the hard-working sons of middle-class parents, scions of rich families began also to turn favorable eyes toward Tate.
The town of Tate kept pace with its chief industry, the University. An immense fireproof modern hostelry, the Hotel Tate, was erected on University Street, completely overshadowing the three or four small inns that had hitherto striven in vain to take care of the thousands that flocked to town on the occasion of the big football games. University Street, once a cowpath, became akin to Broadway. Department stores, chain drug and cigar stores, apartment houses, and movie theaters sprang up. Wealthy alumni came back to the scenes of their youth to spend their last years, erecting handsome residences on shady side streets or buying farms in the neighborhood.
Such was the Tate which Harold Lamb was now approaching.
The new field stone station sprawling artistically over a hundred yards of trackage was alive with humanity. Tatians in knickers and white-flannels were swarming over the concrete platforms and even the tracks, eager to meet returning friends. A solid line of yellow taxicabs waited on the other side of the station. Trunks were piled high everywhere.
Harold stood on the car platform and mar-
