CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Presentation Day

Adam, Jamie and Marcus all scowled at Lucas as he came running up to the chapel steps, where they were waiting.  “Late, as always,” Adam grumbled.  “We’ll be lucky if there are any seats left.”

“I’m not late,” Lucas protested.  He consulted his watch.  “Five minutes to spare,” he insisted.

The other three shook their heads and shoved him toward the chapel.  As they had feared, the ground floor was already packed to the seams, and when they ran up to the gallery, they found almost the same situation.  Only when a couple of other students obligingly moved were they able to finagle four seats in close proximity, Lucas and Marcus taking the ones in the row behind Adam and Jamie, who both breathed a sigh of temporary relief as they sank into their seats.  Though they had a difficult wait ahead of them, at least they had a place to do their nervous fidgeting.

At 10:30 the seniors marched in and took their usual seats at the front of the center aisle.  In principle, this was their day, although it was a transition point for the other classes, as well.  Attendance was not compulsory, and only the juniors were there in any large numbers.  There weren’t more than, perhaps, thirty freshman there that morning; to the others, Presentation Day was just a welcome break from classes, which were dismissed for the day.

For the seniors, though, this marked the end of their daily connection with the college.  They had finished their final exams and after today would not return until Commencement.  At chapel tomorrow morning each of the lower classes would fill the seats of the class above and from that time would be treated with the dignity due their new station.  That, of course, had greater meaning for the freshmen than for the rest, since by tradition there would be no more twitting or teasing after today.  They would be accepted as fully arrived men of Yale.

President Woolsey stood at the pulpit as Lebeus Chapin, the senior tutor, presented the class to him and recommended them for graduation.  The President said a few words in Latin that made Adam smile, for they were basically words of congratulation to the faculty for having brought another group of young men to this point.  Next he announced the class poet, and Henry Holt favored them with three to four hundred simple lines arranged with refined taste.  Another senior, D. Henry Chamberlain, then presented the class oration on “The Scholar in the Republic,” dealing masterfully with the current political situation and the difficult problems of national existence.  His closing, mentioning the death of several classmates, brought tears, even to the eyes of those who had not known the young men.  The ceremonies concluded with the singing of the parting ode.  The lyrics had been written by a senior, of course, and were printed in the program, so that all could join in.  Everyone knew the melody, because by tradition the ode was always composed to the tune of Auld Lang Syne, and all the students sang heartily.

The President returned to the pulpit to announce the appointments for Commencement, from the highest honors of valedictory, salutatory and philosophical orations through high orations, dissertations and disputes to the lowest colloquies.  Altogether, he read over sixty names, representing the upper two-thirds of the senior class, and had each man stand to bow his acceptance of the honor.  To the underclassmen, it seemed to go on forever.

Finally, President Woolsey lifted twinkling eyes and smiled toward the gallery.  “And now to the portion of the program for which some of you . . . with limited patience . . . have been waiting.”

Adam and Jamie both leaned forward.  “Settle back,” Lucas whispered from behind them.  “It’s always freshmen last; you should know that by now.”

Ruefully, the two in the row in front of him moved back.  He was right, of course, Adam realized with an unvoiced sigh.  The seniors had already had their honors recited, but the juniors and sophomores would certainly precede the lowly freshmen.  Adam grinned to himself.  After today no one would think of them that way again.

He was surprised, however, when the President began talking about the sophomore awards in English composition.  He leaned back and asked Lucas, “No Juniors?”

“Hardly ever are,” Lucas whispered back.

Adam’s brow wrinkled in thought, wondering why.  If there were awards available exclusively for juniors, he wanted to know about them, but he filed that away to ask about later and watched the presentations.  First, second and third prizes were announced in each division, and due to some ties, there were fourteen awards in all, none of them to people he knew more than by name.  He had, of course, never suspected that Warington or Miller represented the sophomores’ scholastic best—true dunderheads, if he’d ever seen them—but he had thought that, perhaps, Percival Demmings might have received one of the honors.  He hoped he wasn’t as far off in his perception of his own academic standing or that of his best friend.  In regard to the freshman scholarships, he had no expectations, just hope—and an overabundance of nerves, which only increased as Woolsey acknowledged the final sophomore.

Adam inched to the edge of his seat as Woolsey said, “Our freshmen have shown themselves especially strong in mathematics this year.”  The President explained that there would, therefore, be a tie for both first and second place for the mathematical premiums and then began to announce the winners.  When his name was not called, Adam exchanged a quick, nervous smile with Jamie, who joined him on the edge of the seat, now that the awards he’d had no expectation of winning had been announced.

“Congratulations,” Jamie whispered, but Adam shook his head.  Since no one could win more than one award, not receiving one of the lesser prizes did mean that they were both still eligible for the two larger scholarships, but guaranteed nothing.  Perhaps he simply hadn’t done as well as he’d thought on the mathematics portion of the exam, although it was hard to conceive that that many people had bested him.  He held his breath while President Woolsey detailed what the next award, the Hurlbut, meant in terms of accomplishment and monetary reward.

“This year’s winner of the Hurlbut award is”—the President gave a dramatic pause—“Mr. James Percy Edwards.”

Adam burst from his seat with a shout of sheer joy.  Lucas quickly reached up and hauled him back down.  “Not you,” he hissed.  “St. James won.”

Adam’s cheeks flamed.  He hadn’t misunderstood.  His explosion of enthusiasm had been for his friend, but he hadn’t meant to draw attention to himself when it should rightfully focus on Jamie.  He cast a regretful glance to the man on his left, who just smiled and patted Adam’s arm as he stood to bow in acceptance of his award.  Adam relaxed.  So long as Jamie understood, nothing else mattered.

When the applause died down, the President continued, “And now for our final scholarship award, the one which I have, for some reason, always held in highest affection.”

The student body laughed in appreciation of his mild jest.  While in today’s program and every other official college publication this award was simply—and modestly—called the first freshman scholarship, everyone knew that it had been established by the President himself when he took office in 1846.  That was why the students always called it “the Woolsey,” in appreciation of its founder.  Now it was the only scholarship left to be awarded.  “The first freshman scholarship, with a prize of sixty dollars for each of the next four years,” Woolsey said, “goes to one of our finest and, dare I say, most eager young scholars.”  Again he paused, letting the suspense build, and then called, “Adam Morgan Cartwright.”

Applause erupted around him, but Adam sat, stunned, unable to believe he had heard correctly.

Then President Woolsey chuckled and called, “Now, Mr. Cartwright.  Now you stand up.”

The other students hooted and hollered toward the gallery, “Now, Mr. Cartwright.  Now you stand up.”  They were out of order, of course, but no one rebuked them, even the faculty having joined in the echo.

With a little gratuitous help from his three friends, Adam rose to his feet and bowed to the grinning faces below.  Dismissed, the students rushed out of chapel, some pausing long enough in their headlong rush toward dinner to clap Adam and Jamie and the other prizewinners on the back.  “I can’t believe I won,” Adam said to his closest friends as they moved toward Temple Street for their own dinner.

“We had no doubt, did we, chums?” Jamie asked the others.

“None,” Lucas returned.

“I thought it might have been you,” Marcus suggested to Jamie.

“As did I,” Adam said.

“Well, I admit I wasn’t sure which of you would come in first,” Lucas declared, “but I was certain you’d rank first and second.”  He threw an arm around Marcus’s slim shoulders.  “Just think, chum, we’ve walked with greatness all these months and never knew it.”

“Without a trace of it rubbing off!” Adam laughed, giving the other boy a friendly shove.

“I think it might have on Marc,” Jamie said with a grin, “but that other fellow . . . well . . .”

Lucas, who could take a joke better than any of them, crinkled his nose in mock distaste.  “Ha, ha.  As I was saying, all these months, I’ve walked with court jesters and never knew it.”

It seemed strange to find Milton Bradford sitting in Alexander White’s position, but both White and Raines had said their good-byes to the others at breakfast.  The faculty was providing a collation for the seniors that afternoon, and both, of course, planned to remain with their class throughout the event-packed day.  The remaining Vultures had voted the previous week to have Bradford serve as their new steward, and while they would all miss White’s calm management of any problems that arose, they were confident that Bradford would admirably fill his shoes.

“I can’t wait to get home and write Father about our news,” Jamie enthused as they left the dining hall.

“Tell him my share of what he advanced us will be repaid soon,” Adam instructed.  They’d picked up some of the furnishings for their dorm room next year from White and Raines, who had been more willing than most to extend credit, so the money Josiah sent had gone further than it otherwise might have.

“I’m sure he isn’t concerned about that,” Jamie chided softly.

“No, but I am,” Adam insisted.  “Well, I’ll see you back at the room in an hour or two.”

“You aren’t coming?” Jamie asked.  “I thought you’d want to write your father, too.  He’ll be so proud, Adam!”

“I think our lovesick lad is more interested in telling someone else,” Lucas suggested, laughing when the look on Adam’s face confirmed his guess.  “Just don’t get so lost in the lady’s charms that you forget about tonight,” he cautioned.  “It is a momentous occasion.”

“Absolutely!” Adam agreed.  “And I do intend to write home, as well, so I won’t be long.”

“All right, then.  See you there,” Jamie said.

Adam said goodbye to him and then to Lucas and Marcus, who trotted off in search of the final items needed to complete their costumes for the evening’s festivities, and walked directly to Elizabeth’s house.  Excitedly, he rapped on her front door and, tapping his foot against the cobbled walkway, waited for someone to respond.

Elizabeth herself opened the door.  “Why, Adam,” she said in surprise, for he’d never called on her in the middle of the week.  “I-I wasn’t expecting you.”

“No, I know,” he said, “but I hope it isn’t an inconvenient time.”

She frowned slightly.  “Well . . . a bit.  The Sanitation Committee is meeting here this afternoon.  Mother’s the hostess, of course, but I’m helping, and I can scarcely walk out in the middle of the meeting.”  She drew herself erect.  “Helping the soldiers is very important to me, you know.”

“Yes, of course,” Adam murmured.  “I won’t take much of your time, then.”  Secretly, he’d hoped that they could take a brief walk together, but he didn’t have much time to spare, either.  “I just wanted to tell you the good news.”

She looked puzzled for a moment and then her face brightened with anticipation.  “Oh!  The scholarship results.  They were today, weren’t they?”

“Yes,” Adam whispered, eyes gleaming.

“And it’s good news, you say?  Oh, I can see from your face that it is!”  She reached up to cup his face in her hands.  “What prize did you take?  Not the Woolsey?”

Adam offered a twisted smile.  “You don’t think I deserve it?”

She doubled her right fist and pounded his shoulder.  “Of course, I do, but it’s always hard to believe that your dreams can come true.”

“Well, Miss Elizabeth Allen, sometimes dreams do come true.”  He pulled her into his arms.

“Adam!” she hissed, pulling back.  “Not in front of the entire Sanitary Committee, not to mention my mother.”

“They don’t approve of kissing?” he asked.  “I assure you the Union soldiers think that is the greatest help you could offer them.”  He puckered his lips and playfully thrust them toward her.

She pushed him back, laughing.  “You aren’t a Union soldier, so you haven’t earned a Sanitary kiss.”

He pouted eloquently.  “Not even a sloppy one of congratulations?”

“I’m never sloppy,” she insisted demurely, but she stood on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek.  “I’m so proud, Adam,” she said.  “I need to go back in before the ladies begin to wonder what’s become of me, but I’m truly pleased with your news and that you cared enough to come tell me immediately.”

“It makes a world of difference in what we can do together next year,” he promised.

“And that is another dream come true,” she whispered, blowing him another kiss as she opened the door and disappeared inside.

* * * * *

            “I feel ridiculous,” Jamie moaned as he and Adam walked toward the Green close to nine o’clock that evening.

“I think that’s the general idea, chum,” Adam broke off whistling long enough to say.  This had been a wonderful day from beginning to end.  He’d won the Woolsey; he’d spent sweet moments with Elizabeth, and he’d still had ample time to share his news in letters home that afternoon.  Now he was ending the day by gathering with the other freshmen to celebrate their impending rise in status.  “I don’t know what you’re complaining about, anyway,” he added.  “You don’t look half as preposterous as I do.”

Having been told by Lucas that the very least he could get by with was to turn his coat inside out and cork his face, shy Jamie had done precisely that and no more.  Adam had tried to get into the spirit of the occasion, but resources kept him from donning as elaborate costume as he knew some of his classmates planned.  He’d purchased a pair of striped trousers and a bashed-in top hat at a second-hand store, turned his coat inside out and carried an umbrella he’d found in a rubbish bin, whose fabric hung in tatters from the bare spines.  It was his best approximation of the garb of a slightly shabby sideshow tightrope walker, and when he and Jamie reached the Green, he held the umbrella frame aloft and teetered from side to side to support the image.

Even so, one look at the costumes cavorting on the steps of the State House told him that he was dressed more conservatively than most of his comrades.  Some of the freshmen danced about in hoop skirts and wigs, while others had attached hooves and tails to simulate some woodland beast of unknown genus.  One man even wore the head of a grizzly bear, although where he’d found that here in the East Adam couldn’t have guessed.

It wasn’t hard to spot Lucas among the revelers.  He was prancing around the columns of the State House, forked tail attached to backside and threatening all within reach with his pitchfork.  “Oh, that’s perfect,” Adam laughed, “considering how often he’s tempted us from the straight and narrow.”

“I wonder where Marc is,” Jamie said, craning his eyes.  It took some searching to find him, for though he was dressed up as a member of a military band, there were so many others tooting on tin horns that he blended into the general cacophony.  “Go rein Luke in,” Jamie told Adam.  “He’ll have the peelers after us.”

Shaking his head, Adam grinned.  He was pretty sure the police would turn a blind eye to whatever ruckus went on at the State House tonight, but since he did want all his closest friends with him for the festivities, he dutifully ran up the steps of the State House and dragged Lucas back to join the others.

For the next few hours the night air was punctuated with silly speeches, songs and poems lauding their own class and lambasting the one above them.  In one of them Lucas distinguished himself with clever repartee.  Adam offered a few lines he’d made up on the spot that brought a chorus of laughs, while Jamie and Marcus were quite content to watch the fun and offer shouts of approval and wild applause for their bolder classmates.

The sophomores formed a circle outside that of the revelers and, whenever lampooned, hooted and hollered in a vain attempt to drown out the speakers.  Every freshman with a horn would turn and blast them in the face until the mockery ceased, and the speakers would continue for another minute or two before the next interruption.  Near midnight fireworks were set off to climax the ceremonies, and the sophomores began to shout, “Time for you to be in bed, freshies!”

“Time for you, old codgers!” Adam shouted to the ones nearest him.  Where once such an exchange of insults might have led to a shoving match and enduring enmity, now there was only laughter and playful pushing.  With a few parting taunts and calls of “Don’t stay up too late, Freshie,” the sophomores headed back to their dorms, leaving the streets of New Haven to the mercy of the freshmen, who formed a long, snaking line and set out on their traditional trip through the city to serenade at the dormitories of the young ladies’ academies in town.  Mostly, their musical offerings were met with silence, although some of the freshmen swore they heard tittering behind the fluttering curtains at open windows.  At only one academy did the fair ones acknowledge the tribute by leaning out the windows and blowing kisses to the rowdy serenaders.  It was enough.  Well satisfied, the freshmen headed back toward the Green, where they dispersed and went to their separate lodgings about 2 a.m.

* * * * *

            With a loud groan Adam rolled out of bed the next morning.  “It’s abominable to expect us to return to classes as usual after an occasion like last night,” he muttered, holding his aching head in his hands.

“I suppose the faculty—any one of them—would point out that they didn’t force us to carouse the night away,” Jamie said wryly.

“I suppose,” Adam returned grumpily, “and it would be just like them to make the recitations as difficult as possible this morning.”

Jamie wriggled past Adam to stand and stagger to the washbasin.  “Let them.  I prepared yesterday afternoon, same as always.”

Adam scowled at the veiled accusation that his visit with Elizabeth had cut into his study time.  It was true, which only made it bite more, and he could only hope that he’d make it through the morning without incurring any demerits.  “Do they give demerits for falling asleep in your seat?” he yawned.

Jamie grabbed for a towel.  “Only if you hit the floor with a resounding thump.”

Adam laughed.  “I just might . . . all the way from the chapel gallery . . . much to Herr Stoeckel’s chagrin.”

Having dried his face, Jamie flicked the damp towel at Adam’s bare neck.  “Maybe the scent of bacon and coffee will wake you up enough to prevent that.”

“Worth a try,” Adam conceded, finally pushing himself to his feet.

* * * * *

For the first time since joining the Beethoven Society, Adam wished he were not part of the choir.  This morning he was stuck up in the gallery, while his classmates moved into the seats vacated by the sophomores.  No longer would they sit in the back of the chapel, but in the front seats on the north aisle.  Adam couldn’t help casting a wistful eye as his classmates swaggered in, but suddenly a shriek made him look with alarm for its source.  That turned out to be none other than his friend Lucas, who had found a gift left for him by the sophomores, who roared with laughter from their new position on the far left aisle.

“A tack,” Lucas snorted when Adam later inquired the reason for his outburst.  “I suppose we should have expected that sort of humor from the likes of those idiots.”

“You’re the only one who got treated to that,” Marcus said.  “The worst any of the rest of us found was some chalk dust in our seats.  Traces of that still showed on the seat of his trousers, although Jamie had tried to brush him off.

“Old grudges die hard,” Lucas grunted.

“Just don’t follow their example yourself,” Jamie urged.  “Remember: vengeance is mine . . .”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lucas muttered, “but I thought they were through with us.”

Adam slapped his friend on the back.  “I have a feeling they are now.”

Lucas grinned.  “Well, so long as it’s the last barb, I guess I can bear its sting.”

The others groaned at the terrible pun and pushed him toward the Athenaeum, where their first recitation of the day awaited them.

Fortunately, the third term review began that morning, so at least there was no new material to cram into their aching heads and revelry-ravaged minds.  Even the teachers seemed merciful that day, leading Lucas to venture the opinion that the excitement of the seniors’ collation had proved too much for the old fellows.

“‘Old fellows,’” Adam hooted.  “Wilder Smith isn’t out of his twenties yet, I’d remind you, and Mr. Nolen barely so.”

“And Old Had is the youngest of them all—at heart,” Jamie insisted, with Marcus concurring when he joined them at the Elm of Assembly after their final recitation.

Lucas waved his hands in capitulation.  “All right, all right.  Whatever the reason, I’m grateful that they went easy on us today.

* * * * *

As Latin class drew to a close on Saturday morning, Wilder Smith made an announcement.  “I am asked to inform you that your class with Mr. Hutchison is cancelled today.  You will, instead, meet with Mr. Packard at 2:30 this afternoon in #176 of the Lyceum.”

The whisper of puzzled voices rippled down the rows.  Had something happened to Old Hutch?  But why replace him with a Greek tutor?  They weren’t even supposed to have Greek class today.  And if he was just a substitute for Hutchison, why the odd hour?

Smith let them wonder for a moment and then clucked his tongue.  “Mr. Packard will oversee the selection of dormitory rooms for next year,” he told them with a wry smile.  “Surely, that momentous question occupies your young minds even more than the ones that will appear on your end-of-term exams—or so I seem to remember from my student days.”

They all chuckled then in acknowledgement of his perception.  Though few of them had any idea of how the allotment would be handled, every man who hoped to lodge in a college dorm next year did, indeed, consider that selection more important than whatever passage in Greek or Latin they might be asked to translate for their exams.

“I was supposed to spend the afternoon with Elizabeth,” Adam moaned as the four friends met after class to discuss the announcement, which had also been made in Marcus’ division.  “They’ve set this drawing for the middle of the afternoon, so I won’t have time, either before or after, to be with her.”

“I suppose I could draw for us,” Jamie offered hesitantly.  If there were decisions to be made, as there were almost certain to be, he really preferred to have Adam’s input.

“Adam still has to sign for himself,” Lucas informed them, “so he can’t just skip it.  Best trot over, lover boy, and tell the lovely lady you’re occupied for the afternoon.”

“I guess I’d better,” Adam sighed, bracing himself for the petulant reaction sure to meet the change of plans.  “I’ll see you at the Vultures’ Nest.”

* * * * *

Room 176 at the Lyceum buzzed with excitement as the newly ordained sophomores discussed which lodgings would be available to them and which of those would make the best choices.  South College wasn’t an option; the incoming seniors would have filled that most popular dorm already, and the upper floors in most of the others would probably be taken by the new juniors, as the older Vultures had informed them at dinner.  “I hope we can avoid the first floor of whatever dorm we land in,” Adam whispered to Jamie.

Jamie winced.  “You’re thinking of me, and I wish you wouldn’t worry.”

“I have no greater love of places damp and cold than you, my friend,” Adam snorted.  “I suggest you pray for an early draw.”  Thanks again to their Vulture comrades, they now knew how the allotment would be managed.  After each of them signed a printed blank, stating that he intended, on his honor, to occupy a room at the college next year and who he intended to room with, the names of each pair would be placed in a hat.  The first drawn would receive first choice of all available rooms; then the others would follow in turn.

Lewis Packard arrived, everyone signed up, and within minutes the drawing began.  The pair whose names were drawn first, as well as those who were second, were immediately besieged by offers of up to fifty dollars in exchange for their right to choose the first rooms.

“Pity,” Jamie sighed to Adam.  “We could have used the money.”

“I wouldn’t have traded,” Adam said.  “There’s no guarantee that there’ll be enough rooms for everyone.”  He’d already seen several glum faces leaving the Lyceum from the class above, who had drawn their assignments immediately before this final group, and the older Vultures had explained that only a certain number of rooms were allotted to each class.  Those whose names were drawn late not only were left with the poorest choices, but sometimes none at all.

“That’s true,” his roommate admitted.  “Well, we’ll just trust God to provide—and you to select from what He provides.”

“Perhaps God will make it simple for me by giving us last choice,” Adam joked.

With each name drawn from the hat, it began to seem less like a joke.  Lucas and Marcus had decided to room together, and they drew a choice about midway through the process.  “Oh, good.  They should be able to get a decent room,” Jamie said enthusiastically and went immediately to congratulate them.

Adam didn’t feel like congratulating anyone.  What he felt was envy—of anyone, friends included, who already had a place secured.  As he waited anxiously to hear his own name called, he wondered what they would do if they didn’t get a room.  Stay on with Mrs. Wiggins, he supposed.  The scholarship money would make that possible, although that wasn’t the way he had hoped to spend it.  But what about all that furniture they’d bought?  Josiah could use some of it, of course.  Another couple of beds wouldn’t go amiss at the Manor, and the desks would be useful, too, for father and son.  What they didn’t need they might be able to sell to the more fortunate possessors of a place on Brick Row, but it would be a hassle.

For himself, it didn’t matter whether they had a good room or not; he was sturdy, and he’d endured much rougher lodgings as a child, but he felt a responsibility toward his less sturdy companion.  For Jamie, the dampness of a first-floor apartment was a major detriment.  With each name drawn the weight on Adam’s shoulders seemed to increase, and there was nothing he could do to shift out from under it, no way to make it go faster or end in his favor—nothing to do but wait.

Finally, only a handful of pairs remained.  “You’re not praying hard enough,” Adam muttered to Jamie, who had rejoined him.

“We’ll get a room,” Jamie said with confident peace.

“It won’t be much of one,” Adam grumbled.  He didn’t add, “If any,” but he thought it.

Jamie gave his friend’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.  “Whatever God gives, we’ll gratefully accept.”  He laughed.  “And if you’re concerned about the effectiveness of my prayers, say one of your own.”

Adam had to admit with some chagrin that he hadn’t made any petitions of his own.  More certain of Jamie’s pull with the Almighty than his own?  Perhaps, but even now the only prayer his mind would form was “Please.”

If what happened then was an answer to prayer, it was the fastest one Adam had ever received, for the next names drawn were his own and Jamie’s, and there was only one pair after them.  He breathed a sigh of relief as he took the slip of paper in hand.  “It’ll be South Middle,” he sighed, sounding apologetic, as if he should somehow have made their names pop out of that hat sooner.  South Middle was the oldest dorm on Brick Row and, therefore, the least popular; it was bound to be all that was left when their turn to select a room finally came.

Jamie, however, looked radiant.  “South Middle will be fine.  We’ll be so much closer to everything than we were on George Street.”

“That’s true,” Adam agreed, and when the drawing ended and he saw the disappointed faces of men who would have to find their lodgings in town, his countenance lifted.  At least, they had a place, and he’d make the best choice he had of the two rooms available when his turn came.  With an inner laugh he realized that God really had made the choice simple for him.  That’ll teach you to joke with the Almighty, he told himself, although he wasn’t really sure that the Almighty involved Himself in matters as mundane as the dorm assignment of struggling students.

Mr. Packard pasted the official list of available rooms on the board and called the first name.  As each pair ahead of him made their selection, Adam carefully examined the choices left to him.  As he’d predicted the first floors of the newer dorms, all that was left for his class in those buildings, were filling quickly.  Soon, as predicted, nothing was left but the top floor of South Middle, since the first floor was reserved for next year’s few freshmen that would room at the college.  When Adam’s name was called, only two rooms remained, and he selected the corner one, #64, for its better light and ventilation.  “Sorry about the long climb, chum,” he said to Jamie as they left the Lyceum.

Jamie only laughed.  “Why, Dr. Cartwright, I thought exercise was part of your prescription.”

Adam scowled.  “I prefer my exercise in the open air, not up and down four flights of stairs several times a day.”  He threw an arm around Jamie’s shoulders.  “Don’t mind me.  I’m sure the room will be fine, once we get all our gear moved in, and now that we know its destination, we can let the staff know where to find it all.”

The faculty would supervise the transfer of every man’s furnishings to his new apartment and add a small charge to their term bill for the service.  It was highly convenient, but in Adam’s and Jamie’s case that would pose quite a challenge for the movers.  They’d bargained for the best deals for everything, and that meant that their gear was now sheltered in multiple locations across Brick Row.  They’d already made a careful list, though, so it was simply a matter of passing it on to the right source and they’d be set for another year of study when they returned next fall.