He found himself studying the faces of the people in the car in a new light.  Were they all acquainted with sorrow?  Yes, there were more or less lines of hardship, or anxiety, or disappointment on all the older faces.  And the younger ones!  Did all their bright smiles and eagerness have to be frozen on their lips by grief some day?  When you came to think of it life was a terrible thing!  Take that girl now, Miss Brentwood—­Miss R.B.  Brentwood the address had been.  The name her brother had called her fitted better, “Bonnie.”  What would life mean to her now?

It occurred to him to wonder if there would be any such sorrow and emptiness of life for any one if he were gone.  The fellows would feel badly, of course.  There would be speeches and resolutions, a lot of black drapery, and all that sort of thing in college, but what did that amount to?  His father?  Oh yes, of course he would feel it some, but he had been separated from his father for years, except for brief visits in vacations.  His father had married a young wife and there were three young children.  No, his father would not miss him much!

He swung off the car in front of the university and entered the dormitory at last, too engrossed in his strange new thoughts to remember that he had had no supper.

“Hello, Court!  Where the deuce have you been?  We’ve looked everywhere for you.  You didn’t come to the dining-hall!  What’s wrong with you?  Come in here!”

It was Tennelly who hauled him into Bill Ward’s room and thumped him into a big leather study-chair.

“Why, man, you’re all in!  Give an account of yourself!” he said, tossing his hat over to Bill Ward, and pulling away at his mackinaw.

“P’raps he’s in love!” suggested Pat from the couch where he was puffing away at his pipe.

“P’raps he’s flunked his Greek exam.,” suggested Bill Ward, with a grin.

“He looks as if he’d seen a ghost!” said Tennelly, eying him critically.

“Cut it out, boys,” said Courtland, with a weary smile.  “I’ve seen enough.  Wittemore’s called home.  His mother’s dying.  I went an errand for him down in some of his slums and on the way back I just saw a little kid get killed.  Pretty little kid, too, with long curls!”

“Good night nurse!” said Pat from his couch.  “Say, that is going some!”

“Ferget it!” ejaculated Bill Ward, coming to his feet.  “Had your supper yet, Court?”

Courtland shook his head.

“Well, just you sit still there while I run down to the pie-shop and see what I can get.”

Bill seized his cap and mackinaw and went roaring off down the hall.  Courtland’s eyes were closed.  He hadn’t felt so tired since he left the hospital.  His mind was still grappling with the questions that his last two hours had flung at him to be answered.

Pat sat up and put away his pipe.  He made silent motions to Tennelly, and the two picked up the unresisting Courtland and laid him on the couch.  Pat’s face was unusually sober as he gently put a pillow under his friend’s head.  Courtland opened his eyes and smiled.