How lovely and desirable she was! How hateful! How remote! Had ever a man such a goal to strain for? He wanted only to start. Immediately after breakfast the next morning he set forth. He had never seen a town so curiously empty. There were no students, since it was the long vacation, except a few backward men and doubtful candidates for admission. He stared by daylight at the numerous buildings which were more imposing now, more suggestive of learning, wealth, and breeding. They seemed to say they had something for him if only he would fight hard enough to receive it. First of all, he had to find someone who knew the ropes. There must be professors here, many men connected with this gigantic plant. On Nassau Street he encountered a youth, a little younger than himself, who, with a bored air, carried three books under his arm. George stopped him. "I beg your pardon. Are you going here?" The other looked him over as if suspecting a joke. "Going where?" he asked, faintly. George appraised the fine quality of the young man's clothing. He was almost sorry he had spoken. The first thing he had to do was to overcome a reluctance to speak to people who obviously already had much that he was after. "I mean," he explained, "are you going to this college?" "The Lord," the young man answered, "and Squibs Bailly alone know. I'm told I'm not very bright in the head." George smiled. "Then I guess you can help me out. I'm not either. I want to enter in the fall, and I need a professor or something like that to teach me. I'll pay." The other nodded. "You need a coach. Bailly's a good one. I'm going there now to be told for two hours I'm an utter ass. Maybe I am, but what's the use rubbing it in? I don't know that he's got any open time, but you might come along and see." George, his excitement increasing, walked beside his new acquaintance. "What's your name?" the bored youth asked all at once. "Morton. George Morton." "I'm Godfrey Rogers. Lawrenceville. What prep are you?" "What what?" "I mean, what school you come from?" George experienced a sharp discomfort, facing the first of his unforeseen embarrassments. Evidently his simple will to crush the past wouldn't be sufficient. "I went to a public school off and on," he muttered. Rogers' eyes widened. George had a feeling that the boy had receded. It wasn't until later, when he had learned the customs of the place, that he could give that alteration its logical value. It made no difference. He had a guide. Straightway he would find a man who could help him get in; but he noticed that Rogers abandoned personalities, chatting only of the difficulties of entrance papers, and the apparent mad desire of certain professors to keep good men from matriculating.