Hart gave it in full, but his spirit sank within him. No one smiled. Was this to be the end of his college career? He thought of the miles he had travelled,—of what he had given up. Despair and anger filled his soul.
"Is this your room?"
"No, sir; I have a small room in Edwards."
The proctor still breathing hard cleared the crowd out of the hallway. The hilarity that had been going on had ceased entirely, and the freshmen were seated silently about. Newton Wilberforce Hart was much depressed. He had straightened his crumpled collar and brushed his torn clothes, and was now twisting his big fingers nervously. Never had he felt so young or so foolish in his life.
An upper-class man knocked on the door. He had been one of the group who had gathered outside. Every one knew him; his pictures had appeared in the illustrated papers for the last three years—Minton, the Half-Back.
"You had better go over to your room, old chap," he said, addressing Hart; "I will see if I can't straighten matters out. I wouldn't hang around here any more, if I were you."
The big freshman waited a few minutes and
