"But, changing the subject from the sublime to the sublimer," Sheldon continued, "did you see the piece in the 'Tattler' this morning about the Fall Frolic?"
"No, I didn't have a chance to read my Tattler' this morning," Harold replied. "What's the Fall Frolic?"
"It's a swell dance given at the Hotel Tate in October every year by the Freshmen in honor of the salt of the earth, namely the honorable Sophomore class. Usually the most regular guy in the Freshman class, the chap that really intends to make something of himself at this man's college, acts as host and throws the party. Chester Trask was the host his Freshman year, and now look where he is."
Dan glanced at Harold significantly, wonHering if his description had taken hold. He decided that it had; he was right.
"Well, read the story in the 'Tattler,' 'Speedy,' old boy. And then think it over," Sheldon advised. "Meantime, ta-ta. Come to your old pal Dan if you decide anything and want to know what to do next." And Dan walked, whistling, away.
Harold picked up his copy of the "Tattler" off his desk, where Mrs. Sayre had carefully laid it, as soon as he reached his room.
