"What did he get his 'L' for?" said Stover, as the Tennessee Shad, to gain time, showed him the lower floor.
"Quarter on the eleven last fall. Here's the Triumphant Egghead's room. Isn't it a peach? They've got a good crowd here; you must be with them or us next year. Here's Turkey Reiter's and Butcher Stevens' quarters. They're crackerjacks, too; on the eleven and the nine. Come on, now. We'll strike Doc. You know he studies medicine and all that sort of thing. Wait till I give the countersign. Doc's most particular."
Stover found himself in a den, a combination of drug-store, taxidermist's shop and general warehouse. All about the room were ranged an extraordinary array of bottles—green bottles that lurked under the bed, red, blue and white bottles that climbed the walls and crowded the mantelpiece, tops of bottles that peered out of half-opened boxes, all ticketed and mustered in regiments. From the ceiling a baby alligator swung on a wire, blinking at them horribly with shining glass eyes; a stuffed owl sat in one corner; while opposite, a muskrat peered into a crow's nest. The closet and all available floor space were heaped high with paper boxes and wooden cases, while over all were innumerable catalogues.
"Pretty fine, isn't it?" said the Tennessee Shad.
"It's wonderful," said Stover, not quite at ease.
"It's not bad," said Doc. "I'd like to have a nice, white skeleton over there in that corner; but they're hard to get, nowadays. Now let's get down to business. Sit down."
Stover took the only chair; the Tennessee Shad curled up languidly on the bed, after brushing aside the débris; while Macnooder, perched on a drygoods box, poised a pencil over a pad of paper.
"You want a crockery set, first; a student lamp, and an oil can to keep your oil in."
"Especially the can," said the Tennessee Shad gravely. "Better get a padlock with it, or the whole Green House will be stealing from you."
"I don't know whether I have a can on hand," said Macnooder anxiously. "But here's a lamp."