"Talks in his sleep, he talks in his sleep, poor old Pol!"

"Don't pay any attention to him," said Stover angrily. "He's a cheap wit. What are you doing at the door, Pee-wee?"

"I'm listening," said Norris, turning guiltily.

"You're afraid!"

"I'm not; only let's hurry it up."

Fatty Harris, watching the swirling yellow depths of the rabbit with evident anxiety, emptied a third of the beer into it and held out the bottle, saying:

"Here, sports, fill up the gla.s.ses with the good old liquor."

When the three gla.s.ses and two toothmugs had received their exact portion of the bitter stuff, which had been allowed to foam copiously in order to eke out, the five desperadoes solemnly touched gla.s.ses and Slops Barnett, who had visited in Princeton, led them in that whispered toast that is the acme of devilment:

"_Then stand by your gla.s.ses steady,_ _This world is a world full of lies._ _Then here's to the dead already dead,_ _And here's to the next man who dies!"_

It was terrific. Stover, quite moved, looked about the circle, thought that Pee-wee looked the nearest to the earthworm and repeated solemnly:

"To the next man who dies."

At this moment the Tennessee Shad was heard derisively intoning:

"_Ring around a rosie, Pocket full of posie.

Oats, peas, beans and barley grows.

Open the ring and take her in And kiss her when you get her in!_"

They paid no heed. They felt too acutely the solemnity of life and the fleeting hour of pleasure to be deterred by even the lathery aspect of their own faces, which emerged from the suds of the beer ready for the barber.

"Dish out the bunny," said Slops, putting down his mug with a reckless look.

Suddenly there came an impressive knock and the voice of Mr. Bundy saying:

"Open the door, Stover!"

In a thrice the revelry broke up, the telltale bottle and gla.s.ses were stowed under the window-seat, the visiting sporting gentlemen precipitately groveled to places of concealment, while Stover extinguished the lights and softly stole into bed.

"Open the door at once!"

"Who's there?" said d.i.n.k with a start.

"Open the door!"

All sleepy innocence d.i.n.k opened the door, rubbing his eyes at the sudden glow.

"Up after lights?" said Mr. Bundy, marching in.

"I, sir?" said d.i.n.k, astounded.

All at once Mr. Bundy perceived the chafing-dish and descended upon it. Stover's heart sank--if he tasted it they were lost; no power could save them. Mr. Bundy turned and surveyed the room; one by one the terrified roues were dragged forth and recognized, while the Tennessee Shad sat on the edge of his bed, reflectively sharpening his fingers on the pointed knee-caps.

Then, to the horror of all, Mr. Bundy, sniffing the chafing-dish, inserted a spoon and tasted it. Immediately he set the spoon down with a crash, gave a furious glance at Stover and departed, after ordering them to their rooms.

The dead game sports, white and shaky, went without stopping.

"They're a fine sample of vicious bounders, they are!" said the Tennessee Shad. "Bet that Slops Barnett is weeping to his pillow now!"

"I'm sorry I got you into this," said Stover gloomily.

"You've brought my gray hairs in sorrow to the grave!" said the Tennessee Shad solemnly.

"Don't jest," said d.i.n.k in a still voice. "It's all up with me, but I'll square you."

"Don't worry," said the Tennessee Shad, smiling. "I may not be a tin sport, but I keep my thinker going all the time."

"Why, what do you mean?"

"I mean you'll get twigged for a midnight spread, that's all."

"But the beer. Bundy tasted the beer."

"Taste it yourself," said the Tennessee Shad, with a wave of his hand.

Stover hurriedly dipped in a spoon, tasted it and uttered an execration.

"Murder, what did you put in it?"

"About half a bottle of horse liniment," said the Tennessee Shad, crawling back into bed. "Only, don't tell the others if you want to see how much dead game sportiness there is in them by to-morrow morning."

The affair made a great noise and, as Stover suppressed the transformation worked by the Tennessee Shad, Slops Barnett and his companions did not exactly show those qualities of Stoic resignation which might be expected from brazen characters with their view of life.

Meanwhile, the skies cleared and the earth hardened, and the air resounded with the cries of baseball candidates.

Much to his surprise, d.i.n.k found at the end of the strenuous day no impelling desire to plunge into fast life. Still the conviction remained for a long time that his soul had been surrendered, that not only was he destined for the gallows in this world, but that only the prayers of his mother might save him from being irrevocably d.a.m.ned in the next. It was a terrific thought, and yet it brought a certain pleasure. He was different from the rest. He was a man of the world.

He had known--LIFE!

The episode ended as episodes in the young days end--in a laugh.

"I say, d.i.n.k," said the Tennessee Shad one afternoon in April, as, gloriously reveling on the warm turf, they watched the 'Varsity nine.

"Say it."

"In your dead-game sporting days did you ever, by chance, paint your nicotine fingers with iodine?"

"How in blazes did you know?"

"Used to do it myself," said the Shad reminiscently. Then he added: "Thought yourself a lost soul?"