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 slits, with face that was livid. Even her voice was not Eunice's voice—not syrup, but acid. "You can't come in, I'm busy now!" she called, and banged the window down again.

"Ouch!" said Jock aloud.

He went away very much puzzled. Eunice, snarling at him, like a tenement woman at a drunken husband! And looking like one! "What's got into her?" he wondered. "What"

On the Zeta Kappa steps he was accosted by Ken Kennedy. Ken extended his hand. "Jock, old kid, I've been waiting for you. I wanted to tell you how very blame sorry I am"

Jack merely stared at him.

Ken flushed miserably. That level gaze was disconcerting. "Darn it, why don't you knock me down? I wish you would. Honest, I'd feel a whole lot better."

"Forget it, Ken."

"No hard feelings?" Ken persisted, brightening.

"Nary a one."

"Believe me, that's white of you, Jock! If I were in your place, I'd"

"Forget it," said Jock again. Mechanically. All his answers had been mechanical. Why, this—these things meant

He made for the door, throwing back a cursory "See you later." Inside the house his progress was arrested again, thrice, by brethren who spoke feelingly, if incoherently, in like vein. He marched up the stairs in a tempest of warring emotions.

"Bones!"

"Sir?"

"Where's mother?"

"Out."