be funny—said that G.S. was n’t glorious salvation but general science. That meets in the big lecture hall in Cranston. We all go to that. And H 1, 4 means that you are in Section 4 of History 1. See? That’s all there is to it. Now this thing”—he held up a printed schedule—“tells you where the classes meet.”
With a great deal of labor, discussion, and pro- * fanity they finally got a schedule made out that meant something to Hugh. He heaved a Brobdingnagian sigh of relief when they finished.
“Well,” he exclaimed, “that’s that! At last I know where I ’m going. You certainly saved my life. I know where all the buildings are; so it ought to be easy.”
“Sure,” said Carl encouragingly; “it’s easy. Now there’s nothing to do till to-morrow until eight forty-five when we attend chapel to the glory of the Lord. I think I ’ll pray to-morrow; I may need it. Christ! I hate to study.”
“Me, too,” Hugh lied. He really loved books, but somehow he could n’t admit the fact, which had suddenly become shameful, to Carl. “Let’s go to the movies,” he suggested, changing the subject for safety.
“Right-o!” Carl put on his freshman cap and flung Hugh’s to him. “Gloria Nielsen is there, and she’s a pash baby. Ought to be a good fillum.”
