He found the school office without difficulty and the operation of registering was soon over. He didn’t expect to find Clyde in the dormitory, for it was already past six, but he made his way up the stone stairway to the second floor and looked for Number 42. The building was evidently utterly deserted and the long corridor stretched before him dim and silent. The door of Clyde’s room was ajar and after knocking Barry thrust it wider and peered in. It was lighter than the corridor and showed itself much as Clyde had described it, a generously large, square room with rough-plastered walls and a beamed ceiling. A big study table, book-shelves, several comfortable chairs, and a window-seat piled high with cushions met Barry’s somewhat wistful gaze. A curtained alcove, now a pocket of gloom, opened at the left. It looked awfully good to the boy in the doorway. All this might have been his if―― His wandering eyes lighted on an object atop one of the low bookcases and the thought went unfinished. What he saw was his picture, the one on horseback taken at Orchard Bluff two summers before. It wasn’t occupying a very prominent position amidst the assemblage of photographs there, but its presence cheered Barry considerably and he made his way back down the stairs and out into the twilight without further thought of what might have been. The dining-hall occupied the north wing of Bates Memorial Hall and a hum of voices and a cheerful clatter of dishes guided him unerringly to the entrance. The sight of some two hundred and sixty hungry boys at supper may not be inspiring, but it is at least interesting, and Barry paused at the wide doorway to look. The room seemed vast, and the three ranks of tables appeared to stretch away interminably. A round clock in the center of the opposite wall proclaimed six-twelve. The captain of the waiters caught sight of the tardy arrival and piloted him half-way along the first aisle, to a vacant chair at Table 7. Food was placed before him, a hospitable neighbor set a huge pitcher of milk beside him, and Barry supped, relieved to discover that none of the other nine occupants of the table paid him more than brief attention. The food was good and there was plenty of it,――more than plenty, so far as Barry was concerned, since travel and the heat had tired him,――and his hunger was soon satisfied. Most of those who sat with him were fellows of about his own age, although three appeared a year or so younger; Fourth-Class boys, doubtless. Conversation was scant and low-toned. One by one the chairs emptied and the big hall grew quieter. Threatened with finding himself the last at his table, Barry hurried through a saucer of canned peaches and a square of cake and followed the exodus.