for some reason.  I fancied it possible they might smell my breath, and that worried me.  I thought I would go off by myself, and so I wandered into a little room where I imagined I would be alone, but hanged if I didn’t run into the hostess and a stack of ladies.  Then, with my mind confused, I made a fool of myself.  ‘Er—­er—­excuse me,’ I stammered; ‘what room is this?’ ‘This is the anteroom, sir,’ replied the hostess.  ‘What’s the limit?’ says I, as I fumbled in my pocket.  Then I took a tumble to myself and chased out in a hurry.  I saw the girls staring after me as if they thought me crazy.  It was awful.”

“Oh, well, you mustn’t mind the loss of a few dollars,” said Andy Emery.  “A man can make a fortune in this country picking up chips—­if he puts them on the right card.”

“Put a little perfumery on that before you use it again, Emery,” grinned Tad Horner.  “It’s got whiskers.”

“I think Swallows all right, but he reminds me of a man I knew once on a time.  I haven’t seen Swallows when he had over twenty-five at a time since he’s been here, and still he says he dropped a hundred and ten in one game.”

“How about this man you knew?” asked Parker.

“He was a great fellow to stretch the long bow, and it became such a habit that he could not break it.  He seemed to prefer a falsehood to the truth, even when the truth would have served him better.  Well, he died and was buried.  One day I visited the cemetery and gazed on his tombstone.  On the top of the stone was his name and on the bottom were these words:  ‘I am not dead, but sleeping.’  Now that man was lying in his grave, for his habit—­”

Parker flung a slipper at Emery, who dodged it.  The slipper struck Tad Horner and knocked him off the back of the chair.

“That’s all right,” said Swallows, nodding at Emery, who was laughing.  “I’ll square that the first chance I get.”

“Do!  But when you get a roll, remember there are Others who are looking for you.”

“Drop this persiflage and come down to business,” said Browning, winking at the others and nodding toward Hartwick, who did not seem to be taking any interest in what was going on.  “Let’s talk about the races.”

“Yas, by Jawve!” drawled Willis Paulding, who tried to be “deucedly English” in everything.  “Let’s talk about the races, deah boys.  That’s what interests me, don’t yer know.”

Hartwick squirmed.  He knew what was coming, and still his disposition was such that he could not resist a “jolly” in case the jolliers expressed opinions that did not agree with his own.

Browning enjoyed seeing the gang get Hartwick on a string, and he was ever ready to aid anything of the kind along.  By nature the king of sophomores was a practical joker.  He had put up more jobs than any man who ever entered Yale.  That was what had given him his reputation.

“I understand the freshmen are rapidly coming to the front,” observed Hod Chadwick, with apparent seriousness.