“Oh, yes, that’s right!” chimed in Dunk. “Hope you don’t mind, Andy, but a cap or a crusher would be in better form.”
Andy noticed that the others had on soft hats.
“Sure,” he said. “I was going to get one. I had a soft hat at Milton, but it’s all initialed, and covered with dates from down there. I don’t suppose that would go here.”
“Hardly,” agreed Dunk. “I’ve got an odd one, though. Stick it on until you get yours,” and he hauled a soft hat from under a pile of things on his dresser.
Andy hung up his offending derby and clapped the other on the back of his head. Then the five sallied forth, locking the door behind them.
Their feet echoed on the stone flagging of the open courtyard as they headed out on the campus. Past Dwight Hall, the home of the Young Men’s Christian Association, they went, out into High street and through Library to York. The thoroughfares were thronged with many students now, for it was the hour for supper.
Calls, cries, hails, gibes, comments and appeals were bandied back and forth. For it was the beginning of the term, and many of the new lads had not yet found themselves or their places. It was all pleasurable excitement and anticipation.
Huddled close together, talking rapidly of many things they had seen, or hoped to see—of the things they had done or expected to do, Andy, Dunk, and their chums walked on to the eating place. Dunk informed Andy, in a whisper, that his three friends had been at Phillips Academy, in Andover, with him.
“Over here!”
“This way!”