I went immediately to the college offices, which were on the first floor of Burke Hall, at the left hand side of the main entrance, and just opposite the large Latin room in which our meeting had been held the night before.
Mr. Dikes was the registrar of the college, and, according to the rules, students were obliged to report to him before leaving town, in order that he might keep a record of their whereabouts. Mr. Dikes was a meek little man, but his office invested him with considerable dignity and importance. His very name smacked of annual reports on behavior and grade, or summons before the faculty and other formal notifications that carried fear and consternation to the guilty student’s heart. But, although his duties rendered him an object of profound respect and even awe, we liked Mr. Dikes none the less, for he was always kind, gentle, and considerate, and never failed to put in a good word for a student in trouble.
He was bending over a large ledger in which an account of absentees was kept, when I entered the office.
“I am going away, Mr. Dikes,” I said.
“Why, vacation will soon be here,” he answered, looking up with a smile.
“Oh, I mean merely for a day. I am going on the 7:15 train, and will return tomorrow evening.”
“Where do you go?” asked Mr. Dikes, getting down from his high stool.
“To Berkeley.”
He smiled again.
“You are going to the convention, I suppose. Mr. Wendell reported this afternoon.”