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 pocket. Then the freshmen hurried down the street and crossed the campus to attend Livy Wescott's Latin. If there was one thing that Hart was disturbed about in his mind, there was another upon which he had reached a satisfactory conclusion. It was that he had completely changed his mind about college, and that if he had only nothing to worry over, he could live from day to day as happy a man as ever breathed.

So the time went on. The first of November came. It was growing too chilly for lolling out on the grass without a dread of pneumonia, and the day of the first big game with Harvard was fast approaching. The usual big scores had been rolled up against the smaller colleges in the practice games without much effort, although there had been quite a tussle with Pennsylvania, where it was rumored they were catching on to the tricks of the trade—a renegade "Eli" had them in hand.

Of late Hart had not seen very much of Patrick Corse Heaphy, but the latter joined him on the way across the campus and falteringly asked him if he would not come over to his room. There was something he wished to