seen from the windows of Webster Hall. Peggy had told him this.
Having attained the open air, Harold decided that he was hungry himself. Accordingly he walked down the gravel path to the Commons and entered with the stream that was already flowing through the big double doors in search of sustenance. He came upon a vast region of clattering dishes, Freshmen absorbing food and negro waiters shuffling about. There seemed to be few, if any, empty tables. Around the festive board nearest him three slickly brushed young gentlemen were chatting quietly as they awaited the arrival of their order. Harold thought he recognized them. Yes, he did. All three of them had been huddled with him back stage in the auditorium that afternoon. Bred in the easy democracy of a middle west small town, where to see an empty chair at a table is to occupy it, Harold approached and made himself a fourth at their meal.
The three young gentlemen abruptly ceased their conversation to stare at him. They did not at first fancy his presence there too much.
"Hello, fellows," he said, a little abashed, "I see you found the restaurant too."
The trio hesitated, looking at each other. Then one of them broke the ice with a doubtful "Hello. Trask is my name."
