As he had feared, Guy Murtha was not at home, and, after making certain that Guy had not conveniently left any change lying around in sight, Hugh hurried out again. Ned Stiles roomed in Trow, and thither Hugh went. He didn’t know Stiles very intimately, but he wasn’t going to let that fact interfere if only he was so fortunate as to find Stiles in. But it was a gorgeous afternoon and Stiles, like most everyone else, was out. Disappointed, Hugh paused in the silent corridor and tried to think of someone else to apply to. But since most of his acquaintances were engaged in some form of athletics and would consequently be away from their rooms the problem suddenly looked extremely difficult. Then he remembered the office. He had never attempted to get money there and didn’t know how his request would be received, but he clattered down the stairs and sought out the secretary, Mr. Pounder, a gentleman whom he had spoken to but once and then but briefly, the occasion being the payment of Hugh’s fall term tuition fee. Mr. Pounder was small, light-haired and blue-eyed, sharp-featured and dry of voice. He received Hugh’s request coldly. “Without instructions from parent or guardian, Ordway, we do not advance sums of money to students, and in your case I believe that we have not been――ah――so instructed. I am correct, am I not?” “Yes, sir, but I need some money very badly, and there isn’t time to get it from home, and I thought maybe you’d be willing to make a loan. I could pay it back by Saturday surely.” “I have no authority, Ordway. You might see Dr. Duncan or Mr. Rumford. Possibly――――” “I don’t believe there’s time. Where could I find Dr. Duncan?” “I presume they will inform you at his house where he is to be seen, Ordway.” “Oh, piffle! All right, sir.” Hugh vanished, leaving a surprised and somewhat shocked Mr. Pounder in possession of the room. Turning into the main corridor Hugh very nearly collided with Mr. Crump, the janitor. Mr. Crump was a sharp-visaged man of some fifty years, with a leathery face, a pair of gimlet-like eyes behind old-fashioned steel-rimmed spectacles, and a thin, querulous voice. He was not popular with the fellows, nor can it be said that the fellows were popular with Mr. Crump. In Mr. Crump’s belief the students spent their waking hours devising ways to create dirt and dust in the School Hall. Hugh, however, knew little of the janitor. He had seen him about the building occasionally, had sometimes nodded to him, and had learned his name. Just now Mr. Crump was a possible friend in need, and Hugh, paying no heed to the man’s grumbles, cut off his advance. “I say, Mr. Crump,” he exclaimed eagerly, “have you any money?” Mr. Crump, suspecting that he was to be made the butt of some silly joke, responded shortly and pithily. “No! Get out o’ my way!”