a sense of purpose, such a feeling of doing something.”
“It must,” I answered.
“Oh, goodness,” she exclaimed, “there’s the lunch bell. I must skip and get ready.”
She was just vanishing from my side when the Burly Male Student, who was also staying in the hotel, came puffing up after his five-mile run. He was getting himself into trim for enlistment, so he told me. He noted the retreating form of the college girl as he sat down.
“I’ve just been talking to her,” I said, “about her college work. She seems to be studying a queer lot of stuff—Social Endeavour and all that!”
“Awful piffle,” said the young man. “But the girls naturally run to all that sort of rot, you know.”
“Now, your work,” I went on, “is no doubt very different. I mean what you were taking before the war came along. I suppose you fellows have an awful dose of mathematics and philology and so on just as I did in my college days?”
Something like a blush came across the face of the handsome youth.
“Well, no,” he said, “I didn’t co-opt mathematics. At our college, you know, we co-opt two majors and two minors.”
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