who were in the office when it arrived and might just as well have gone.
Did anything in this world _happen_, he wondered?

He could not tell why he had held out his hand and offered to take the
message.

It was not because he was not trying hard, and studying for all he was
worth, that "Witless Abner," as Wittemore had come to be called, had won
his nickname. He worked night and day, plunged in a maze of things he
did not quite understand until long after the rest of the class had
passed them. He was majoring in sociology through the advice of a
faddist uncle who had never seen him. He had told Abner's mother that
sociology was the coming science, and Abner was faithfully carrying out
the course of study he suggested. He was floundering through hours of
lectures on the theory of the subject, and conscientiously working in
the college settlement to get the practical side of things. He had the
distressed look of a person with very short legs who is trying to keep
up with a procession of six-footers, although there was nothing short
about Abner. His legs were long, and his body was long, his arms were
long, too long for most of his sleeves. His face was long, his nose and
chin were painfully long, and were accompanied by a sensitive mouth
that was always on the quiver with apprehension, like a rabbit's, and
little light eyes with whitish eyelashes. His hair was like licked hay.
There was absolutely nothing attractive about Wittemore except his
smile, and he so seldom smiled that few of the boys had ever seen it. He
had almost no friends.

He had apparently just entered his room when Courtland reached his door,
and was stumbling about in a hurry to turn on the light. He stopped with
his lips aquiver and a dart of fear in his eyes when he saw the