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60 Mr. BoyleThoughtfully, half an hour later, DickBattle swung through wind and rainacross the campus and in among the bigbuildings. He considered several things,among them his mother, that typicalwoman of the South, made of charm, ofgentleness, of spirit. He could imagineher doing difficult things as Southernwomen of one more generation back didthem: defending house and children withfirearms, riding battle-fields with messages,putting through men's jobs on desertedplantations. But he could notimagine her voting. A vision rose of her,slender and young still, and a grande dameto her finger-tips" Vote—you, dear ? Never," Dick mutteredto himself as he turned into BrentHall, to the Record office.He took his place among the rest, alreadysilent and busy in the large room,and he tried to throw off a preoccupationof two personalities which met andclashed in his upset mind, his mother andthe girl. What would his mother, bornand bred in a country of strong prejudices,say when she knew that he had given hisheart to—a suffragist? Would she everbe reconciled? What would life be if hemust give up one of the two, his motheror ?He shook off the thought and turned tohis work. And with that, down the long,still corridor outside progressed a rhythmof shuffling feet; a flash of Mr. Boyle'slantern shot a gleam ahead in the darknessand the burr of his voice, like honeyand locusts, followed." ' Oi've seen th' wedclin' an' th' wake,Th' patron an' th' fair,'"sang Mr. Boyle, approaching with heavyweight dancing down the tiles, and theLaw Record board lifted heads and smiledin unison at the advent of their nightlyintermission. The mellow bass rose unhurriedly:" 'Oi've seen th' weddin' an' th' wake,Th' patron an' th' fair;Th' shtuff they take,Th' fun they make,Th' heads they breakDown there.Wid a loud halooAn' a whirlabalooAn' a thunderin' clear th' wayFer dear ol' Ireland, gay ol' Ireland,Ireland, byes, hooray.' "The last three lines were across thethreshold and the end was swamped inapplause mixed with the slamming of lawbooks."Good evenin', me distinguishedfri'nds," Mr. Boyle saluted the board asthe noise quieted. "An' how are theyoung shtatesmen this evenin'?" Mr.Boyle's greetings were not varied."First class, Mr. Boyle." HollowayByrd spoke for his team. "How areyou ? What sort of a night are you providingfor us to go out into when we getthrough?"Mr. Boyle shook his head. " 'Tis notwhat Oi'd wish for the loikes of yez," hegrieved. " 'Tis sich a noight as wud maketwo noights if noights was scarce," hestated. "But, there now, shure we can'tordher an' disordher th' firmamint as weplazes," and a shout of joy at two bonsmots in one breath encouraged him tofurther words. "An' how's th' law doin'the noight?" he inquired. "Are yezholdin' it down shtrong?""Otherwise. The law's got us by theneck this evening," the recent-decisionseditor contributed, and the board agreed."Shure 'tis a feerful shtudy th' law—'tis an exthry-ardin'ry shtudy," Mr.Boyle proffered with sympathy if notoriginality. "An' have yez rid all thimbooks this evenin'?" he inquired, gazingat perhaps thirty fat blond tomes litteringthe place. "An' now"—he picked upa calf volume, " Cook on Corporations"—"does this be th' law— 'Blanks andLate — Late — um-m — Ambi — ambibigar-rters,'"read Mr. Boyle sonorously."A dockymint—yis, sor-r. Thot's thrue.A dockymint. Oi've seen thim—dockymints!—maybe void f'r intrins-sickindefin-um-m-m—of ter-rms—ter-rums"—landing hard on an easy word—"or-r itmay be, though defineite, impossible—impossible, take notice, yez—t' enforceexthra-tin-sickly — eh ? — because therear-re no objects existing upon which itster-rms may operate? T—tt," grievedMr. Boyle.The boys waited, hoping for a comment."There, there," spoke Mr. Boyle soothinglyas if to quiet the bad temper of"Cook on Corporations." "'Tis a pity,onnyhow, 'tis fearful, th' law. An' to