's our house at Cornell.
Isn't it the darb? And look at that one. It's our house at California.
Some palace. They've got sunken gardens. I was out there last year to
our convention. The boys certainly gave us a swell time."

All this through a haze of tobacco smoke and over the noise of a jazz
orchestra and the chatter of a dozen similar conversations. Hugh was
excited but not really interested. The Nu Deltas invited him to their
house every evening, but they were not making a great fuss over him.
Perhaps they weren't going to give him a bid.... Well, he'd go some
other fraternity. No, he wouldn't, either. Maybe the Nu Delta's would
bid him later after he'd done something on the track.

Although actual pledging was not supposed to be done until Saturday
night, Hugh was receiving what amounted to bids all that day and the
night before. Several times groups of fraternity men got into a room,
closed the door, and then talked to him until he was almost literally
dizzy. He was wise enough not to make any promises. His invariable
answer was: "I don't know yet. I won't know until Saturday night."

Carl was having similar experiences, but neither of them had been talked
to by Nu Deltas. The president of the chapter, Merle Douglas, had said
to Hugh in passing, "We've got our eye on you, Carver," and that was all
that had been said. Carl did not have even that much consolation. But he
wasn't so much interested in Nu Delta as Hugh was; Kappa Zeta or Alpha
Sigma would do as well. Both of these fraternities were making violent
efforts to get Hugh, but they were paying only polite attention to Carl.

On Friday night Hugh was given some advice that he had good reason to
remember in later years. At the moment it did not interest him a great
deal.

He had gone to the Delta Sigma Delta house, not because he had the
slightest interest in that fraternity but because the Nu Deltas had not
urged him to remain with them. The Delta Sigma Deltas welcomed him
enthusiastically and turned him over to their president, Malcolm Graham,
a tall serious senior with sandy hair and quiet brown eyes.

"Will you come up-stairs with me, Carver? I want to have a talk with
you," he said simply.

Hugh hesitated. He didn't mind being talked _to_, but he was heartily
sick of being talked _at_.

Graham noticed his hesitation and smiled. "Don't worry; I'm not going to
shanghai you, and I'm not going to jaw you to death, either."

Hugh smiled in response.