“It isn’t polite.”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Foster.

“Just what I’m telling you.  Freshmen mustn’t lock their doors, that’s not the thing.  The janitor told me not to, because the sophs will take it as a challenge to break it in.  He said the college had to put sixty new locks this summer on the doors here in Perry.”

“Looks as if something had happened for a fact,” said Foster slowly, as he glanced at some huge cracks that were plainly visible in the panels.  “Sure ’t’ll be safe?”

“It’ll be all right.  The janitor says so.  Come on!  Come on, or we’ll be too late!”

The two boys ran swiftly down the stairway (their room was on the third floor of the dormitory) and soon were on the street which was directly in front of the building.  As they walked rapidly in the direction of the station, which was a half-mile or more distant from the college buildings, the sight which greeted their eyes was one that stirred the very depths of their hearts.  The very buildings themselves were impressive, some old and antiquated, dating back a century or more and venerable with age, and others new and beautiful, the recent gifts of some loyal alumni.  From the huge clock in the tower of the chapel rang out the chimes which announced that the hour of two was come and gone.  The beautifully kept grounds, the stately buildings, the very leaves on the huge elms that grew about the grounds were all impressive at the time to the boys to whom the entire picture was new.

In the wide street that led directly through the midst of the college buildings, were passing young men of their own age, some of whom would suddenly stop and grasp with fervor the hands of some students just returned from the long summer vacation.  From the windows of the dormitories could be seen the faces of students who were leaning far out and shouting their words of greeting to friends on the street below.  The September sun was warm and mellow, and as it found its way through the thick foliage it also cast fantastic shadows upon the grass that seemed to dance and leap in the very contagion of the young life that abounded on every side.  The very air was almost electric and the high hills in the distance that shut in the valley and provided a framework for the handiwork of nature, lent an additional charm to which Will Phelps was unconsciously responding.

“I tell you, Foster, this is great!  I’m glad I’m here!” he exclaimed.

“Are you?” replied Foster in his more subdued manner.  “Well, I’m glad too.”

The scene upon the platform of the station was as animated and inspiring as that about the college grounds.  Groups of students were here awaiting the coming of friends, and yet their impatience was hidden by the enthusiasm of the moment.  One group, consisting of twenty or more young men, particularly interested Will, for their noise and exuberance seemed to know no bounds.  At last a young man, evidently a student though slightly older than the most in the group, approached them and said:  “Here, you sophs!  You’re making too much noise.  Children should be seen, not heard.”