quired to announce his presence in Tate in some official way. The little leather-bound guide book confirmed this idea. He walked over to Webster Hall, on the campus, and joined the mob of his bewildered classmates outside the door marked "Registrar's Office." Having stood in line there for half an hour, he finally was ushered into the presence of a fat-faced, worried-looking little man behind an enormous desk. The latter asked him questions in an irritated tone of voice and entered his pedigree on a card.
"All right," said the Registrar impatiently, having concluded his scribbling.
He handed Harold an enormous folio of closely printed white paper. "Here's your schedule of classes. They begin to-morrow. Look in the main entry of Cowan Hall for your divisions and their meeting places. Good Luck, Lamb. Trust you'll be a credit to us. Next man."
When Harold returned to the group of waiting Freshmen outside, some of them were grumbling that they would lose their dinners if they had to hang around there much longer. "Where do we eat, anyway?" a fat cherub asked. Harold, with an air of importance, volunteered the information that Freshman meals were served down at the University Commons, a huge dining hall that could be
