Andy’s train rolled into the New Haven station shortly before dusk. On the way the new student had been surreptitiously “sizing up” certain other young men in the car with him, trying to decide whether or not they were Yale students. One was, he had set that down as certain—a quiet, studious-looking lad, who seemed poring over a book and papers.

Then Andy, making an excuse to get a drink of water, passed his seat and looked at the documents. They were a mass of bills which the young man evidently had for collection.

“Stung!” murmured Andy. “But he sure did look like a Yale senior.” He was yet to learn that college men are not so different from ordinary mortals as certain sensational writers would have had him believe.

There was the usual bustle and rush of alighting passengers. Now indeed Andy was sure that a crowd of students had come up on the train with him for, once out of the cars their exuberance manifested itself.

There were greetings galore from one to another. Renewals of past acquaintance came from every side. There were hearty clappings on the backs of scores and scores, and re-clappings in turn.

Youths were tumbling out here, there, everywhere, colliding with one another, bumping up against baggage trucks, running through the station, one or two stopping to snatch a hasty cup of coffee and some doughnuts from the depot restaurant.

Andy stood almost lost for the moment amid the excitement. It had come on suddenly. He had never dreamed there were so many Yale men on the train. They gave no evidence of it until they had reached their own precincts.

Then, like a dog that hesitates to bark until he is within the confines of his own yard, they “cut loose.”

Taxicab chauffeurs were bawling for customers. Hackmen with ancient horses sent out their call of:

“Keb! Keb! Hack, sir! Have a keb!”

The motor bus of the Hotel Taft was being jammed with prosperous looking individuals. Around the curve swept the clanging trolley cars.

“I guess I’ll walk,” mused Andy. “I want to get my mind straightened out.”

He managed to locate an expressman to whom he gave the check for his trunk, with directions where to send it. Then, gripping his valise, which contained enough in the way of clothing and other accessories to see him through the night, in case his baggage was delayed, our hero started up State Street.

In the distance he could see, looming up, the lighted top stories of the Hotel Taft, and he knew that from those same stories one could look down on the buildings and campus at Yale. It thrilled him as he had not been thrilled before on any of his visits to this great American university.

He paid no attention to those about him. The sidewalks, damp with the hazy dew of the coming September night, were thronged with pedestrians. Many of them were college students, as Andy could tell by their talk.

On he swung, breathing in deep of the air of dusk. He squared back his shoulders and raised his head, widening his nostrils to take in the air, as his eyes and ears absorbed the other impressions of the place.

Past the stores, the hotels, the moving picture places Andy went, until he came to where Chapel Street cuts across State. At the corner a confectionery store thrust out its rounded doorway, and in the windows were signs of various fountain drinks.

“A hot chocolate wouldn’t be so bad,” thought Andy. “It’s a bit chilly.”

He went in rather diffidently, wondering if some of the pretty girls lined up along the marble counter knew that he was a Yale man.

He heard a titter of laughter and grew red behind the ears, fearing it might be directed against him.

But no one seemed to notice him, the girl who passed him out his check making change as nonchalantly as though he was but the veriest traveling man instead of a Yale student.

“Very blasÉ, probably,” thought Andy, with a sense of resentment.

He stood on the steps a moment as he came out, and then walked toward the Green, with its great elm trees, now looming mistily in the September haze.

Three churches on Temple street seemed to stand as a sort of guard in front of the college buildings that loomed behind them. Three silent and closed churches they were.

Up Chapel street walked Andy, and he came to a stop on College street, opposite Phelps Gateway. Through the gathering dusk he could make out the inscription over it:

LUX ET VERITAS

“That’s it! That’s what I came here for,” he said. “Light and truth! Oh, but it’s great! Great!”

He drew in a long breath, and stood for a moment contemplating the beautiful outlines of the college buildings.

“Oh, but I’m glad I’m here!” he whispered.

Other students were pouring through the classic gateway. Andy crossed the street and joined them. Already lights were beginning to glow in Lawrance and Farnam Halls, where the sophomores had their rooms. Andy could see some of them lolling on cushions in their window seats. Yale blue cushions, they were.

He passed in through the gateway, his footsteps clanging back to his ears, reflected by the arch overhead. He emerged onto the campus, and started across it toward Wright Hall, with its raised courtyard, and its curtained windows of blue.

“I wonder if Dunk is there yet?” thought Andy. “Hope he is. Oh, it’s Yale at last! Yale! Yale!”

He breathed in deep of the night air. He looked at the shadows of the electric lights of the campus filtering through the trees. He paused a moment.

A confusion of sounds came to him. Outside the quadrangle in which he stood he could hear the hum of the busy city—the clang of trolleys, the clatter of horses, the hoarse croak of auto horns. Within the precincts of the college buildings he could hear the hum of voices. Now and then came the tinkle of a piano or the vibration of a violin. Then there were shouts.

“Oh, you, Pop! Stick out your head!”

The call of one student to another.

“I wonder if they’ll ever call me?” mused Andy.

He started across the campus. Coming toward him were several dark figures. Andy met them under a light, and started back. Before he had a chance to speak someone shouted at him:

“There he is now! The freshest of the fresh! Take off that hat!”

It was Mortimer Gaffington.