One of the mild amusements of this spring for Magnus was watching Rig. For Mr. McLean had fallen in love. Not deeply, for that implies certain other depths--or hopelessly, for there was every likelihood that he would get out again all safe; but unmanageably. Unutterably, Rig called it, and Magnus unendurably. So the young man mooned over photographs, sported (in his room) an end of pink riband; tumbled his hair all he could, and went down in everything. "I say, Rig!" Magnus admonished him one night, "keep out of the 'immortals,' whatever else you do." "I cannot do much of anything," Rig answered mournfully. "Well, I'd try, if I died in the effort," said Magnus. "Bone chevrons; your charmer has a quick eye for them." "She has a quick eye for everything." "Wearing bell buttons." But Rig did not heed him. "Confess, Kin, you never saw such eyes." "Only about five hundred and forty times, when I used to go cat-fishing. Ever notice catfish eyes, Rig?" "They're so blue!" said Cadet McLean. "So deeply, darkly----" "If you don't shut up," Magnus shouted at him, "I'll try if I can't shake some sense into you. Quit sighing like a furnace. You nearly blew the gas out." "Of course I can't expect you to understand," said Rig. "You live only in books, far away from all this sort of thing." "I hope so, this sort," said Magnus. "You see, my heart is larger than my head," said Mr. McLean. "Always was." But now Magnus threw down his book, and pitched into his friend very literally; pounding him, hustling him, getting him into a real fisticuff fight to protect himself. "Feel better, don't you?" said Mr. Kindred, when the two faced each other, flushed and panting. "Balance of power restored?" "I don't know how I feel!" said McLean. "I've lost all my ideas." "Well, don't advertise them at any high figure," said Magnus. "Let 'em alone, And they will come home, With their little tails behind 'em. "Sit down and study, like a reasonable being. If I were a woman, I wouldn't _look_ at a man who couldn't hold his head up when my back was turned." "It is quite impossible for me to look at a book," said Rig. "Very good; sit still and sigh, and I'll write your explanation." "To whom? What about?" Rig sat up now and gazed at him. "To the Prof. To-morrow. As follows: "'Sir: I have the honour to state that I have fallen into a six-inch mud puddle, and cannot get out in time for recitation. So wave motion must wait.'" "Stuff!" McLean said rather angrily.