Stover at Yale | Page 3

must win.
"I'll bet we get a lot of fruits," said Schley's rather calculating voice.
"Oh, some of them aren't half bad."
"Think so?"
"I say, what do you know about this society game --"
"Look out."
"What's matter?
"You chump, you never know who's around you." As he spoke, Schley
sent an uneasy glance back toward Stover, and, dropping his voice,
continued:
"You don't talk about such things."
"Well, I'm not shouting it out," said McNab, who looked at his more
sophisticated companion with a little growing antagonism. "What are
you scared about?"
"It's the class ahead of you that counts," said Schley hurriedly, "the
sophomore and senior societies; the junior fraternities don't count; if
you're in a sophomore you always go into them."
"Never heard of the sophomore societies," said McNab, in a

maliciously higher tone. "Elucidate somewhat."
"There are three: He Boule, Eta Phi, and Kappa Psi," said Schley, with
another uneasy, squirming glance back at Stover. "They're secret as the
deuce; seventeen men in each -- make one and you're in line for a
senior."
"How the deuce did you get on to all this?"
"Oh, I've been coached up."
Something in the nascent sophistication of Schley displeased Stover.
He ceased to listen, occupying himself with an interested examination
of the figures who passed from time to time in the aisle, in search of
returning friends. The type was clearly defined; alert, clean-cut,
self-confident, dressed on certain general divisions, affecting the same
style of correct hat and collar, with, as distinguishing features, a certain
boyish exuberance and a distinct nervous energy.
At this moment an abrupt resonant voice said at his side: "Got a bit of
room left beside you?"
Stover shifted his coat, saying.: "Certainly; come on in."
He saw a man of twenty-two or -three, with the head and shoulders of a
bison, sandy hair, with a clear, blue, steady glance, heavy hands, and a
face already set in the mold of stern purpose. He stood a moment.
Holding a decrepit handbag stuffed to the danger point, hesitating
whether to stow it in the rack above, and then said:
"Guess I won't risk it That's my trunk. I'll tuck it in here." He settled in
the vacant seat, saying:
"What are you an upper classman?"
Something like a spasm passed over the well-ironed shoulders of
Schley in front.
"No, I'm not," said Stover, and, extending his hand, he said: "I guess

we're classmates. My name's Stover."
"My name's Regan --Tom Regan. Glad to know you. I'm sorry you're
not an upper classman, though."
"Why so?" said Stover.
"I wanted to get a few pointers," said Regan, in a matter-of-fact way.
"I'm working my way through and I want to know the ropes."
"I wish I knew," said Stover, with instinctive liking for the blunt
elemental force beside him. "What are you going to try?"
"Anything -- waiting, to start in with." He gave him a quick glance.
"That's not your trouble, is it?"
"No."
"It's a glorious feeling, to be going up, I tell you," said Regan, with a
sudden lighting up of his rugged features. "Can hardly believe it. I've
been up against those infernal examinations six times, and I'd have
gone up against them six more but I'd down them."
"Where did you come from?"
"Pretty much everywhere. Des Moines, Iowa, at the last."
"It's a pretty fine college," said Stover, with a new thrill.
"It's a college where you stand on your own feet, all square to the
wind," said Regan, with conviction.
"That's what got me. It's worth everything to get here."
"You're right."
"I wonder if I could get hold of some upper classman," said Regan
uneasily.

That this natural desire should be the most unnatural in the world was
already clear to Stover; only, somehow, he did not like to look into
Regan's eyes and make him understand.
"How are you, Stover? Glad to see you."
Dink, looking up, beheld the erect figure and well-mannered carriage of
Le Baron, a sophomore, already a leader of his class, whom he had met
during the summer. In the clean-cut features and naturally modulated
voice there was a certain finely aristocratic quality that won rather than
provoked.
Stover was on his feet at once, a little embarrassed despite himself,
answering hurriedly the questions addressed to him.
"Get your room over in York Street? Good. You're in a good crowd.
You look a little heavier. In good shape? Your class will have to help
us out on the eleven this year."
Stover introduced Regan. Le Baron at once was sympathetic, gave
many hints, recommended certain people to see, and smilingly offered
his services.
"Come around any time; I'll put you in touch with several men that will
be of use to you. Get out for