Carl's adviser had been less efficient than Hugh's; therefore he knew what his courses were, where the classes met and the hours, the names of his instructors, and the requirements other than Latin for a B. S. degree. Carl said that he was taking a B. S. because he had had a year of Greek at Kane and was therefore perfectly competent to make full use of the language; he could read the letters on the front doors of the fraternity houses.
The boys found that their courses were the same but that they were in different sections. Hugh was in a dilemma; he could make nothing out of his card.
"Here," said Carl, "give the thing to me. My adviser was a good scout and wised me up. This P. C. isn't paper cutting as you might suppose; it's gym. You'll get out of that by signing up for track. P. C. means physical culture. Think of that! You can sign up for track any time to-morrow down at the gym. And E I, 7 means that you're in English I, Section 7; and M is math. You re in Section 3. Lat means Latin, of course—Section 6. My adviser—he tried pretty hard to be funny—said that G. S. wasn't glorious salvation but general science. That meets in the big lecture hall in Cranston. We all go to that. And H I, 4 means that you are in Section 4 of History I. See? That's all there is to it. Now this thing"—he held up a printed schedule—"tells you where the classes meet."
With a great deal of labor, discussion, and profanity they finally got a schedule made out that meant something to Hugh. He heaved a Brobdingnagian sigh of relief when they finished.
"Well," he exclaimed, "that's that! At last I know where I'm going. You certainly saved my life. I know where all the buildings are; so it ought to be easy."
"Sure," said Carl encouragingly; "it's easy. Now there's nothing to do till to-morrow until eight forty-five when we attend chapel to the glory of the Lord. I think I'll pray to-morrow; I may need it. Christ! I hate to study."
"Me, too," Hugh lied. He really loved books, but somehow he couldn't admit the fact, which had suddenly become shameful, to Carl. "Let's go to the movies," he suggested, changing the subject for safety.
"Right-o!" Carl put on his freshman cap and flung Hugh's to him. "Gloria Nielsen is there, and she's a pash baby. Ought to be a good fillum."
The Blue and Orange—it was the only movie theater in town—was almost full when the boys arrived. Only a few seats near the front were still vacant. A freshman started down the aisle, his "baby bonnet" stuck jauntily on the back of his head.
"Freshman!"... "Kill him!"... "Murder the frosh!" Shouts came from all parts of the house, and an instant later hundreds of peanuts shot swiftly at the startled freshman. "Cap! Cap! Cap off!" There was a panic of excitement. Upper-classmen were standing on their chairs to get free throwing room. The freshman snatched off his cap, drew his head like a scared turtle down into his coat collar, and ran for a seat. Hugh and Carl tucked their caps into their coat pockets and attempted to stroll nonchalantly down the aisle. They hadn't taken three steps before the bombardment began. Like their classmate, they ran for safety.