14 THE ACORN but she stopped him and told him in a very simple and easy manner that she would go with him. His brain was clogged. He could not even think. He tried to say something but could not. At last he half mumbled and half stammered, "Th thank you." Then he stood there looking at his feet. "Where do you live?" he thought and raised his eyes, only to drop them again. He was about to ask her in the same four words, when a sentence, which he thought was, "better language" came to him. "Would you please give me your address?" and he was frightened at his own voice. "Certainly," she answered, and he was almost certain there was a mirthful quiver in her voice as she continued, "Corner of thirty-first and Wallace." Again he said, "Thank you," and was gone. That night Tom could not sleep. He was worrying. "Maybe the train will be late, and the show postponed," he thought. "What if someone gets tickets with the same number as mine?" He tried to imagine what he would do; how he would act. "I maybe sick." And in this way he tormented himself until he fell asleep. Friday was a delightful day, but to Tom it was a thing of naught. How the classes dragged! How many times did he look to see if he had those tickets! How many weary looks did he cast at the clock! How many questions did he miss in classes! How many times did he try to imagine in what kind of house she lived! Then he thought "What shall I say if someone besides Alice comes to the door?" and, "What shall I say if Alice herself comes to the door?" He tried to think of something. "Good evening Miss Mc Alier! hm hm-hm. I've come to take you. No, no, I couldn't say that, she'd start laughing; I've come I've arrived I've got here," but, "At last" came into his mind, but he threw that aside. "I'm ready, are you? No, not that, but what? I'll say the first thing that enters my head." At seven o'clock, there was a study in discouragement standing before the mirror. It was Thomas M. Macy, wrestling with his tie. He just found out that never be- it would not sit right THE ACORN fore in his career as a young man had he tied his tie correctly. It would not sit right. The more he tried to make it conform with good form, the more it was deformed. But at last he had to let it go for lack of time. He stopped at Brown's for a box of chocolates and then rapidly walked toward her home. But the nearer he came to Thirty-first and Wallace, the nearer his heart came to failing him. He persevered until he stood before the house; then he had another attack of "heart failure." He did not have the courage to open the front gate. There he stood looking first at the house, then up the street. Maybe you think his knees weren't knocking together as he started up the steps; he slipped and sat down with a violence which he knew shook the whole house. This multiplied his discomfiture, but no bones were broken so he rang the doorbell. It sounded so loud that he jumped with fright. Before the echo of the bell had died away he heard footsteps in the hall. At the same time he knew his heart was making more noise than a dozen footsteps over a board sidewalk. The door knob turned. He wanted to run. He knew his hat was dented in the wrong place and what was he to do with his hands. The door opened. 15 He started to say, "I've got here at last," but his voice failed him. Alice saved the day by saying, "Good evening, Thomas, come in and sit down, I'll be ready in just a minute." She kept her word. "To the right and upstairs," said a blank looking usher. To the right and up went Tom and Alice. Another sleepy looking usher glanced at the numbers. "There, twenty-one and twenty-two." Tom sat down, then looked cautiously about. There was not a person even looking his way, so he started to remove his overcoat. "Let me see your ticket," said another usher, then continued, "Down stairs, right side." "But" Tom remonstrated, "Anushergave us these seats." "Down stairs right side," repeated the grim usher. Down stairs and right went Tom and Alice. "Oh, here they are at last," said Tom, and pulling his overcoat off he threw it in the seat. With a sigh of relief he dropped into it, when tip again he sprang almost involuntarily. He had not sat on a pin or a tack, but on his box of candy. Moral: What's the use of worrying? W. H. shurtliff, '07.