Clint, "but I reckon I'll wash too."

He moved along with the other toward the next dormitory.

"Aren't you in Wendell?" asked Amy.

"No, this next one. Torrey, isn't it?"

"Torrence." Amy stopped and viewed him With sudden interest. "Say, what
number?"

"Fourteen."

"_Well, what do you know about that_?"

"What?" Clint faltered.

"Why--why--" Amy seized his hand and shook it vigorously. "Clint, I
want to congratulate you! I do, indeed!"

Clint smiled. "Thanks, Byrd, but what about?"

"Byrd?" murmured the other disappointedly. "Is that the best you can do
after our long acquaintance? You--you grieve me!"

"Amory, then," laughed Clint.

"Call me Amy," begged the other. "You'll call me worse than that when
you've known me longer, but for now let it be Amy."

"All right. And now, please, what am I being congratulated for?"

Amy's face became suddenly earnest and sober, "Because, my young friend,
you are especially fortunate. A kindly Providence has placed you in the
care of one of the wisest, most respected, er--finest examples of young
manhood this institution affords. I certainly do congratulate you!"

Amy made another grab at Clint's hand, but the latter foiled him.

"You mean the fellow I'm going to room with?" he asked.

"Exactly! Faculty has indeed been good to you, Clint. You will take up
your abode with a youth in whom all the virtues and--and
excellencies--"

"Who is he?" demanded Clint suspiciously.

"His name"--Amy drew close and dropped his voice to an awed and
thrilling whisper--"his name is--Are you prepared?"

"Go on. Ill try to stand it."

"His name, then, is Amory Munson Byrd!"

"Amory Mun--"

"--son Byrd!"

"You mean--I'm in with you?"

"I mean just that, O fortunate youth! Forward, sir! Allow me to conduct
you to your apartment!" And, putting his arm through Clint's, he dragged
that astonished youth into dormitory.

CHAPTER II

CAPTAIN INNES RECEIVES

"What's that awful noise?" asked Clint startledly, looking up from his
book.

It was the evening of the second day of school and Clint and Amy Byrd
were preparing lessons at opposite sides of the green-topped table in
Number 14 Torrence.

"That," replied Amy, leaning back until his chair protested and viewing
his room-mate under the shade of the drop-light, "is music."

"Music!" Clint listened incredulously. From the next room, by way of
opened windows and transoms, came the most lugubrious wails he thought
he