them: they had turned it to a sporting event. "What about Heracleitos?"
Billy as catechist would put at Bertie. "Eternal flux," Bertie would
correctly snap back at Billy. Or, if he got it mixed up, and replied,
"Everything is water," which was the doctrine of another Greek, then
Billy would credit himself with twenty-five cents on a piece of paper.
Each ran a memorandum of this kind; and you can readily see how spirited
a character metaphysics would assume under such conditions.

"I'm going in," said Bertie, suddenly, as Billy was crediting himself
with a fifty-cent gain. "What's your score?"

"Two seventy-five, counting your break on Parmenides. It'II be cold."

"No, it won't. Well, I'm only a quarter behind you." And Bertie puffed
off his shoes. Soon he splashed into the stream where the bend made a
hole of some depth.

"Cold?" inquired Billy on the bank. Bertie closed his eyes dreamily.
"Delicious," said he, and sank luxuriously beneath the surface with slow
strokes.

Billy had his clothes off in a moment, and, taking the plunge, screamed
loudly "You liar!" he yelled, as he came up. And he made for Bertie.

Delight rendered Bertie weak and helpless; he was caught and ducked; and
after some vigorous wrestling both came out of the icy water.

"Now we've got no towels, you fool," said Billy.

"Use your notes," said Bertie, and he rolled in the grass. Then they