Came, as the sub-titles in "The College Hero" had succinctly put it, the first of August. Came, furthermore, the day on which Harold, having resigned his perch in the bookkeeping department of the First National, was to journey to Cleveland and interview his Uncle Peter Thatcher. Toward this interview he looked forward with about as much pleasure as a turkey awaits Thanksgiving.
However, since the debacle in the office of President Walter Coburn, Harold had become as resigned as he felt he ever would be to the prospect of never being able to enter the sacred portals of Good Old Tate. His future career would be devoted to drop forgings rather than drop kicks. And, though he might in time develop into a millionaire and sign magazine articles about how he did it and might break a hundred at golf, still, he gloomily assured himself, life would be but an empty shell.
Henry Lamb took a grudged fifteen minutes off from his toil that sweltering August morning to accompany Mrs. Lamb to the Sanford railroad station to watch their offspring de-
