LITMIR.BIZ

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dark-haired fellow, regarding Ira uncertainly. “You’d better get out of here before someone comes.”

      “Maybe he will want to go on,” suggested Ira mildly.

      “Huh! Maybe he will, but not for awhile! Billy Wells, duck inside and get some water, will you? You, Rowland, or whatever your name is, you get along. If the faculty sees this they’ll make trouble for you. I know he made the first swipe, but that wouldn’t help you much.”

      “All right,” said Ira. “What’s his name?”

      “Goodloe. Why?”

      “I’ll let him know where he can find me. Just tell him, will you?”

      CHAPTER II

      A CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE

      “Not what you’d call a very good beginning,” thought Ira, ruefully, as, followed by the somewhat puzzled looks of the group in front of the gymnasium, he made his way across the campus. “It was his fault, though. There wasn’t any call for me to stand around idle and get jabbed in the nose. Just the same, it would have been better if I’d gone on about my business instead of trying to get a rise out of them. Guess what you need to do, son, is keep your hands in your pockets and your mouth shut!”

      For the following hour he was very busy. Mrs. Anstruther regretfully informed him that all her rooms were engaged, and the same announcement awaited him at Baker’s. It was at the latter house that the mysterious symbols were satisfactorily explained. “R,” he was told, meant that the house offered rooms only, while “R & B” stood for room and board. Ira mentally called himself an idiot for not having guessed as much. At a little past one he gave up the search long enough to perch himself at a counter in a lunch-room on School Street. A sign over the doorway held the inscription “The Eggery,” and, judging from the fact that fully half the patrons in sight were boys of ages from fourteen to twenty, it was the favourite resort for hungry Parkinsonians. There were many small tables at the back, but all were occupied, and Ira finally found an empty stool in front of the long counter. The school colours, brown and white, were lavishly displayed, and there were many framed photographs of school teams and numerous unframed posters on the walls. These, however, interested Ira less than the neat sign which proclaimed the restaurant’s offerings, for he had eaten his breakfast on alighting from the Portland train in Boston, and that had been quite early, and he was now extremely hungry in spite of the warmth of the day.

      While the electric fans overhead spun dizzily and the clatter of crockery and the babel of a hundred voices made a cheerful pandemonium, he thoughtfully contemplated the signs. One thing he knew he was going to have, and that was iced tea, but beyond that he was open-minded. Corn-beef hash sounded too warm. The same was true of roast beef and lamb stew with dumplings. Eggs didn’t sound appealing, although they were offered in more styles than he had ever heard of. He was still undecided when a voice said: “Try the cold ham and potato salad. It isn’t bad.”

      Ira looked around to find the boy with whom he had collided at the door of the Administration Building sitting beside him.

      “All right,” said Ira. “I guess I will. It looks good.”

      “It’s too hot to eat today,” went on his neighbour, “but you sort of get the habit. This iced coffee is the best thing I’ve found. Do you like it?”

      “I never tried it. I thought I’d have some iced tea.”

      “No one can blame you. I saw you over at Ad, didn’t I?”

      “‘Ad’?”

      “Administration. What’s your class?”

      “Third.”

      “Mine, too. Here’s Alphonse. Tell him what you’re risking.”

      “Alphonse” proved to be a sandy-haired waiter who grinned at the speaker as he ran a towel over the counter. “Sure, take a chance,” he said cheerfully. “What’s it going to be, sir?”

      “Some of the cold ham and potato salad and a glass of iced tea,” replied Ira. “Got any lemon?”

      “I don’t know. I’ll see,” was the sober response. “We did have one last week.” Then, applying his mouth to a tube: “One-cold-ham-potato-salad!” he called. “Ice-tea-with-lemon!”

      “Do you eat here regularly?” asked Ira of his neighbour.

      “Dear, no! I eat in hall, but they don’t start until supper tonight. Lots of the fellows don’t come until afternoon, you see. Them as does has to eat where they can, and this is as good a joint as any. How do you like the place, as far as you’ve got?”

      “All right. I haven’t seen much of it, though. I’ve been tramping around looking for a room most of the time.”

      “Any luck?”

      Ira shook his head. “There was one at – ” he refreshed his memory by glancing at the slip – “at Parent’s, but it was pretty small and awfully hot.”

      “Keep away from that dive,” advised the other. “You’d freeze to death in Winter there. Besides, we come to school to get away from them.”

      “To get away from – ”

      “Parents,” chuckled the other. “Asterisk. See footnote. Joke intended. Have you tried Maggy’s?”

      “No. I don’t think it’s on my list.”

      “Let’s see. Yes, here it is: ‘D. A. Magoon, 200 Main Street.’”

      “Oh! I thought you said – ”

      “Maggy’s? Yes, they call her that for short. She’s got some good rooms, but you have to more than half furnish them. About all Maggy gives you is a carpet and a bed. If you like I’ll go around there with you when you’re through.”

      “Why, thanks, that’s very kind, but I don’t want to trouble you.”

      “You don’t. I haven’t a thing to do until the boat comes in.”

      “Boat?” ejaculated Ira.

      “Figure of speech, meaning that the afternoon stretches before me devoid of – of – Say, what do I call you?”

      “Rowland’s my name.”

      “Mine’s Johnston. There’s a t in it to make it harder to say. Here’s your grub. Guess I’ll have a piece of pie, Jimmy.”

      “What kind?” asked the waiter as he slid Ira’s repast before him.

      “Why the airs? You know you’ve only got apple.”

      Jimmy grinned. “Got you this time, Johnston! There’s cream and cocoanut, too.”

      “Make it cream, Jimmy, and tell the Pie Specialist downstairs to let his hand slip a little.”

      “Do they give board at this place you spoke of?” asked Ira when he had sampled his dinner.

      “No, they don’t. You can eat in hall, though, or you can get your meals around. There are four or five places like this and a lot of boarding houses. The way I did my first year was live at the restaurants and quick-lunch joints for the first term and then, when I was sick to death of them, go to a regular boarding house. Smith’s is pretty fair. A lot of fellows eat there.”

      “They give you pretty good meals at the school dining hall, don’t they?”

      “Y-yes, but they charge for them.” Johnston shot a swift, appraising glance over Ira. “If you can stand six dollars a week, all right. Some fellows can’t.” Jimmy presented his slice of pie at that moment and Johnston observed it gloomily. “That fellow’s got perfect control, hasn’t he, Jimmy?”

      “Oh, they cut the pies with a machine,” replied the waiter airily. “Want some more coffee?”

      “Walk around! Think I’m a millionaire? Make it a glass of water instead.” Then, addressing Ira again: “What are you going in for?” he asked.

      “Going in where?”

      “My

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