Burgess honestly believed that old Bond Saxon's drunken speech hinted
at some disgrace the big freshman would not long be able to conceal,
and he resented the high place given to such a low grade of character.
To a man like himself it was galling to look upon such a fellow as a rival.
So, he tightened the rules and exacted the last mental farthing
of Vic in the classroom. And Vic, easily understanding all this,
because he was frankly and fool-ishly in love with the same girl whom
Vincent Burgess seemed to claim, contrived in a thousand ways to make life
a burden to the Harvard man. Of course, Burgess showed no mercy toward
Vic for absence from the classroom while he was caring for little Bug,
and the black marks multiplied against him.

Elinor Wream. had been ill after the night of the storm.
Vic had not seen her since the hour when he left her at
Lloyd Fenneben's door. He knew he was a fool to think of her at all.
He knew she must sometime be won by Burgess, and that she was
born to gentle culture which his hard life had never known.
Besides, he was poor. Not a pauper, but poor, and luxuries belonged
naturally to a girl like Elinor. The storm of the holiday was
a balmy zephyr compared to the storm that raged every day in him.
For with all the hopelessness of things, he was in love.
Poor fellow! The strength of his spirit was like the strength
of his body--unbreakable.

He had no fear of pneumonia after the stormy night, for he was used
to hard knocks. And he meant to go again by daylight and explore
the rocky glen and hidden ways, and to find out, if possible,
whose face it was that was behind that cavern wall, whose voice
had whispered in his ear, and what loot was hidden there.
For reasons of his own, he had mentioned this matter to nobody.