dropping his voice; "talk of an angel!"

A youth of apparently nineteen years was approaching them. He was of
moderate height, rather slimly built, with dark eyes and hair, and
clean-cut features. He swung a note-book in one hand, and was evidently
in deep thought, for he failed to see the group on the steps, and would
have passed without speaking had not Cowan called to him. Housed from
his reverie, Fanwell Livingston glanced up, and, after nodding to Cowan
and Neil, turned in at the gate.

"I suppose you want congratulations," said Cowan. "Well, you can have
mine."

"And mine," added Neil. "And Gale here will extend his as soon as he's
properly introduced. Mr. Gale--Mr. Livingston."

"Victory--Defeat," added Cowan with a grin. The two candidates for the
freshman presidency shook hands, Paul without enthusiasm,
Livingston heartily.

"Congratulations, of course," murmured the former.

"Thank you," answered the president. "You're very generous. After all, I
dare say you've got the best of it, for you'll have the satisfaction of
knowing that if the fellows had chosen you you would have done much
better than I shall. However, I hope we'll be friends, Mr. Gale."
Livingston's smile was undeniably winning, and Paul was forced to
return it.

"You're very good," he answered quite affably. "I hope we will."