“Had they been doing all that work?” asked Sam, innocently.
“Naw, they hadn’t studied ten minutes a week.”
“Then they lied.”
Mulcahy laughed aloud. “Of course they lied. Who wouldn’t to Rounder? Why, lying is the one thing you learn in his course.”
Archer pondered this statement in silence. Presently Mulcahy offered to help him with his French, and they employed themselves for a half-hour in looking up points on which Mr. Alsop was considered likely to test his class in the examination. After a time Mulcahy’s zeal slackened. He tilted back in his chair, smoked a couple of cigarettes, and talked of the coming election in the Laurel Leaf.
“Scholarship men do smoke, then?” asked Sam, as the conversation lagged. He knew well that it was a strict rule that holders of scholarships should not smoke.
“We’re not supposed to,” answered Mulcahy, easily, “but you can’t always do what you’re supposed to.”
“I should think they would smell it on your clothes.”
“I’m pretty careful. Besides, you can always lay it off on to some one you’ve been with. My reputation would save me from suspicion anyway. I could bluff my way out of it.”
“It doesn’t seem quite square—”