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44 When the others had gone Hart seated himself on the edge of the narrow little bedstead. He leaned his head forward in his hands. Such a feeling of hopelessness came over him, such a great wave of self-pity and remorse (that he had ever been foolish enough to imagine that a man of his age could adapt himself to a college existence) overwhelmed him to the extent that he could hardly control the bitter curses that came to his lips.

All at once there was a knock on the door. Hart arose. There was a devilish expression in his face. It would have gone hard for any sophomore who would have dared to put his head inside that room.

"By the Lord, I'll kill 'em," said the Westerner, through his clenched teeth. "Who's there?" he called aloud.

"It's I, Franklin," was the answer. "Don't you remember? Omaha, you know."

Hart dropped the little poker which he had taken from the fireplace and opened the door.

"Come in," he said, with an effort to be polite.

Franklin noticed, however, that Hart's hand was shaking nervously as he turned up the