long sofa. He sat down. Across from him was that cute blond who always sat there near the escalator. He wore long trousers but he was pretty damn good to look at, just the same. Of course he did wear Bass Weejuns (anybody who wanted to rate had to wear Bass Weejuns) except that this guy always had his off, with his feet propped up on another chair in front of him. He was cute. His blond hair grew low over his temples and fell over his forehead in a Princeton cut. He had a saucy little nose and a pretty mouth.

"Damn it, he it, he sure is pretty," thought John to himself. "But I haven't got a Chinaman's chance of ever meeting him."

He was, after all, several years older than most of these students. He had been graduated seven years before and had come back now to take a law degree. What chance did he have of meeting attractive young fellows who were only Freshmen or Sophomores? What chance did he have of meeting anybody who wasn't a dull, insipid law student?

Besides, these guys were awfully dumb about sex. You could hang around one of them for weeks and they would never catch on that you kind of liked them "that way." They would think you were just being friendly. It wasn't like it had been New York. God. There you had to beat people away. Here you couldn't get anybody for love or money.

Take this cute blond, for instance. Suppose he could get into a conversation with him (of course he couldn't, but just suppose he could). What would he say?

"Say, how about coming over to my place for a cup of coffee, and after we're through I'll drive you home?"

No! That wouldn't do at all. The blond would look sort of blank and

mumble something about having to get up early or something. Anyway, he would never come, that was for certain.

Besides, around here you just didn't talk to strangers. You had your own little group, and that was it. Now this guy was probably a fraternity man and didn't know anyone outside of his own fraternity. It seemed incredible that anyone could be that narrow, but John knew this campus well. They were all like that here. What was he going to do sit around here all evening and drool over some cute Freshman whom he couldn't possibly have? Answer: yes. Probably.

John got up, laid down his books, and went into the men's room just to see if his hair was straight. It was. He looked at himself for a long time in the mirror. He was twenty-eight, but didn't look it. No, he could pass for only twenty-one. In fact, in a bar last Saturday he had been asked to produce identification. That had been a little flattering.

He was really too skinny, but that helped to make him look younger. An outsider would certainly think he was one of them. Yet he wasn't. He could feel the difference of seven or eight years in age, even if others didn't know it. He was a tough old New Yorker. He didn't think like these fellows. They were happy-go-lucky. Even if John looked as young as they his outlook betrayed him. For it is impossible to lop off a decade of thought, feeling, and experience.

Yes, admit it. He was ashamed of himself for cruising the library and going after younger fellows when he should have been tending to serious work. What would these fellows be doing seven years from now? They would be planning responsible careers. They would be married. They would not be wasting their time cruising. Maybe.

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