"I will not think of it," George told himself. "I will think of nothing but this paper. I will pass it."
This ability to discipline his mind had increased steadily during his hours before Sylvia's portrait. The simple command "I will," was a necessity his brain met with a decreasing reluctance. For two hours now it excluded everything except his work. At the end of that time he signed his paper, sat back, and examined the anxious young men crowded about him in the long room. From these he must sooner or later detach the ones of value to himself. That first quick appraisal disclosed little; they were clothed too much to a pattern, wearing black jerseys, more often than not, black clothes, with black caps hanging from the supports of their chairs. In their faces, however, were visible differences that made him uneasy. Even from a uniform, then, men, to an extent, projected discrepancies of birth, or training, or habit. He sighed and turned in his paper.
At the foot of the stairs groups collected, discussing the ordeal pessimistically. As he started to walk through, several spoke to George.
Already he was well spotted. He paused and joined the apprehensive chatter.
"It's a toss-up with me," Rogers admitted. "Don't tell me any answers. If ignorance is bliss, I want to stay dumb."
"Have you met Dicky Goodhue? Hello, Goodhue!"
Goodhue gave the impression of not having met Rogers to any extent. He was a sturdy young man with handsome, finely formed features. George looked at him closely, because this young man alone of the Freshmen he had met remained unmoved by his fame.
"Would like you to meet Morton, Goodhue."
Goodhue glanced at George inquiringly, almost resentfully.
"George Morton," Rogers stumbled on, as if an apology were necessary. "Stringham, you know, and Green----"
"Glad to meet you," Goodhue said, indifferently.
"Thanks," George acknowledged as indifferently, and turned away.
Goodhue, it came upon him with a new appreciation of difficulties, was the proper sort. He watched him walk off with a well-dressed, weak-looking youth, threading a careless course among his classmates.
"How long have you known this fellow Goodhue?" George asked as he crossed the campus with Rogers.