a better time. It was sure hot stuff. I don't want to go to the room; let's walk for a while." "Yeah, it was pretty good," Carl admitted. "Nope, I can't go walking; gotta write a letter." "Who to? The harem?" Carl hunched his shoulders until his ears touched his coat collar. "Gettin' cold. Fall's here. Nope, not the harem. My old lady." Hugh looked at him bewildered. He was finding Carl more and more a conundrum. He consistently called his mother his old lady, insisted that she was a damned nuisance--and wrote to her every night. Hugh was writing to his mother only twice a week. It was very confusing.... CHAPTER V Capwell Chapel--it bore the pork merchant's name as an eternal memorial to him--was as impressive inside as out. The stained-glass windows had been made by a famous New York firm; the altar had been designed by an even more famous sculptor. The walls, quite improperly, were adorned with paintings of former presidents, but the largest painting of all--it was fairly Gargantuan--was of the pork merchant, a large, ruddy gentleman, whom the artist, a keen observer, had painted truly--complacently porcine, benevolently smug. The seniors and juniors sat in the nave, the sophomores on the right side of the transept, the freshmen on the left. Hugh gazed upward in awe at the dim recesses of the vaulted ceiling, at the ornately carved choir where gowned students were quietly seating themselves, at the colored light streaming through the beautiful windows, at the picture of the pork merchant. The chapel bells ceased tolling; rich, solemn tones swelled from the organ.