was about on a par with Horowitz's Palace, in Sanford. The walls were an unesthetic canary yellow. There was no balcony. The hard, bare seats were double-riveted to the floor. Gus Stover didn't believe in taking chances.
The audience was friendly but boisterous. Chums greeted each other loudly across the intervening aisles. There was good-natured "razzing." A lanky Senior, desiring to join a fraternity brother two rows north, did so over the backs of the seats. The place was jammed with a gathering that was totally male. Ladies were not tolerated at Stover's. That was a tradition.
"Yoa, 'Speedy'!" shouted a voice. "Come on over here. Saving a seat for you." It was Dan Sheldon. Harold stumbled over ten assorted feet and tumbled into the seat beside his Sophomore friend.
"Going down to the widow's?" Sheldon asked curiously.
"Do you mean Miss Beach?" Harold asked innocently. "I didn't know she'd ever been married."
"She hasn't, innocent one. But the boys all call her 'the college widow.' Lord knows she'd have gotten married long ago if she could. It isn't from lack of trying. Watch
