"Let me talk to you—er—remember what I said—if you need any—er—help."
"I've got all the money I want for a time, thank you; it isn't that," Hart answered. "It's another—strong reason.”
"Oh," said Heaphy awkwardly, "I didn't know—can I see you to-night, eh?"
"Yes, come in about ten o'clock. I'll be glad to see you. I may tell you something then, that I can't tell you now."
It was dark when the train stopped at the little station. With a rush and a cheer the crowd made for the campus. The freshmen's duty was to collect anything for a blaze, anything that would burn. The old cannon would glow red before the morning.
Hart did not join in the rush that was made for the door. He loitered behind and paid little or no attention to the many invitations addressed to him by his hoarse young classmates.
"You'll have to let me off. I've got to go into my room," he said quietly to Jimmie James, who had caught him by the sleeve. "But, good luck to you, Jimmie. Run along and chase your wood."
