Mrs. Grahame shook her head, and declared that there was a pair of them, and she would have nothing to say on either side.
Finally, however, boy and girl settled down into an amicable and more or less coherent exchange of information. It appeared that the boys were doing well in college, enjoying the new life to the full, and keeping well in their classes.
"Of course we started in with about three times as much sail as we could carry. I had five courses, and Ferguson seven. But some of them were half ones, and after the first term we began to see where we were a bit,—and to perceive that Roger and Pater were right. We couldn't see it at first, of course, being such as we are."
"And such as boys have been since the beginning of colleges!" said Mrs. Grahame.
"Dear madam, how well you know! Well, Greek has been pretty stiff, but still we peg away, and like it no end. Then we both have Chem. 2,—that's great sport! I blew myself up—"
"Fact, I assure you! Pounding something in a mortar—nice little glass mortar, you know,—pounding away, having fine sport; suddenly I pounded a little too hard,—old Comprehensive told us we must not pound hard,—and away went the mortar, and away went I. My eyebrows are only just growing out; and you never noticed!" And the boy looked deeply injured.
"My dear boy! What a narrow escape! Oh, your mother must have had a fright!"
"Rather!" said Gerald. "Roger, you know, had that bad time ten years ago, and she thought I had done something of that sort, and would have to live on dark room and excruciating tortures for months. But I got my eyes shut all right, you see; so it only burned my hyacinthine locks a bit, and took off my eyebrows, and spoiled a good suit of clothes. But I learned something, and now I pound the way old Comp tells me to."
"What is the professor's name?" inquired Hildegarde.