spend it two days later—when the room telephone jangled commandingly. Jock answered.
"What ho?"
"Two gentlemen calling, sir."
"Who are they? Get their names."
There was a longish interval. Then the room-clerk's voice said, "Mr. Haig and Mr. Walker, sir."
"No! Say, that's fine—tell them to come right up, please—we'll be glad to see them."
Mr. Haig and Mr. Walker, in the persons of Bill and Pink, appeared promptly. There ensued another telephone conversation, this time between Jock and Room Service, and having to do with "four of the best steak dinners you can toss together, served up here as soon as possible."
These were brought in good time, and the check signed by Jock with a flourish—"William Andrews, Room 239." "Have them charge it on my final bill," he said to the waiter.
An hour later, having dined riotously and to the point of actual physical discomfort, the foursome sauntered downstairs, leaving the suitcases and oilcans behind them in token of appreciation. "Want to show you around our town for an hour or so," Pink was saying as they passed the room-clerk's desk. "Best little town in the U. S. A."
They retrieved the roadster from the garage and proceeded onward rejoicing.
The return to college after a three months' vacation is always an event. One is pleasantly excited, and not a little surprised to find things looking much the same
