“It’s knowing the right people. But you can’t manage that here—it has to be done before you get to college. The crowd doesn’t need you, they don’t care what you think about them—and I tell you, they know how to give you the cold shoulder!” Sylvia was indignant in spite of herself. “You, a Castleman!” she exclaimed. “Why, your ancestors were governors of this place while theirs were tavern-keepers and blacksmiths!” “I know,” said the other—“but it isn’t ancestors that count here—it’s being on the ground and holding on to what you’ve got.” “They’re all rich men, I suppose?” “Perfectly rotten! You’re simply out of it from the start. I heard of a man last year who spent fifty thousand dollars trying to make the ‘Dickey,’ and then only got in the seventh ten! You’ve no idea of the lengths men go to; they pull every sort of wire, social and business and financial and political—they bring on their fathers and brothers to help them——” “And their cousins,” said Sylvia, and brought the discussion to an end with a laugh. “Now come, Harley,” she said, after a pause. “Let’s get down to business. You want me to meet the right men, and to make them aware of the existence of my Freshman cousin. Have you got a list of the men? Or am I to know by their ties?” Harley named and described several she would meet. Through them she would, of course, meet others; she must feel her way step by step, being guided by circumstances. There was another matter, which was delicate, but must be broached. “I don’t want to seem like a cad,” said he, “but you see, Frank Shirley isn’t a club man—he hasn’t tried to be—” “I understand,” said Sylvia, with a smile. “Of course, the fact that you come from his home town, that’s excuse enough for his knowing you. But if you make it too conspicuous—that is—” Harley stopped. “It’s all right, Harley,” smiled Sylvia; “you may be sure that Frank Shirley has too much of a sense of humor to want to get in our way.” The other hesitated over the remark. It looked like deep water, and he decided not to venture in. “It’s not only that,” he went on—“there’s Frank’s crowd. They’re all outsiders, and one or two of them especially are impossible.” “In what way?” “Well, there’s Jack Colton, Frank’s room-mate. He’s gone out of his way to make himself obnoxious to everybody. He’s done it deliberately, and I suppose he has his reasons for it. I only hope he has sense enough not to want to ‘queer’ you.” “What’s he done?” “He’s a Western chap—from Wyoming, I think. Seems to have more money than he knows how to spend decently. He insisted on smoking a pipe in his Freshman year, and when they tried to haze him, he fought. He’s wild as anything, they say—goes off on a spree every month or two—” “How does Frank come to be rooming with such a man?” asked Sylvia, in surprise. “Met him traveling, I understand. They were in a train-wreck.” “Oh, that’s the man! But Frank didn’t tell me he was wild.”