It came to him that this would be a very pleasant mission, for his leisure hours during the rest of that winter.  All thought of any danger to himself through such intercourse as he was suggesting to his thoughts had departed from his mind.

Half a mile away Gila was pouring tea for two extremely ardent youths who scarcely occupied half of her mind.  With the other half she was planning a little note which should bring Courtland to her side early in the week.  She had no thoughts of God.  She was never troubled with much pondering.  She knew exactly what she wanted without thinking any further about it, and she meant to have it.

CHAPTER V

It was a great source of question with Courtland afterward, just why it should have been he that happened to carry that telegram over to the West Dormitory to Wittemore, instead of any one of a dozen other fellows who were in the office when it arrived and might just as well have gone.  Did anything in this world happen, he wondered?

He could not tell why he had held out his hand and offered to take the message.

It was not because he was not trying hard, and studying for all he was worth, that “Witless Abner,” as Wittemore had come to be called, had won his nickname.  He worked night and day, plunged in a maze of things he did not quite understand until long after the rest of the class had passed them.  He was majoring in sociology through the advice of a faddist uncle who had never seen him.  He had told Abner’s mother that sociology was the coming science, and Abner was faithfully carrying out the course of study he suggested.  He was floundering through hours of lectures on the theory of the subject, and conscientiously working in the college settlement to get the practical side of things.  He had the distressed look of a person with very short legs who is trying to keep up with a procession of six-footers, although there was nothing short about Abner.  His legs were long, and his body was long, his arms were long, too long for most of his sleeves.  His face was long, his nose and chin were painfully long, and were accompanied by a sensitive mouth that was always on the quiver with apprehension, like a rabbit’s, and little light eyes with whitish eyelashes.  His hair was like licked hay.  There was absolutely nothing attractive about Wittemore except his smile, and he so seldom smiled that few of the boys had ever seen it.  He had almost no friends.

He had apparently just entered his room when Courtland reached his door, and was stumbling about in a hurry to turn on the light.  He stopped with his lips aquiver and a dart of fear in his eyes when he saw the telegram.  Nobody but his mother would send him a telegram, and she would never waste the money for it unless there was something dreadful the matter.  He looked at it fearfully, holding it in his hand and glancing up again at Courtland half helplessly, as if he feared to open it.