And then, at last, the gates were flung open. The long, shiny train had slid into the station. Harold declined the porters' offers to tote his bags. He would have to economize, the sub-Freshman knew, and he might as well begin at once.
Harold confusedly sought Car V-6, and was awed by his first authentic glimpse of the inside of a Pullman car. There was a little preliminary bumping about as the train changed engines. Then smoothly it glided out of the train shed and within an hour Harold was further away from home than he had ever been in his life before.
For another hour or more he kept his face nearly glued to the window pane, gazing as intently upon the flat, uninteresting Ohio scenery as if it were the Grand Canyon. Then he turned to a contemplation of "College Comedy," a magazine which he had purchased at the Cleveland station. This consisted mostly of jokes reprinted from humorous student publications at the various universities. Many of the jokes and illustrations, Harold had to admit, were rather broad and approaching the risqué. He even noticed two or three of this character bearing the tag-line of the "Tate Totem Pole," the funny paper of his own alma mater. He remembered that
