Harold rushed in to explain. "He's a peach, isn't he?"
"Where do you get that stuff? He's the biggest stiff in the intercollegiate world. Ask anybody. He's one fine pill. Why, they wouldn't have a guy like that at Union State. Wait till we get a crack at Chesty's team this Fall. We'll mop the earth up with 'em."
"I didn't know you played football," Harold suggested innocently.
"Not a chance. Say, I was going out for the team, but our fraternity doesn't figure this year. The Captain of Union State is a Psi Lambda, so none of us Phi Delts has got a chance. The fact is, I don't know that I'm going back to college in the Fall. But you can keep that under your straw kelly—see!" He cast a significant glance at Harold from under his slightly bloodshot brown eyes.
Harold retreated back to his stool convinced that there was little to be learned to the glory of the American college from Walter Coburn, Jr.
If he had been in the slightest dismayed by Walter's pessimistic account of the higher education, Harold's optimism came back with a rush a day or two later when the three billboards in Sanford blazed forth with advertisements of Lester Laurel in "The College Hero"—"Glorifying the American College
