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 home of Jock Hamill's inamorata, a lady famed far and wide for her shapely legs and for the broadmindedness of her husband"

"Soft pedal!" warned Jock, grinning. "She'll hear you. They must be up—lights on in the living room"

Throughout his sophomore year he had been heckled unmercifully about Eunice Hathaway. She was a provocative brunette from Tennessee who had come to a fraternity houseparty some years before, married Bradley Hathaway on a dare the second day, and treated him rather dreadfully ever since. Their modest bungalow was less than two blocks from Jock's fraternity house, and he had acquired a habit of dropping in there at odd hours. Actually, he went to see Bradley, whom he admired, and to find seclusion from the bedlam created by thirty-seven "brothers" bent perpetually on merry-making. But he never attempted to explain this to anyone, realizing the futility of so doing, and it was therefore taken for granted that he was devoted to Eunice—an impression strengthened materially by the behavior of Eunice herself. She was one of those women who want it known that men find them charming. She flaunted Jock in people's faces. She looked at him languishingly in public; whispered close to his ear; discussed him when he was not present in an intimate "he-and-I" tone that said plainly, "There's something to this, and don't make any mistake about it." She had even talked herself into believing it, and she would have been as astounded as anyone, if not more astounded, had she known that Jock cared nothing whatever for her—that she made him, in fact, not a little weary.

"Lights is right!" Bill Olmstead was saying. "All ablaze in there, to guide the traveler to port. Aren't