"Let's tell our names," said the other. "Mine's Byrd; first name, Amory;
nicknamed Amy. Pretty bad, but it might be worse."

"Mine's Clinton Thayer."

"Thayer? We've got some cousins of that name. They're Northerners,
though. Live in New Hampshire. No relation to you, I guess. I suppose
fellows call you Clint, don't they?"

"Yes."

"All right, Clint, let's mosey back and have some dinner. I had a
remarkably early repast this morning and feel as though I could trifle
with some real food."

"So do I," replied Clint as he climbed down. "I had my breakfast at
half-past six."

"Great Scott! What for?"

"The train got in at six and there was nothing else to do. I got here
before nine."

"You did? I thought I was one of the early Byrds--Joke! Get it?--but I
didn't sight the Dear Old School until after ten. Couldn't find any
fellows I knew and so went for a walk. Most of the fellows don't get
here until afternoon. By the way, who do you room with?"

"I don't know," replied Clint. "I didn't ask. They put me--"