"Stuff, and nothing but stuff. Rig, when you get fired in June, your dear devoted will not turn her head to see which way you go to take the train. Not much!" said Magnus, relieving his feelings with a bit of slang, and then diving into his own problems for the next day. And Rig could get neither word nor look more that night. But whatever traditions may say, unlimited chocolate creams do not help a man with his tactics; nor does plum cake after taps provide him a clear head for next day's wave motion. "You could make better marks, Mr. McLean," said the Superintendent one day, meeting Rig. "Why don't you, sir?" And if Rig had been openly honest, he would have answered: "Love--and mince pie, sir." Magnus scolded his friend, fought him, jeered him; then tried other measures. The days were softening and lengthening, with grass and flowers on the jump. Visitors were arriving in numbers; and for Magnus had come, from away across the continent, a bunch of snowdrops in Cherry's last letter. Somehow his own great happiness made the young cadet anxious for his friend. "Look here, Trent," he said one day to another classmate, "can't you pitch in and spoon that Curry girl? Rig will be ruined." "Spoon her yourself." "Haven't time. One more will make no difference to you." "Thanks. Rig will put a bullet in my head, if he suspects." "Well, your brain always did need fresh air," said Magnus, "so that will fit. Why, to-day, in the section room, Hammer asked him the colour of old red sandstone,--and Rig answered: "'Blue, Lieutenant.'" "Ha! ha!" laughed Mr. Trent. "But isn't this rather a queer business to be talked up by our high and mighty magnate of the tender conscience? The man who keels over at the mere sight of a 'pony.'" "Pshaw! if it was some girls," said Magnus. "But it will make no difference to her either. You've both worn your hearts out--supposing you ever had any." "Thanks--awfully! And you think Miss Curry might be induced to hand over 'those fossil remains that she terms her affections' to me?" "To your temporary care. You wear chevrons," said Magnus. "And your affections are as fossilised as hers, allowing for the argument's sake that such things ever existed. Just stroll up on the other side, when Rig's around. She'll be delighted. And as neither of you could possibly fall in love with anybody, there'll be nobody hurt." "Except Rig." "Rig!" Magnus said impatiently. "Rig ought to be cut in little pieces and sewed up some other way." "Kin," said Mr. Trent, striking an easy attitude across the back of a chair, "you amuse me." "Well, clear out and amuse yourself," said Magnus. "I've got a previous with this old book. And if Catkins finds you here, you'll be skinned for all he is worth." Which warning Mr. Trent saw fit to heed. XLVI TRYING LETTERS Though there's always enough to bear, There is always something to do; We have never to seek for care, When we have the world to get through.