"Oh, my beautiful stars, think of eating your first Jigger!" said Butsey White, the man of the world. "What wouldn't I give to be in your shoes! I say, though, you've got some tin?" "Sure," said Stover, sounding the coins in his change pocket. Butsey's face brightened. "You see, Al has no confidence in me just at present. It's a case of the regular table d'hote for me until the first of the month. Say, we'll have a regular gorge. It'll be fresh strawberry Jiggers, too." They began to pass other fellows in flannels and jerseys, who exchanged greetings. "Hello, you, Butsey!" "Why, Egghead, howdy-do?" "Ah, there, Butsey White!" "Ta-ta, Saphead." "See you later, old Sport." "Four o'clock sharp, Texas." Under the trees, curled in the grass, a group of three were languidly working out a Greek translation. "Skin your eyes, Dink," said Butsey White, waving a greeting as they passed. "See the fellow this side? That's Flash Condit." "The fellow who scored on the Princeton Varsity?" "Oh, you knew, did you?" "Sure," said Stover with pride. "Gee, what a peach of a build!" "Turn to your left," said Butsey suddenly. "Here's Foundation House, where the Doctor lives. Just look at that doorway. Wouldn't it give you the chills?" They were in front of a red-brick house, hidden under dark trees and overgrown with vines that congregated darkly over the porte-cochere and gave the entrance a mysterious gloom that still lives in the memory of the generations. "It swallows you up, doesn't it?" said Dink, awed. "You bet it does, and it's worse inside," said Butsey comfortingly. "Come on; now I'll show you the real thing." They passed the surrounding trees and suddenly halted. Before them the campus burst upon them. "Well, Dink, what do you think of that?" said Butsey proudly.