Some of the juniors talked during the president's address, and once he
noticed four of them doubled up as if overcome by laughter. To him the
service was a beautiful and impressive occasion. He could not understand
the conduct of the upper-classmen. It seemed, to put it mildly,
irreverent.

Every one, however, sang the doxology with great vigor, some of the boys
lifting up a "whisky" tenor that made the chapel ring, and to which Hugh
happily added his own clear tenor. The benediction was pronounced by the
chaplain, the seniors marched out slowly in twos, while the other
students and the faculty stood in their places; then the president,
followed by the faculty, passed out of the great doors. When the back of
the last faculty gown had disappeared, the under-classmen broke for the
door, pushing each other aside, swearing when a toe was stepped on,
yelling to each other, some of them joyously chanting the doxology. Hugh
was caught in the rush and carried along with the mob, feeling ashamed
and distressed; this was no way to leave a church.

Once outside, however, he had no time to think of the chapel service; he
had five minutes in which to get to his first class, and the building
was across the campus, a good two minutes' walk. He patted his cap to be
sure that it was firmly on the back of his head, clutched his note-book,
and ran as hard as he could go, the strolling upper-classmen, whom he
passed at top speed, grinning after him in tolerant amusement.

Hugh was the first one in the class-room and wondered in a moment of
panic if he was in the right place. He sat down dubiously and looked at
his watch. Four minutes left. He would wait two, and then if nobody came
he would--he gasped; he couldn't imagine what he would do. How could he
find the right class-room? Maybe his class didn't come at this hour at