Hugh's sympathy was all captured again. He knew that he _would_ die if he ever made a fool of himself in the class-room. "Gosh!" he exclaimed. "What did you say?" "Nothing. I couldn't think of anything. For a minute I thought that my head was going to bust. He quit razzing me and I tried to pay attention, but I couldn't; all I could do was think of home. Lord! I wish I was there!" He mopped at his eyes and paced up and down the room nervously. "Oh, you'll get over that," Hugh said comfortingly. "Pretty soon you'll get to know lots of fellows, and then you won't mind about home." "That's what I keep telling myself, but it don't work. I can't eat or sleep. I can't study. I can't do anything. I tell you I've got to go home. I've _got_ to!" This last with desperate emphasis. Hugh smiled. "You're all wrong," he asserted positively. "You're just lonely; that's all. I bet that you'll be crazy about college in a month--same as the rest of us. When you feel blue, come in and see Peters and me. We'll make you grin; Peters will, anyway. You can't be blue around him." Morse sat down. "You don't understand. I'm not lonely. It isn't that. I could talk to fellows all day long if I wanted to. I don't want to talk to 'em. I can't. There's just one person that I want to talk to, and that's my mother." He shot the word "mother" out defiantly and glared at Hugh, silently daring him to laugh, which Hugh had sense enough not to do, although he wanted to strongly. The great big baby, wanting his mother! Why, he wanted his mother, too, but he didn't cry about it. "That's all right," he said reassuringly; "you'll see her Christmas vacation, and that isn't very long off." "I want to see her now!" Morse jumped to his feet and raised his clenched hands above his head. "Now!" he roared. "Now! I've got to. I'm going home on the midnight." He whirled about to his desk and began to pull open the drawers, piling their contents on the top. "Here!" Hugh rushed to him and clutched his arms. "Don't do that." Morse struggled, angry at the restraining hands, ready to strike them off. Hugh had a flash of inspiration. "Think how disappointed your mother will be," he cried, hanging on to Morse's arms; "think of her." Morse ceased struggling. "She will be disappointed," he admitted miserably. "What can I do?" There was a world of despair in his question. Hugh pushed him into the desk-chair and seated himself on the edge of the desk. "I'll tell you," he said. He talked for half an hour, cheering Morse, assuring him that his homesickness would pass away, offering to study with him. At first Morse paid little attention, but finally he quit sniffing and looked up, real interest in his face. When Hugh got a weak smile out of him, he felt that his work had been done. He jumped off the desk, leaned over to slap Morse on the back, and told him that he was a good egg but a damn fool. Morse grinned. "You're a good egg yourself," he said gratefully. "You've saved my life."