"I think we might as well go in," said Nancy without noticing Leofwin's jest, which appeared singularly hollow. "You're sure you don't want some one to start you off, Tom?" asked Bob. Tom was certain of it; and before entering his room, he waited until Nancy's party had disappeared around the corner. He then opened the door and, going over to a man who was ruminating vacantly upon a huge chunk of bread, sat down. "There's going to be some sort of lecture here, today, isn't there?" he asked. "I dunno," replied the man. "Yeah, there is," spoke up a hand nearby. "I seen it on a sign this morning. Some guy from the college." "That's what I thought," said Tom. "I thought I'd just come in and see what he had to say. Can't stay very long, though," he added, looking at his watch. Then after a pause, "Pretty nice place you got here." "Oh, it's good enough, I guess." The room was a large one, filled with three or four dozen tables bearing complicated-looking machinery. There were twenty or thirty men sitting around solemnly chewing their food. "Pretty slow now, isn't it?" asked Tom. "Yeah, they laid off about a hundred last week." "This laying-off stuff would have gone bigger a couple of years ago--in the army--wouldn't it?" "I'll say it would." "Have a cigarette?" said Tom. "What outfit were you in?" The prospect of free cigarettes and army talk, which already in less than three years had taken on a romantic glow, attracted the other men, who, as they finished their lunches, came up and joined the circle. Tom was holding forth in the centre; and when Bob Whitman glanced in on his way home he could see that Tom, by making his talk informal, was getting it across in great style. Once, during the conversation, Providence seemed to offer an opportunity of bringing in his lecture in such a way that no one would guess he was giving it. His conscience bothered him a little, and he plunged ahead. One of the men told how his bunkie at Base Six in Bordeaux had died of heart failure when under ether. In a somewhat parched voice Tom started to explain how this could come about, but in no time he was talking gibberish. "The aorta," he heard himself saying, "is the big main artery which comes out of one of the ventricles," and then he noticed the dazed look on the men's faces and, floundering hopelessly, managed to laugh it off. Well, he had tried to talk to them, anyway, and by consulting his watch he found that half an hour had gone by. After his third cigarette--he had come plentifully supplied--he looked at his watch again. He could go at last! It was ten minutes to one, and Nancy had probably finished long ago. "Apparently this guy isn't coming today. I've got to run along. Well, I've enjoyed this talk a lot," and with an inclusive smile and wave of the hand he went.