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Mrs. Grant proved to be as hospitable as she looked. There were to be six fellows in the house, she explained; two Juniors who had been there the year before, and four Freshmen. One of the Juniors had arrived, but the other and the two additional Freshmen were yet to come. Dick and Larry were to make themselves at home, and the arrived Junior, a husky-looking chap named Merkle, would show them their room.

Merkle did the showing—to a large, plainly furnished room on the second floor—and took an upperclassman’s privilege of casting himself into the one easy-chair while the newcomers unpacked their grips.

“Where are you fellows from?” he asked.

This time Dick did not try to be funny. “Brewster—western Colorado,” he replied.

“Some little jump, I’ll say,” Merkle commented. “Ever here before?”

“Nope.”

“Then you’ll want to know some of the Sheddon traditions; every college has ’em. If you know ’em beforehand, it’s easier.”

“Shoot,” said Dick; “we’re here to learn.” Then, with a fine assumption of uninformed innocence: “Where can I get one of those sweaters with an ‘S’ on it, like the one you’re wearing?”