look so well. He remembered having possessed it himself four years previously. He had been seeing it on the faces of Freshmen all evening. He was pretty thoroughly sick of this soliciting business. It was not as if he were selling these poor kids something they needed. Only one man in a hundred liked the "Lit." The rest would glance at the first copy and throw the remaining numbers, unopened, into their waste baskets.
He blinked at Harold, stared more closely and asked, "Did you come out from Cleveland with Dave Keay and me?"
"Yes," Harold replied eagerly.
"Sure you did. I remember. Well, listen, Freshman, forget what I just said. You don't want the 'Lit.' Here's your money back."
Harold was inclined to protest. Sure, he wanted the "Lit." He wanted all the publications. He was anxious to get the "Lit" especially. Didn't Logan edit it? Well—
But Logan was obdurate. He would not accept him as a subscriber. He did accept Harold's invitation to take the other chair for a few minutes.
"Have you been bothered much to-night with fellows selling stuff?" asked the Senior. Harold nodded a vigorous affirmative. Logan continued, "You want to be very careful or they'll take every nickel you've got.
