Excerpt: "Jimmy Logan stood his skis in the corner behind the door and, tramping heavily to get the clinging snow from his shoes, climbed the first flight in Trow Hall slowly and then dragged wearied feet down the corridor to Number 19. Once inside the room, he said, “Hello,” shied his cap onto his bed and sank exhaustedly in the nearest chair, stretching his legs across the rug and slumping down until the wet collar of his mackinaw came in contact with his ears. Whereupon he muttered, “Ugh!” and sat up another inch or two. Across the room, one foot on the floor and the other doubled up beneath him on the window-seat, was Jimmy’s roommate. His response to the greeting had been brief and delivered in a preoccupied voice, for Dudley Baker had a book open before him on the cushion and held a stained and battered baseball in his right hand. His attention was divided between book and ball and had no room for Jimmy. The latter’s gaze presently came away from his shoes, which were trickling water to the rug, and fixed itself on Dudley. He had to sit up still higher in the chair to get an uninterrupted view of his chum, which proceeding elicited a protesting groan from him, and after he had attained it he instantly decided that it was not worth while and deeply regretted the exertion it had caused him. He promptly descended again on his spine, crossed his feet and sighed luxuriously."