Several particular acquaintances of mine were talking on the steps as we passed out.

“Well, old Starr’s gone up.  Sudden, was n’t it?  He was a first-rate fellow.”

“Yes, queer about some things; but he had some mighty good streaks,” said another.  And so they ran on.

Streaks!  So that is the reputation one gets during twenty years of life in this world.  Streaks!

After the funeral I rode home with the family.  It was pleasanter than the ride down, though it seemed sad to my relations.  They did not mention me, however, and I may remark, that although I stayed about home for a week, I never heard my name mentioned by any of the family.  Arrived at home, the tea-kettle was put on and supper got ready.  This seemed to lift the gloom a little, and under the influence of the tea they brightened up and gradually got more cheerful.  They discussed the sermon and the singing, and the mistake of the sexton in digging the grave in the wrong place, and the large congregation.  From the mantel-piece I watched the group.  They had waffles for supper,—­of which I had been exceedingly fond, but now I saw them disappear without a sigh.

For the first day or two of my sojourn at home I was here and there at all the neighbors, and heard a good deal about my life and character, some of which was not very pleasant, but very wholesome, doubtless, for me to hear.  At the expiration of a week this amusement ceased to be such for I ceased to be talked of.  I realized the fact that I was dead and gone.

By an act of volition I found myself back at college.  I floated into my own room, which was empty.  I went to the room of my two warmest friends, whose friendship I was and am yet assured of.  As usual, half a dozen of our set were lounging there.  A game of whist was just commencing.  I perched on a bust of Dante on the top of the book-shelves, where I could see two of the hands and give a good guess at a third.  My particular friend Timmins was just shuffling the cards.

“Be hanged if it is n’t lonesome without old Starr.  Did you cut?  I should like to see him lounge in now with his pipe, and with feet on the mantel-piece proceed to expound on the duplex functions of the soul.”

“There—­misdeal,” said his vis-a-vis.  “Hope there’s been no misdeal for old Starr.”

“Spades, did you say?” the talk ran on, “never knew Starr was sickly.”

“No more was he; stouter than you are, and as brave and plucky as he was strong.  By George, fellows,—­how we do get cut down!  Last term little Stubbs, and now one of the best fellows in the class.”

“How suddenly he did pop off,—­one for game, honors easy,—­he was good for the Spouts’ Medal this year, too.”

“Remember the joke he played on Prof.  A., freshman year?” asked another.

“Remember he borrowed ten dollars of me about that time,” said Timmins’s partner, gathering the cards for a new deal.