REDDY ARMSTRONG'S REFORMATION
"What did you drink at your cousin's club?"
"Cork up! I propose to make myself something better than a clown to be funny for people. I might just as well tell you right now"—Reddy's voice became solemn—"I have quit the game!"
There was a pause. Red spread himself out upon the rug and supported his head with an elbow. He unconsciously watched Runt doubling up his toes, and trying to gather goat's hair in them. A cinder fell in the ash-pan.
"How long do you think it will last, Red?"
"Shut up! Don't say that to me. Did I ever talk this way before? This is no 'What a difference in the morning' sour. I'm in dead, dead earnest—for once in my life anyway." His voice sounded so. Runt had never heard it shake that way since early in the term, when a big Freshman had an impudent notion not to take off his hat to such a short Sophomore. "And," he went on vigorously, "it makes very little difference to me whether you believe I mean
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