Reynolds, a sophomore, an old Andover man, dropped in. Again it was but question of the same challenge, addressed to each:
"What are you trying for?"
The arrival of the sophomore, who installed himself in easy majesty in the arm-chair and addressed his questions with a quick, analytical staccato, produced somewhat the effect of a suddenly opened window. Even McNab was unwillingly impressed, and Hunter, closing the trunk, allowed the conversation to be guided by Reynolds' initiative.
He was a fiery, alert, rather undersized fellow, who had been the first in his class to make the News, and was supposed to be in line for that all-important chairmanship.
Inside of five minutes he had gone through the possibilities of each man, advising briefly in a quick, businesslike manner. To Stover he seemed symbolic of the rarefied contending nervousness of the place, a personality that suddenly threw open to him all the nervous panorama of the struggle for position which had already begun.
On top of which there arrived Rogers, a junior, good-natured, popular, important. At once, to Stover's amused surprise, the rôle was reversed. Reynolds, from the enthroned autocrat, became the respectful audience, answered a few questions, and found a quick opportunity to leave.
"Let's go in front and have a little fun," said Rogers.
Somewhat perplexed, Stover led the way to their room.
"Light up," said Rogers, with a chuckle. "There's a sophomore bunch outside just ready to tumble."
Rogers' presence brought back a certain ease; they were no longer on inspection, and even in his manner was a more open cordiality than he had showed toward Reynolds. That under all this was some graduated system of authority Stover was slowly perceiving, when all at once from the street there rose a shout:
"Turn down that light!"
"Freshmen, turn down that light!"
"Turn it down slowly," said Rogers, with a gesture to McNab.
"Faster!"
"All the way down!"
"Turn it up suddenly," said Rogers.
An angry swelling protest arose:
"Turn that down!"
"You freshmen!"
"Turn it down!"
"The freshest of the fresh!"
"Here, let me work 'em up," said Rogers, going to the gas-jet.
Under his tantalizing manipulation the noise outside grew to the proportions of a riot.
"Come on and get the bloody freshmen!"
"Ride 'em on a rail!"
"Say, are we going to stand for this?"
"Down with that light!"
"Let's run 'em out!"
"Break in the door!"
"Out with the freshman!"
Below came a sudden rush of feet. Rogers, abandoning the gas-jet, draped himself nonchalantly on the couch that faced the door.
"Well, here comes the shindy," thought Stover, with a joyful tensity in every muscle.
The hubbub stormed up the hall, shot open the door, and choked the passage with the suddenly revealed fury of angry faces.
"Hello," said Rogers' quiet voice. "Well, what do you want?"
"'HELLO,' SAID ROGERS' QUIET VOICE, 'WELL, WHAT DO YOU WANT?'"—Page 19.
No sooner had the barbaric front ranks beheld the languid, slightly annoyed junior than the fury of battle vanished like a flurry of wind across the water. From behind the more concealed began to murmur:
"Oh, beans!"
"A lemon!"
"Rubber!"
"Sold!"
"Well, what is it?" said Rogers sharply, sending a terrific frown at the sheepish leaders.
At this curt reminder there was a shifting movement in the rear, which rapidly communicated itself to the stammering, apologetic front ranks; the door was closed in ludicrous haste, and down the stairs resounded the stampede of the baffled host.
"My, they are a fierce lot, these man-eating sophomores, aren't they?" said Rogers, giving way to his laughter. And then, a little apologetically, but with a certain twinkle of humor, he added: "Don't worry, boys; there was no one in that crowd who'll do you any harm. However, I might just as well chaperon you to your eating-joint."
"Le Baron is going to take me out with him," said Stover, as they rose to go.
"Hugh Le Baron?" said Rogers, with a new interest.
"Yes, sir."
"I didn't get your name."
"Stover."
"Oh! Captain down at Lawrenceville, weren't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, wish you good luck," said Rogers, with a more appraising eye. "You've got an opening this year. Drop in and see me sometime, will you? I mean it."
"See you later, Stover," said Hunter, resting his hand on his shoulder with a little friendly touch.
"Bully you're with us," said Stone.
"Come in and chin a little later," said Logan.
Saunders gave him a duck of the head, with unconcealed admiration in his embarrassed manner.
McCarthy went with them. Stover, left alone, measured the length of the room, smiling to himself. It was all quite amusing, especially when his was the fixed point of view.
In a few moments Le Baron arrived. Together they went across the campus, now swarming like ant runs. At every step Le Baron was halted by a greeting. Recognition was in the air, turbulent, boyish, exaggerated, rising to the pitch of a scream or accomplished in a bear dance; and through it all was the same vibrant, minor note of the ceaseless activity.
It was the air Stover loved. He waited respectfully, while Le Baron shook a score of hands, impatient for the moment to begin and the opportunity to have his name told from lip to lip.
"I'm going to be captain at Yale," he said to himself, with a sudden fantastic, grandiloquent fury. "I will if it's in me."
"We'll run down to Heub's," said Le Baron, free at last, "get a good last meal before going into training. You look in pretty fit shape."
"I've kept so all summer."
"Who's over in your house?"
Stover named them.
"They weren't my crowd at Andover, but they're good fellows," said Le Baron, listening critically. "Hunter especially. Here we are."
A minute later they had found a table in the restaurant crowded with upper classmen, and Le Baron was glancing down the menu.
"An oyster cocktail, a planked steak—rare; order the rest later." He turned to Stover. "Guess we'd better cut out the drinks. We'll stand the gaff better to-morrow."
There was in his voice a quiet possession, as if he had already assumed the reins of Stover's career.
"Are you out for the eleven again?" said Stover respectfully.
"Yes. I'll never do any better than a sub, but