cellar) and the parlours or reception-rooms were possibly on the floor above. It was while I was standing, hesitating on the second landing, gazing up interminable flights of cement stairs and brick walls, wondering how in the world I could dig Oliver out of such a tomb, that a door opened somewhere up above and down those stairs—bump-bump, clappity-clap, pell-mell, like ten barrels falling down one over another, shouting, laughing, guffawing—I heard what I thought must be a regiment charging down upon me. I drew back a little into the corner and suddenly four men—four stunning young college men appeared before me.
They all stopped shouting as if I had been a vision, and though they didn't say a word I could feel they observed me with a start of surprise as if young ladies in their corridors were a great curiosity. I blushed for no particular reason; they passed on quietly down the stairs; and would have left me there without a word if I hadn't spoken.
"Excuse me," I said to the back of the last young man. "Could you tell me—I'm sorry to stop you—but does Oliver Vars room here?"
They all halted and looked up at me. I blushed worse than ever. I suddenly felt as if I ought not to have been there, and though the young men were just as courteous and polite as they could be I was awfully embarrassed.
"Why, yes, he does room here," said the young man nearest me, taking off his hat. "Did you want to see him?"
"Yes," I stammered. "It's—it's very important. I'm sorry but I—"
