A term or two later I heard the story of the reconciliation. As the last of us left the house for Leave Out, O'Rane picked up his papers, flung them into his locker and crossed to Sinclair's end of Hall.
"May I speak to you a moment?" he asked.
"It's a free country," was the uncompromising answer.
"Well, I guess there's a certain amount of unfriendliness between us. Is there any use in keeping it up?"
Sinclair looked at him in some surprise, then returned to his writing.
O'Rane sat down on the table, and Sinclair ostentatiously gathered up his books and retired to a window-seat where there was only room for one. "I'm quite happy as I am," he said.
"See here," said O'Rane, without attempting to follow him, "it's going to be a bit awkward if we live three years in the same house without speaking."
"Don't worry about me," Sinclair answered, without looking up. "I shan't be here three years."
"Well, two, if you're so blamed particular."
"Or two either. They'll fire me out at the end of this term."