CHAPTER XXIV
And then it was time to go back to college. Sophomore year was entirely different. What a change from his cat-in-a-strange-garret sensation of a year ago! Now he was blatantly sure of every step in the elaborate and illogical ritual that makes up ndergraduate life. He stood between College Hall and the Library all one happy afternoon, wringing the hands of Sophomores, as uplifted with their status as he. There Griswold the Assistant Manager hailed him and carried him off to the football house on 117th Street. He found the office on the first floor crowded with all the leaders and hangers-on of the football organization.
Andrews shook hands with him and actually remembered his name instead of calling him "Freshman Bean-pole"—it was great to be a Soph.! "Report in the Gym. at three," said Andrews, "you'd better live at the house this season; fix him up with a room, Charley." He turned and went on talking with McClurg, something about officials for the Fordham game.
Bixby reached over and picked up a paper from the welter on his desk, "Top-floor, Crittenden, you'll find a lot of cots in the front room; take any one that's loose."
"I haven't any clothes with me," explained Neale. It had never occurred to him that he would be accepted into the very center of things this way.
"Never mind, bring 'em to-morrow; but you'd better beat it up and stake out your claim to a cot now.…" The telephone rang and Bixby snatched it up, "Columbia football house, yes, this is Bixby speaking. No, that won't do! Those shoes were promised for this afternoon. Yes, yes, you can make it if you send them right away. See here, there are lots of sporting-goods firms who want our trade…"
Neale went upstairs and found a room, with six cots made
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