Haylow Hall was the last building at the left of the Green. Joe pushed his way through a group of boys on the stone steps and Harmon followed, conscious that he was being viewed with a good deal of interest by the loungers. Joe, too, noticed the fact, for he chuckled, as they started up the stairs: “Guess some of those fellows recognized you, from the way they stared!” There, however, Joe was wrong. The interest had been only such as would have been accorded to any fellow under such circumstances. For Joe was unaware of the glow of triumph that shone from his countenance as he guided his companion into the dormitory!
In Number 16 Martin Proctor was unpacking a trunk when Joe and Harmon entered. Martin looked questioningly from the latter to Joe, a doubtful grin on his face.
“It’s all right,” announced Joe gayly. “He’s registered, Mart! Where’s Bob?”
“Over at the room, I guess. He brought the bag and lit out. Say, Harmon, I’m mighty glad about this. And—and I hope you don’t hold it against us for what we did. It was sort of rough stuff, but—”
“Not at all,” answered Harmon calmly. “It’s quite all right. Guess I ought to feel flattered instead of sore, anyway. Myers says I’m to room here with you.”
“That’s right. It’s a pretty fair room, Harmon. Better than lots of ’em, anyway. You might take your pick of the beds in there. It doesn’t matter to me which I have.”
“Thanks.” Harmon gravely inspected the curtained alcove and decided on the left-hand bed. Perhaps the fact that Martin’s pajamas lay there had something to do with the decision. Martin blinked but stood the blow heroically and tried to forget that the right-hand bed had a weak spring. At that moment Harmon caught sight of his kit-bag on the floor and pointed at it in surprise.
“Isn’t that mine?” he asked. “How did get here?”
“Bob brought it up from the station a few minutes ago,” explained Martin.
“You fellows must have been pretty certain of having your way!” marveled the owner of the bag.