“Pretty early in the game: fellows don’t get down to brass tacks in their college work until after it’s come and gone. You’ll have all the notice you’ll need. What schools do you enter?”
“Civil for me; Mechanical for Larry.”
“Good on the Civil end; I’m one of ’em myself,” said Merkle, extending a ham-like hand. “You’ll like the Dean. He’s some Ranahan on field work.” Then, heaving himself up out of his chair: “There goes Mother Grant’s little supper tinkle bell. You’ll register in, Wednesday, and then you’ll have a day or so to shake yourselves into place. Sheddon’s a good old dump, but if you’ve been brought up by hand, you may find her a little raspy on the nerves, as all engineering schools are likely to be. But she’s fair and square and just. You get about what you go out after. Let’s jump down and bite a piece o’ pie.”
With two days to spare before the Registrar’s office would open, the “twins” had time to look about a bit. Finding that they had the freedom of the campus and its buildings, they made a round of the different schools, “rubber-necking,” as Dick put it.
In addition to being the technical end of a State University, Sheddon was—and is—a considerable university in itself. The “rubber-neckers” wandered through building after building; Agriculture, with its up-to-date farm machinery, spotless dairy, and model farm; Chemistry and Pure Science, with their splendidly equipped laboratories; Electricity, with wonders to which their High School course had barely introduced them; Civil Engineering, with its museum of surveying instruments; and Mechanical, with its laboratory, big lecture-rooms, testing lab., foundry, blacksmith-shop, pattern-shop and machine-shop complete to the smallest practical detail.
Larry Donovan warmed up with his first touch of real enthusiasm as they were inspecting the shops. He had worked in the home railroad shop to earn money for his High School course.
“This is something like!” he exclaimed. “Let me get into my overalls and jumper, and I’ll be right at home here. Just look at those lathes—motor-driven and up-to-date to the last bit of polish on the face-plates.”
With his customary ease of fitting himself into whatever niche he happened to drop into, Dick made a good many acquaintances during those preliminary days, and was hail-fellow-well-met with a score and more of his classmates by the time the registration was over and the student body was getting its assignment cards filled out.
But with Larry it was altogether different. While Dick made friends who told him what to do and how to do it, Larry plugged along on his own—and made hard work of it. Of course, this was strictly his own fault; but even at this early date in his college career he was beginning to draw a line which was later to give him no end of trouble and heartburnings.
As well as he knew Dick—and they had been the closest of friends in the home High School—he was already asking himself if Dick’s ready acceptance by everybody wasn’t due to the fact that Dick’s father was general manager of a good-sized railroad. Admitting that accusation—and he was admitting it almost before he knew it—it was only a step over to the other side of the misleading equation: if a fellow’s ranking in Sheddon was going to be based upon the social or financial prominence of his family, what sort of a show did the son of a crippled ex-locomotive engineer stand?