Harold awoke the next morning still drowsy but with this thought resounding through his mind: Civilization's crowning achievement was a Tate-bred man and he would be one, or perish in the attempt.
At the breakfast table he endeavored to convey this mature reflection to his father, who was in a particularly unsympathetic mood owing to the fact that his coffee had been served to him in a tepid and unappetizing condition. After Harold had been seeking for five minutes or more to describe the marvelous and inspiring entertainment he had witnessed the previous evening, Henry Lamb turned upon him irascibly and snapped, "Now, looka here, Harold. I let you go to that fool thing, but don't talk to me about it! I ain't interested. Colleges ain't for folks like us. I don't purpose to have you waste four years of your life at one of them country clubs like Tate. And that's all there is to that."
Harold found, in the ensuing weeks, just two sympathetic souls to whom he might confide his ambition: Harlow Gaines and Mrs. Henry Lamb. Gaines pleased him inexpressibly by lending him the Tate Year Book for
