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 talk about, Heaphy said, and he could not say it where they might be interrupted. Hart was not prepared for the surprise that followed. He had supposed that Heaphy, who belonged to a small coterie that exchanged note-books, wished to talk to him upon some such matters. But when he had reached the bare little room, the "young man with a purpose" had locked the door carefully. He appeared fidgety and nervous.

"Now don't mind what I am going to say," he began, first picking up one book and then another from the table under the drop-light, "but you're in trouble. There's something worriting you (Heaphy had inherited the word from his father). I've seen your face in recitation. Do you think playing football is interfering with your studies?"

Hart was shuffling uneasily.

"Not a bit," he said; "I wouldn't let either of them interfere with the other."

"Then," said Heaphy, with his face lighting up, "I know what it is. You see, you see,—it costs money to go to college, and sometimes it isn't aisy to get it."

Hart was now regarding him quietly and had