Behold then, these five lads domiciled together in the Freshman corridor. Across the hall from Pete’s room, was a larger apartment, which, as befitted his station, held a lordly senior, one Dick Lawson, who rejoiced in the name of “Roundy” because he was fat. He was also good natured, and though the school authorities had placed him there to have a sort of leavening effect on the Freshmen, he was too good natured to be any sort of a monitor.
After the first supper, partaken of with the entire school assembled in the refectory, the three Smith boys went to their rooms, not knowing what else to do.
“I say, we’re not going to stay in like chickens; are we?” demanded Bill.
“No, but take it easy,” advised Cap. “We want to get the lay of things before we start anything.”
“That’s all right,” agreed Pete. “Do you know what the Freshmen do the first night?”
“Get hazed?” ventured Cap.
“No, they go out and collect signs from around town—pull ’em off, you know; bootblack signs, restaurant signs—any kind—and decorate their rooms with ’em. Let’s do it. Whistle-Breeches said he’d go.”
“Let’s don’t,” came from Cap calmly. “To-morrow will do as well, and I want to look over some lessons. We’ve got to buckle down to work here. It isn’t like the school at home.”
“Wow! I say you’re not going to become a greasy grind so soon; are you?” demanded Bill in contempt.
“Not exactly,” answered Cap, “but we didn’t come here just to have fun. Dad expects something of us.”