far from the principal topic, the business at hand. Distracting talk was never encouraged at a Pennsylvania Dutch table, and silences were not embarrassing. (Prattling children would be asked, "Did you come to eat or did you come to gabble?" and it was within the rules for a talky child to lose a piece of pie to a non-talking neighbor. "That'll teach you not to talk so much," the parents would say.) After dinner the men went to the judge's den for cigars. "When do you have to go back to Princeton?" said the judge. "On the 3:10." "Change at Reading, and then change at Philadelphia? What time does that get you there? Around supper, I guess?" "It'll be after supper." "Well, we better pack a box for you to eat on the train." "Oh, I'll be all right, thank you. I'll manage." "On a Sunday it won't be easy, but that's up to you. You won't get to see your folks this trip? All day Sunday on one train after another, it seems a shame." "It was worth it to me, sir." "Well, I hope so. We had our angry words, but now it's all over and done with." "But there's something I want to say, Judge." "Is it about that other subject? My son?" "Yes sir." "Then don't say it. I consider the matter closed and I don't wish to talk about it, now or ever again. I gave a promise." "Very well, sir." "Someday you'll have a son of your own - no, I won't say any more. You make Lalie happy and I'll be satisfied... Well, George, I think there's the team to take you to the depot. Yes, there's the barouche. Is your valise all packed? Oh, you didn't have one, of course. All day on the train." "Since seven o'clock this morning. Well, thank you, Judge." "No hard feelings on either side, George." "No sir." But back at Princeton, away from Lalie's pretty face and miserable tears, George Lockwood had his first doubts, and he found that curiously, perversely, they were centered on Bessie Fenstermacher. Until this too-eventful day he had regarded her as a round, meek woman who obeyed her husband and kept house for him, who was still obeyed by her children but would soon yield even that authority. But on this day, in a quarter of an hour, she had created another picture of herself; and as George Lockwood thought about it, he recalled that it was Bessie Fenstermacher who had made the decision to have an understanding instead of an engagement. And now he thought back upon the scene in the sitting-room, with Lalie in tears of disappointment. Tears of disappointment, indeed, but whose disappointment? It came to him now that Lalie had immediately looked at her mother and had kept looking at her, that her unhappiness was as much due to her mother's disappointment as her own. And then, he recalled vividly, the words Bessie Fenstermacher had spoken: "I was hoping that wouldn't come up. David understands, but I knew Judge wouldn't... Let me deal with Judge." The round, meek woman had anticipated possible trouble, had apparently discussed the club problem with David and was fully confident of her ability to deal with the judge. The round, meek little woman, who dominated her family's lives, and who so often reminded George Lockwood of Lalie. It was natural enough for a mother to remind you of her daughter, for a daughter to remind you of her mother. George Lockwood went for a walk, but he knew as he left the dormitory that he would be looking to see if Ned O'Byrne's light was on. He knew that he hoped O'Byrne's light would be on, and it was. O'Byrne, who roomed alone, was sitting in his easy chair, with his carpet-slippered feet propped up on a hassock. He was in a shabby wool bathrobe, smoking a calabash pipe. He held up a book. "I was just thinking about you." "What are you reading?" "It's Missionary Travels in South Africa, by David Livingstone. You remember, 'Dr. Livingstone, I presume' I presume?" "Why would that make you think of me, for the Lord's sake?" "Because I'm doing my homework, getting ready to go to Africa. And you've been spending the day in Lebanon, P-A, doing your homework. So you're back, eh? Sit down and tell me about it. There's a cigar in the top drawer there. I was saving it for after breakfast, but you smoke it. That way I'll have to smoke me pipe, which I'm trying to break in but with very little success." "I have a cigar, thanks, if you'll give me a match." "There's a match in the match-safe, to your right on the desk. What went wrong, man? Something did, I can tell." George Lockwood related the incidents of the day, but withheld the newly forming doubts. "Well," said Ned O'Byrne. "Is that all you have to say?" "Oh, no. 'Ay me! For aught that ever I could read/ could ver hear by tale or history,/ the course of true love never did run smooth;/ but, either it was different in blood,-/ or else misgraffed in respect of years,-/or else it stood upon the choice of friends,-/ or, if there were a sympathy in choice,/ war, death, or sickness did Jay siege to it,/ making it momentary as a sound,/ swift as a shadow, short as any dream,/ brief as the lightning in the collied night,-"' "All right." "Shut up. 'Lightning in the collied night,/ that, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,/ and ere a man hath power to say, 'Behold/ the jaws of darkness do devour it up:/ so quick bright things come to confusion.' I'm finished, but I gave you the whole damned thing instead of just the usual course-of-true-love." "Thank you very much, it was heart-rending." "The mother seems to exert a great deal of authority, George. I'd keep on the right side of her if I were you. She'll come in handy some day, and it's plain as day she's all for you. There's one person I'm glad I'm not tonight." "Who's that? The judge?" "The girl. Lalie." "Why?' "Oh - it's hard for me to say." "Haven't you got some quotation from Shakespeare that covers it?" "I'm sure there is one, but I'm not showing off now. I'm just thinking of a young girl that's had a pretty bad day, all in all. You'll want to hit me in the mouth for this, George, but I don't think you love her." "I don't want to hit you in the mouth." "Then for God's sake tell her - no, don't." "Tell her what?" "Is this freeze you had today, is it going to last? Maybe better give it a couple of days, but you haven't been talking like a man in love, and the fair, honest thing is to put an end to it before more harm is done. I wish you hadn't come here tonight, I swear to Christ I do. I nearly always take the woman's side, in spite of knowing that they damn well can take care of themselves. All right, then I'll take your side." "Don't take any side." "I'll take your side, if I like. My heart goes out to this girl, but they're wiser and smarter than we are in these things. So look at it from our point of view. Supposing you did break it off. If you don't love her, you're doing her a favor. If it turns out you do love her, which I doubt, you're the principal loser. Why aren't you arguing with me, protesting that you do love her? You know why, George. You can't make yourself lie to yourself." "I don't know what I think, or what I want to do." "Write her a letter tonight and sleep on it. Pour it all out and see how much of it you believe in the morning. You know we have one thing in the Catholic Church that I'd like to hold on to. Confession. I stopped going when I came here, but I think it helps a lot of poor souls to go on living. They pour it all out once a week or once a month, and they come out of the box feeling that they have a new start. Absolved, the man says, and for fifteen minutes it's a new world. Till you bump up against a pretty ass in the trolley car, but then your impure thoughts and desires are on a new slate, not the old one. Very comforting, and I miss it." "You're all a bunch of hypocrites." "I don't doubt it for a second, but the purest of angels for fifteen minutes or so. Not a worry in the world, not the slightest concern. Will you write the letter, George? You may learn something about yourself." "What?" "I don't know. It's you learning about you. You may find out that you love this girl much more deeply than you realized. I consider myself a very wise fellow, but it's my own belly-button that fascinates me the most. By the way, Chatsworth's in trouble. He was looking for you this afternoon, and I told him you were away for the day." "A woman?" "A girl in New Brunswick. He told her he was from Rutgers but her old man tracked him down to here. She's knocked up. They want a thousand dollars, and the most Chat could raise was around four hundred. He has till tomorrow night to raise the full amount." "Well, let's go over and see him. I can let him have the money." "I gave him two hundred, that was all I had. I'll win it back. Do you want to go over now?" "Sure." "He wants to get the money in secrecy. There were only a few he wanted to ask. You can write a cheque for six or seven hundred, and get it cashed?" "Yes. Or more, if necessary." "Well, then let's go over and see Chat. Is it cold out?" "It's gotten colder. You'll need a coat. How long has he been screwing this girl?" "Since last fall, he told me." "I can go to the bank in the morning. Is Chat taking the full responsibility? How does he know he's the one?" "We talked about that. He said the father honestly didn't want to make trouble. "The girl wasn't virtue itself. But she's knocked up and the father's a poor man and wants Chat to pay for the kid. He says he won't blackmail Chat." "That's what he says, but what's he doing?" "Well, he knows Chat's graduating in June and he may never see Chat again. Oh, Chat takes the blame. He doesn't deny anything. But there'll be hell to pay in Chicago, and if the faculty finds out, Chat's through here." "Yes. Well, get a wiggle on." "I'm ready." There was a light on in Chatsworth's room. They went up the two flights and knocked on his door, but there was no answer. "Fell asleep," said O'Byrne. He opened the door gently. "No one here." "Wait a minute," said George Lockwood. "The wardrobe." Both doors of the wardrobe were open, all the suits and coats that belonged in it were on chairs and on the cot. Ned O'Byrne and George Lockwood went in, and now they saw Anson Chatsworth. There was a noose of dirty clothesline about his neck and tied to the thick cross-bar of the wardrobe. He was wearing trousers and a shirt without a collar. "Mother of God," said O'Byrne. "Jesus," said George Lockwood. "How did he do it?" "Cut him down, George," said O'Byrne. He stood over the wastebasket and vomited. "I haven't got a knife. He's dead, isn't he?" "Yes, he's dead. That you can be sure of." O'Byrne wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. "We can't leave him like that." "Don't we have to? For the police?" "Ah, fuck the police. What a way to talk, in the presence of..." He did not finish the thought. "I want to untie him, but I can't." He suddenly was forced to vomit again. "George, I'll go for the police, if you can stand to be alone." "You go, and I'll wait in the hall." "You sure you don't mind? I'll do this again if I don't get some fresh air." "Go on, Ned. I'll stay out in the hall. You're sure he's dead?" "I know he is. I saw one once before." He departed, and George Lockwood stood in the hall to wait. Then quite slowly he began to cry, and he put his head on his arm and rested his arm against the wall and cried freely. "Hey, Lockwood? Are you drunk?" George Lockwood did not turn to face his questioner. "George? What's the matter?" the voice asked. George Lockwood shook his head, and the unknown student put his hand on his shoulder. "George? Can I help you? What is it, old fellow? Don't cry, George. Tell me what it is." "Chat," said George Lockwood. "What? Chat, did you say?" "He's dead. Don't go in," said George Lockwood. "Chatsworth is dead? You mean he's dead in there?" George Lockwood stopped crying. "Oh, hello, Bender. Have you seen O'Byrne?" "I saw him downstairs, he was in a hurry." "Yes. Chat hung himself. He's dead. We found him." "Chatsworth? I saw him after supper. He's dead? You mean he committed suicide?" "Yes. Don't go in, Benson. I mean Bender. I always get you mixed up with Benson, I'm sorry." "That's all right, George. Come on down to my room and wait there. Do you want me to get you a glass of water?" "No thanks. Yes! Will you get me a glass of water? Please? I didn't know I was thirsty. I would like a glass of water. You don't have any whiskey or anything like that, have you?" "No, I don't drink. At first I thought you were drunk, though." "I know." "I'll get you the water and maybe you'll feel better." "Thanks very much, Bender." Bender with his tumbler of water and O'Byrne with a constable arrived together. "Are you all right, George?" said O'Byrne. "We sent for a doctor, too, but I know it's no use." Students were now forming a group in the hall, some half dressed, some in nightshirts, some in bathrobes. They heard the constable say, "He's dead, all right. Where's the two boys that found him?" "He wants you, George. You and O'Byrne," said Bender. The constable was trying to control his own agitation. "You're both here at the college, ain't you? I seen you before. What's your names?" "O'Byrne." "Lockwood." "Lockwood and O'Burns? The senior class?" "Yes sir," said George Lockwood. "We're both seniors." "And this poor fellow's name you say is Chatworth?" "Chatsworth. Anson Chatsworth. He comes from Chicago, Illinois," said George Lockwood. "And the two of you come in and found him hanging here. What time was that about?" "Less than an hour ago," said George Lockwood. "Less than an hour ago," said the constable. He did not know what question to ask next. "Are you his roommates or no, there's only the one cot. You're friends of his?" "Yes sir," said O'Byrne. "Uh-huh. There was no sign of life when you seen him?" "They wouldn't have let him hang, you damned fool," said a voice in the growing crowd. "Who said that? I'll run you in," said the constable. "Can't we cut him down?" said O'Byrne. "Is there any reason why you should leave him like that?" Action was something the constable understood. "Yes, I guess it's all right to cut him down. You. O'Burns. Give me a hand." "Not me!" "You're the one wants him cut down," said the constable. "I don't want to touch him." "Make way, please." A voice with authority was heard. A middle-aged man-Professor Raymond Revercomb, of the English-teaching staff. "Go to your own rooms, fellows. Disperse. You're only in the way here," he said, but having said it made no further effort in that regard, and no one left. "O'Byrne. Lockwood. You discovered him?" "Yes sir." Revercomb entered the room. "Good God, let's get him down. In the name of decency, let's get him down. This is grotesque. Constable, can't you cut that rope?" "I was just getting ready to, but I need help with the corpse." "Well, I'll help. Lockwood, you stand on his left side and I'll stand on his right. Constable, you cut the rope, and Lockwood, you and I carry him to the cot. Good God. Good God." George Lockwood shivered upon