"I have a fine room and am very comfortable," Harold wrote to his mother the next night. "Mrs. Sayre, my landlady, is very nice. You would like her. Her daughter is nice too. Just like Sanford folks. I have met most of my classmates and they seem to like me. I like them too. I have also met a number of upperclassmen. They came around to see me and made sure I bought the right kind of things. I have put my money in the bank here. There is one right on the corner. I have spent quite a lot of money already, but I have not been extravagant. A fellow has to get started right here. It takes a little money to do that."
He wandered into the plush-lined lobby of the Hotel Tate after dinner the night following, hoping to see Peggy. The Tate was a frightfully expensive place that offered food, lodgings and service vastly inferior to the prices it charged, Harold had been informed. The hotel was overornate, making an attempt to be New Yorkish and not knowing quite how. He with difficulty caught sight of Peggy behind the cigar counter. She was smiling as she handed out a box of stogies to
