His bed was rather hard, but Barry slept like a top until a pleasant voice called from beyond the door: “Hot water, Mr. Locke!” As it wasn’t Mrs. Lyle’s voice, he decided, as he yawned himself awake, it must be the maid Betty’s. Evidently her day off had left her in a very cheerful state of mind. He crawled out, retrieved the pitcher, and prepared for his first day of school. CHAPTER III BARRY MAKES A PURCHASE That forenoon, Clyde conscientiously performed his duties as guide, counselor, and friend, smoothing Barry’s path and sharing with him the wisdom of one who had already traveled it. Shortly before noon Barry took his physical examination and went out of the director’s room in the gymnasium in possession of a gray card filled with lines and figures and the information that three times a week he was to report with Class K for physical training. Gymnasium work, it appeared, was required of every student unless he was engaged in one of the major sports. Barry regretted his nominal agreement to abstain from the degrading game of baseball until spring! He was introduced to at least a dozen fellows that morning, all of whom, Clyde earnestly assured him, were the right sort. Generally they were members of Clyde’s class, the Second; once or twice it was a First-Class fellow who dutifully shook his hand. Toward dinner-time Barry found himself wishing that Clyde’s friends weren’t so choice. Being the “right sort” seemed to make a fellow rather self-satisfied and unlikable! When dinner was over he hurried off before Clyde could intercept him and walked to the village to buy a table. He had a vision of something severely plain and businesslike in oak, something with a good big drawer and a broad, generous top. He might have found it if Fate hadn’t drawn his gaze to the window of a shabby little shop on Main Street in which was a crowded array of second-hand articles. A sign promised “Antiques,” but what Barry saw scarcely deserved the name. There were chairs without seats, mirrors without glass, broken teapots, chipped vases, and a score of other dilapidated objects, but what drew Barry’s eyes was a desk which, standing in the center of the window, served as a repository for some ancient crockery, a rusty musket, and an ivory-handled walking-stick. It wasn’t a beautiful thing, but it captured Barry. It was of black walnut, of a style of forty years back, with a bank of drawers down the right side and a door on the other which, being opened, revealed three shelves. It was worn and stained, but it looked honest and――well, “friendly” was the word Barry thought of. Negotiations obtained it for the reasonable price of six dollars, delivery at 104 Bridge Street and conveyance up one flight included, and, declining a bargain in a broken-down swivel chair, Barry turned homeward well pleased.