Also, most of the professors would whisper “good riddance” to themselves.  I camped at their gates too closely with questions.  I never accepted anything as granted.  The “good sports” among them welcomed this attitude of mine, especially the younger bunch of them—­who several times invited me to affairs of theirs, behind closed blinds, where good wine was poured, and we enjoyed fine times together....

I was invited on condition that I would not let the student-body know of these sub rosa fiestas.  Which were dignified and unblameworthy ... only, wine and beer went around till a human mellowness and conversational glow was reached.

* * * * *

A trifling incident renewed my resolve to continue as a student regularly enrolled....

Though considered a freak and nut, I was generally liked among the students, and liked most of them in turn....

They used frequently to say—­“’s too bad Johnnie Gregory won’t act like the rest of the world, he’s such a likeable chap....”

As the boys came back to school I went about renewing acquaintances.

The afternoon of the day of the “trifling incident” I was returning from a long visit to Jack Travers and the Sig-Kappas.

It was about ten o’clock when I reached the river-bank opposite my island.  There was a brilliant moon up.  If daylight could be silver-coloured it was day.

I stood naked on the water’s edge, ready to wade out for my swim back to my island.  My clothes were trussed securely, for dryness, on my head.

A rustling, a slight clearing of the throat, halted me.

I glanced through a vista of bushes.

There sat a girl in the full moonlight.  She had a light easel before her.  She was trying to paint, evidently, the effects of the moon on the landscape and the river.  Painters have since told me that it is impossible to do that.  It is too dark to see the colours.  Nevertheless the girl was trying.

I stopped statue-still to find if I had been seen.  When assured that I had not, I slowly squatted down, and, naked as I was, crept closer, hiding behind a screen of bushes.  And I fastened my eyes on her, and forgot who I was.  For the moon made her appear almost as plain as day.  And she was very beautiful.  And I was caught in a sudden trap of love again.

Here, I held no doubt, was my Ideal.  I could not distinguish the colour of her hair.  But she was maiden and slenderly wonderful.

I lay flat, hoping that she would not hear my breath as she calmly painted.  My heart beat so hard it seemed to shake the ground beneath me.

She, too, was original, what the world would call “eccentric” ... out here, three miles from town, with the hours verging toward midnight ... seated on the river bank, trying to capture the glory of the moon on canvas.

But, unusual as her action was, there was nothing mad about her mode of dressing ... her white middy blouse, edged with blue ... her flowing tie ... her dainty, blue serge skirt and dainty shoes.