All at once Jimmy extended his whip. "There it is, over there—you'll get the water tower first."
Stover stood up reverentially. Across the dip and swell of the hills a cluster of slated roofs, a glimpse of red brick through the trees, a touch of brownstone, a water tower in sharp outline against the sky, suddenly rose from the horizon. A continent had been discovered, the land of possible dreams.
"It's ripping—ripping, isn't it?" he said, still standing eagerly.
The Roman, gazing on it for the thousandth time, shook his head in musing agreement.
Across the fields came the stolid ringing of the school bell, ringing a hundred laggards across the budding campus to hard seats and blackboarded walls, ringing with its lengthened, slow-dying, never-varying note.
"That the bell?" said Stover, rebelling already at its summons.
"That's it," said Jimmy.
Stover sat down, his chin in his hands, his elbows on his knees, gazing eagerly forward, asking questions.
"I say, where's the Green House?"
"Ahead on your left—directly."