Hugh skirted two of the factory laboratories, hurried between the Doric
temple and Byzantine mosque, paused five times to direct confused
classmates, passed a dull red colonial building, and finally stood
before Surrey Hall, a large brick dormitory half covered by ivy.

He hurried up-stairs and down a corridor until he found a door with 19
on it. He knocked.

"What th' hell! Come in." The voice was impatiently cheerful.

Hugh pushed open the door and entered the room to meet wild
confusion--and his room-mate. The room was a clutter of suit-cases,
trunks, clothes, banners, unpacked furniture, pillows, pictures,
golf-sticks, tennis-rackets, and photographs--dozens of photographs, all
of them of girls apparently. In the middle of the room a boy was on his
knees before an open trunk. He had sleek black hair, parted meticulously
in the center, a slender face with rather sharp features and large black
eyes that almost glittered. His lips were full and very red, almost too
red, and his cheeks seemed to be colored with a hard blush.

"Hullo," he said in a clear voice as Hugh came in. "Who are you?"

Hugh flushed slightly. "I'm Carver," he answered, "Hugh Carver."

The other lad jumped to his feet, revealing, to Hugh's surprise, golf
knickers. He was tall, slender, and very neatly built.

"Hell!" he exclaimed. "I ought to have guessed that." He held out his
hand. "I'm Carl Peters, the guy you've got to room with--and God help