one or two other lads in Surrey with whom he picked up an acquaintance, and Carl clung close to Hugh, careful to hide the fact that he felt very small and meek. For the first time he realized that he was just a freshman—and he did n’t like it.
Then suddenly the tension, which had been gath¬ ering for a day or so, broke. Orders went out from the upper-classmen that all freshmen put on their baby bonnets, silly little blue caps with a bright orange button. From that moment every freshman was doomed. Work was their lot, and plenty of it. “Hi, freshman, carry up my trunk. Yeah, you, freshman—you with the skinny legs. You and your fat friend carry my trunk up to the fourth floor—and if you drop it, I ’ll break your fool necks.” . . . “Freshman! go down to the sta¬ tion and get my suit-cases. Here are the checks. Hurry back if you know what’s good for you.” . . . “Freshman! go up to Hill Twenty-eight and put the beds together.” . . . “Freshman! come up to my room. I want you to hang pictures.”
Fortunately the labor did not last long, but while it lasted Hugh was hustled around as he never had been before. And he loved it. He loved his blue cap and its orange button; he loved the upper¬ classmen who called him freshman and ordered him around; he loved the very trunks that he lugged so painfully up-stairs. He was being recognized, merely as a janitor, it is true, but recognized; at
