“No, I’m not at all sure; but I may win a Master’s. Paddy’s the only fellow here, I suppose, that’s certain of a scholarship.”
“Indade an’ I’m not certain at all at all,” said Paddy. “I’ve done well with Latin and fairly well with Greek, but, whisper, English has me floored. And old ‘Turkey’ has been putting the screws on me all term, bad scran to him. But,” continued Paddy, with beautiful modesty, “me deportment has been of the best.”
“Well, we’ll all know in a month; and there’s no good in worrying,” said Dave. “Somebody have some more of everything.”
“I can ate no more,” answered Paddy sorrowfully. “It’s out of practice I am altogether.”
“And I’ve had enough,” said Don.
“Same here,” echoed Greene. “I must be getting home. It’s ten o’clock, and I’m dog tired. Good night, fellows; and better luck next year, Paddy. Any one going my way?”
Wayne and Don arose, and the three said good night and picked their way out through the darkened hall and across the dimly lighted green toward their dormitories.
“By the way, Gordon,” said the ex-captain of the football team, breaking the silence, “that was well meant to-day, you know—your jumping on that St. Eustace fellow—and nobody blames you; but—well, it isn’t just the thing, you see—we don’t do it at Hillton. You—you see what I mean?”
“Yes,” answered Wayne gloomily. “I see what you mean, but I don’t understand— Never mind, though, I’ll remember next time.”
“Glad you take it that way,” said Greene. “It’s not my place to mention it to you, only—being a chum of Cunningham’s—and your first term here— Well, good night, fellows.”