I was rather disappointed in the appearance of number 204. It was a big brick building and not at all my idea of a College Dormitory. It was just as plain and ordinary as it could be, with the door opening right square on to the brick sidewalk, and a horrid little tailor-shop and drug-store opposite. I didn't know what I ought to do. The big front door was wide open, and I could see into the hall. It looked like a prison--all brick and masonry, and bare granolithic stairs with an iron railing. I didn't know whether to go in or not. If there had been a policeman in sight I would have asked his advice, or an old lady, or a girl, but there was only a very good-looking young man on the other side of the street, so I rang the bell and waited. No one came. I rang again; I rang that old bell--at least I pushed the button--six times! No one answered, so I finally started up the stairs. Perhaps I was waiting at the basement door (the interior certainly looked like a cellar) and the parlours or reception-rooms were possibly on the floor above. It was while I was standing, hesitating on the second landing, gazing up interminable flights of cement stairs and brick walls, wondering how in the world I could dig Oliver out of such a tomb, that a door opened somewhere up above and down those stairs--bump-bump, clappity-clap, pell-mell, like ten barrels falling down one over another, shouting, laughing, guffawing--I heard what I thought must be a regiment charging down upon me. I drew back a little into the corner and suddenly four men--four stunning young college men appeared before me. They all stopped shouting as if I had been a vision, and though they didn't say a word I could feel they observed me with a start of surprise as if young ladies in their corridors were a great curiosity. I blushed for no particular reason; they passed on quietly down the stairs; and would have left me there without a word if I hadn't spoken. "Excuse me," I said to the back of the last young man. "Could you tell me--I'm sorry to stop you--but does Oliver Vars room here?" They all halted and looked up at me. I blushed worse than ever. I suddenly felt as if I ought not to have been there, and though the young men were just as courteous and polite as they could be I was awfully embarrassed. "Why, yes, he does room here," said the young man nearest me, taking off his hat. "Did you want to see him?" "Yes," I stammered. "It's--it's very important. I'm sorry but I--" "That's all right," he assured me quickly, for I guess he heard my voice tremble; "I'll find him for you." And oh, he had the nicest, straightest, cleanest look. "You go on," he said to his friends; "I'll be with you in a minute." Then to me, "Vars rooms here, but I am about sure he's out now. If you'll come with me perhaps--Must you see him right off?" he inquired. "Oh, yes, thank you. I must. I _must_! I've come on the train to see him. I've got to see him if I sit here and wait for him."