FATHER AND THE BOY VISIT THE UNIVERSITY OF IDAHO [Illustration: University of Idaho] THE UNIVERSITY OF IDAHO BULLETIN VOL. XVII MARCH, 1922 NO. 11 PUBLISHED BY THE UNIVERSITY AT MOSCOW Entered as second-class mail matter at the postoffice, Moscow, Idaho [Illustration: IDAHO] [Illustration: _The Gymnasium, Crowded From Floor to Roof_] FATHER AND THE BOY VISIT THE UNIVERSITY OF IDAHO “Well, son—” “Well, dad?” Father and son had a minute alone together on the first evening of their first visit to their own state university—Idaho. Arriving on a Friday afternoon in February, they had been captured by Tom Collins, a sophomore from their home town in south Idaho, and carried off before they knew it to his fraternity house on the college hill. Here they had seen a pair of grinning freshmen hustled into other quarters to make room for them, had partaken of an abundant, well-cooked supper, had heard a lively program of college songs, and were resting up a bit before starting out to look things over. “Well, what do you think of them?” “They surely are fine fellows, dad. Tom’s told me a lot about them before, but I only half believed him. Why, I feel as much at home as if I’d known them for years.” “They’re good business men, too, if they are only youngsters. Did you hear the steward explaining how they were saving money on food; and all the seniors jumping on the kids who didn’t pay their bills? I wonder if all the houses are run like this one.” “Bill Jones says his crowd is a whole lot better. And then there’s Lindley Hall, managed by the University. That’s where Stubby Scott is living and he’s crazy about it. We’re going there tomorrow.” “Do we go anywhere tonight?” “Do we? There’s a basketball game at the Gym, and after that a student play in the Auditorium. Then Bill wants us to drop in at his house and get acquainted there.” “But son, it’s seven now, and at home I always try to be in bed by nine. Why—” A tap on the door interrupted his protests. “Excuse me,” came a voice from the hall. “Game begins early tonight on account of the play. We’ll have to hurry.” They found the Gymnasium crowded from floor to roof, with just enough space left for the ten lithe, active young fellows who were already dashing back and forth between the baskets. As the visitors worked their way to the balcony, a slender athlete in white and gold dropped the ball neatly through the hoop, and bam!—an explosion of voices shook the rafters so that Father clutched at his guides and suddenly remembered that a doctor had once warned him about his heart. “What—what happened?” he gasped. “First score for Idaho, sir. Looks like a tight game.”