Very angrily he slammed up the receiver and pushed at the door. A minute or so later his anger had visibly increased. It was too dark in the booth to examine the latch with any hope of discovering the trouble. There was nothing for it but to raise his voice in a demand for release, which he did. Unfortunately, however, it is very doubtful if there was a living soul from one end of Oxford Hall to the other. Eventually, perhaps ten minutes after he had unsuspectingly entered the booth, the plan of breaking open the door occurred to him. He tried it. The telephone company, however, had caused that booth to be constructed of exceedingly strong materials, and finally Gibson, very warm and breathless, gave up the attempt. Next he considered breaking the glass. There were several panes and he could take his choice. But while he had not hesitated to try to force the lock or wreck a panel the idea of breaking glass struck him as peculiarly destructive and he paused to consider. And at about that time it occurred to him that a very simple way of escape confronted him. He snatched down the receiver and explained his predicament to a sympathetic Central. “I will call up the Office,” said the operator. But the Office was empty and no one answered her ring. So she tried Clarke Hall and was successful. The telephone in Clarke was in the study of Mr. Collins, the Assistant Principal. Ordinarily Mr. Collins would have been out at this hour of the afternoon, but it so happened that a slight cold had suggested to him the advisability of remaining indoors and taking a nap. The imperative ringing of the telephone bell put an end to the nap, and, some five minutes later, having discarded dressing-gown and slippers in favor of outer clothing and shoes, Mr. Collins, none too pleased with the necessity, strode down the corridor of Oxford and liberated a strange, perspiring youth from his cell. Gibson, failing in the dimness of the hall to recognize authority in the slight, medium-sized person before him, immediately gave vent to his wrath. “Say, what kind of a fool thing is that?” he demanded. “I’ve been suffocating in there for twenty minutes!” Mr. Collins viewed him gravely. “Wonder you wouldn’t have that latch fixed! It would have served you right if I’d bust the glass out of it!” “It pains me deeply to learn of your discomfort,” replied the Assistant Principal dryly. “Perhaps if you had telephoned to Central at once you’d have been released sooner. May I ask who you are and how you happen to have been using the booth?” Gibson, having now discovered that he was talking to neither a student nor the janitor, changed his tune. “My name is Gibson. I――I came to see the football game. A fellow sung out that I was wanted on the telephone and showed me up here. When I asked the operator she said no one had called me. Then I tried to get out and couldn’t.”