best men astonishingly. So many times they hit the ones who
come to be distinguished."

"But so many times they don't," the girl followed her words.
Her father and Brant were Bones men--why was the girl arguing
against senior societies? "So many, Mrs. Anderson. Uncle Ted's
friend, the President of Hardrington College, was in Yale in
the '80's and made no senior society; Judge Marston of the
Supreme Court dined with us the other night--he didn't make
anything; Dr. Hamlin, who is certainly one of the great physicians
of the country, wasn't taken. I know a lot more. And look at
some who've made things. Look at my cousin, Gus Vanderpool--he
made Keys twenty years ago and has never done a thing since.
And that fat Mr. Hough, who's so rich and dull--he's Bones."

"You've got statistics at your fingers' ends, haven't you?" said
Mrs. Anderson. "Anybody might think you had a brother among the
juniors who you weren't hopeful about." She looked at the girl
curiously. Then: "They must be about all there," she spoke,
leaning out. "A full fifty feet square of dear frightened laddies.
There's Brant, coming across the campus. He looks as if he was
going to make some one president. I suppose he feels so. There's
Johnny McLean. I hope he'll be taken--he's the nicest boy in the
whole junior class--but I'm afraid. He hasn't done anything
in particular."

With that, a thrill caught the most callous of the hundreds of
spectators; a stillness fixed the shifting crowd; from the tower
of Battell chapel, close by, the college bell clanged the stroke
of five; before it stopped striking the first two juniors