It seemed a trifle cooler in the campus and the shadow of Lothrop stretched far along the red brick walk that ran, the main artery of travel, along the fronts of the buildings. A locomotive shrieked despairingly a mile or so away and Bert knew that the first of the two trains on which the bulk of the returning students would arrive was nearing the station. Again his thoughts reverted to Ordway and again he wondered pessimistically what sort of a youth fate was going to impose upon him. Ordway might not come until six-thirty, however; many fellows didn’t; and Bert rather hoped he would be of their number. He was disposed to postpone the inevitable. The rooms in Lothrop had been thrown open, doors and windows alike, and the corridors were far cooler than they had been since he had taken possession of Number 29. Quite a draft of air was blowing down the staircase well. In the study, he put away the last few belongings, placed the packing-case outside for removal to the store-room, and finally, lowering the shades at the windows through which the afternoon sun was shining hotly, took up his schedule and, stretching himself on the window-seat, studied it dubiously. Mathematics 4, Greek 3, English 4, French 1, History 3a; eighteen hours altogether, aside from Physical Training. From the latter, however, he was exempt so long as he was in training with the football team. Eighteen hours was the least required for the third year, and he was expected to select another study. He mentally pondered the respective merits of physics and chemistry. Physics was known as a “snap course,” but Bert was in favor of leaving it for his senior year. The same with chemistry. He rather leaned toward German, but Mr. Teschner, or “Jules,” as he was usually called, was a hard taskmaster and his classes were not viewed with much enthusiasm. Still, unless he took physics or chemistry it would have to be German, and after a few minutes of cogitation he wrote German 1 on the card in his hand. The schedule had yet to be approved and he wondered whether he would be allowed to go in so heavily for languages. The schedule was a bit top-heavy in that way, with thirteen hours of the twenty-one given to Greek, German, and French. Probably they would make him substitute physics for German. He slipped the card in his pocket, with a sigh for the vexations of life, and became aware that Lothrop Hall was at last inhabited. Steps scuffed on the stairs, voices sounded, bags and trunks thumped. The invasion had begun in earnest. Half inclined to go down and see if Guy Murtha had arrived, he nevertheless found himself too lazy to stir and so when, a few moments later, footsteps drew near the open door he was still sprawled on his back. “This must be it, Bowles,” said a voice. “Yes, twenty-nine. Oh, I beg your pardon!”