and the cheap straw hat could not detract from the resolute look on the sun-browned face of the young man who gazed thoughtfully out of the window.
"Hoosier," remarked the sophomore, who had said "fruit" before.
"Yeppy," was the answer. "Here we are in a minute at the station, old chap."
After a final struggle to catch its breath, the engine slid along the wooden platform and came to a stop.
Simeon helped his mother down the steps and noticed as he did so that the young man with the black tie was directly behind him. Firmly grasped in his big-knuckled right hand was a brand new imitation leather bag—the kind peddlers carry,—and a worn paper bundle was under his arm.
"We had better call on the President first," said Mrs. Congreve, brushing the dust from her sleeves, and giving her son's shoulder a tap. "I want to meet him. You must have a dry, airy room, Simeon, dear."
There were a number of youths in orange- and-black caps waiting at the station. When they saw the two young men, who carried
