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“Larry’s all right,” said Dick, hastening to make peace. “He’s just too modest to brag. When does this bloody event eventuate?”

“Pretty early in the game: fellows don’t get down to brass tacks in their college work until after it’s come and gone. You’ll have all the notice you’ll need. What schools do you enter?”

“Civil for me; Mechanical for Larry.”

“Good on the Civil end; I’m one of ’em myself,” said Merkle, extending a ham-like hand. “You’ll like the Dean. He’s some Ranahan on field work.” Then, heaving himself up out of his chair: “There goes Mother Grant’s little supper tinkle bell. You’ll register in, Wednesday, and then you’ll have a day or so to shake yourselves into place. Sheddon’s a good old dump, but if you’ve been brought up by hand, you may find her a little raspy on the nerves, as all engineering schools are likely to be. But she’s fair and square and just. You get about what you go out after. Let’s jump down and bite a piece o’ pie.”

With two days to spare before the Registrar’s office would open, the “twins” had time to look about a bit. Finding that they had the freedom of the campus and its buildings, they made a round of the different schools, “rubber-necking,” as Dick put it.