"It won't make any difference, Tough."
"Of course not." McCarthy gave a little laugh and said: "Don't say any more, Dink."
Stover took his place opposite, saying:
"I won't, only this. You take it better than I could do. I'm proud of you."
"You remember what the old man said to you fellows after that Princeton slaughter?" said Tough solemnly. "'Take your medicine.' Well, Dink, I'm going to swallow it without a wink, and I rather guess, from what I've seen, that's the biggest thing they have to teach us up here."
"It'll make no difference," said Dink obstinately.
"Of course not."
But each knew that for McCarthy, who would never be above the substitute class, the issue of the senior society was settled, once and for all.
The excitement of being initiated, the outward manifestation of Calcium Light Night and the spectacular parade of the cowled junior societies with their swelling marching songs, and the sudden arrival of Tap Day for a while drove from Stover all thoughts but his personal dreams.
On the fateful Thursday in May, shortly after half past four, he and Tough went over to the campus. By the fence the junior class, already swallowed up by the curious body of the college, were waiting the arrival of the senior elections which would begin on the stroke of five.