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“Chocolate ice-cream soda, please,” he requested presently, when a youth with sandy hair strolled into sight wiping his hands on a soiled white apron. “Lots of chocolate, please,” he added.

The clerk glanced doubtfully at the faucet inscribed “Choc.,” tried it and shook his head. “All out of chocolate just now,” he announced, looking dreamily across the street. “I’m going to make some more this afternoon. Something else do?”

“Strawberry,” said Rodney.

This time the clerk had better luck. While Rodney consumed the concoction, the clerk leaned wearily against the fountain and watched the street. At last, “School?” he asked.

“What?”

“You an Academy boy?”

“Not yet.” Rodney glanced at the round faced clock in the center of the partition. “Not till five o’clock probably.”

“Just come, eh?” continued the clerk with a slight show of interest. “Well, it’s a pretty good school, I guess. ’Bout as good as any in New York State, they say.”

“Is it?” Rodney didn’t seem much impressed. “If I’d had my way I’d have gone to a military academy back in Michigan. But my brother used to go here and he made dad send me, too. I suppose it will do.”