down there and get a nice swim, eh? Some guys have all the luck."
"What's Lakeport?" Harold asked, interested.
Lakeport, it was explained to him, was a summer resort settlement on the shores of Lake Preston, fifteen miles from Tate. It had hotels, bath houses, cottages, a Casino and wonderfully nice sandy beaches leading into clear, cool water. One reached this Paradise by private car or by hiring a vehicle down at Thompson's Garage. The Freshman authority on Lakeport said he had lived in Tate all his life. His name was Talbott, his friend's name was Carter and what was Harold's name?
"Well, why don't we hire a car and drive down there, if it's such a wonderful place?" Harold asked. He believed at that moment that it was the regular custom at Tate for the undergraduate body to spend Saturday afternoons at Lakeport. He remembered now to have heard other groups discussing the prospects of a swim there. He seemed to have heard somebody mention girls and dancing in this connection also.
Harold turned as he distinguished somebody hailing him. The hailer was Dan Sheldon, who with the ever-present pal, Garrity, was joshing a bevy of Freshmen down under
