blue dots and the red diamond check in the corner. Isn't that the same
suit you took down to the pawnbroker's last Wednesday night at fifteen
minutes past seven and asked him to loan you two dollars and a half on
it, and the pawnbroker wanted to know if the suit was your own?"

"My dear Tom!" and William Philander looked aghast. "You know well
enough I never took that suit to a pawnbroker."

"Well, maybe it was some other suit. Possibly the black one with the
blue stripes, or maybe it was the blue one with the black stripes.
Really, my dearest Philander, it is immaterial to me what suit it
was." And Tom looked coldly indifferent as he buttered another slice
of bread.

"But I tell you, I never went to any pawn-broker!" pleaded the dudish
student. "I would not be seen in any such horrid place!"

"Oh, pawnbrokers are not so bad," came from Spud Jackson, as he helped
himself to more potatoes. "I knew of one fellow down in New Haven who
used to loan thousands of dollars to the students at Yale. He was
considered a public benefactor. When he died they closed up the
college for three days and gave him a funeral over two miles long. And
after that, the students raised a fund of sixteen thousand dollars
with which to erect a monument to his memory. Now, that is absolutely
true, and if you don't believe it you can come to my room and I will
show you some dried rose leaves which came from one of the wreathes
used at the obsequies." And a general laugh went up over this
extravagant statement.

"The same old Spud!" cried Sam, as he gave the story-teller of the