then at once resumed his task.

Will Phelps ran across the campus to Leland Hall, and as he turned in at
the dimly lighted hall the contrast between his own surroundings and
those in which he now found himself was for the moment almost painful.
The stone step at the entrance had been worn away by the passing of
boyish feet over it for more than a century. For a moment there flashed
into his mind the thought of the eager lives that there had been trained
and long since had passed over into the land beyond. Will himself was
the fourth generation in direct descent in his own family to enter
Winthrop, and as he now passed slowly up the rough, narrow, and worn
stairway, he found himself thinking of his own father and grandfather
and great-grandfather, all of whom doubtless had many a time been in the
very same hallway where he himself then was. Even then from far down
the street came the sounds of song and laughter of some passing body of
students and the faint sound he could hear was for the moment almost
like the echo of long past days. The very hall seemed to echo also with
the footfalls of students who had long since completed their course and
passed on. He was surrounded by a cloud of witnesses.

Suddenly from the floor above him came the sound of noisy shouts and
shrieks of laughter. The vision of other days and other men instantly
departed, and the full force of the appeal of the present swept over
him. Bounding up the steps, two at a time, he swiftly came to the third
floor and then stopped abruptly as the shouts were redoubled and
evidently came from Peter John Schenck's room.

For a moment Will hesitated, almost tempted to turn back, but his
feeling of curiosity was strong and resolutely he advanced and rapped
upon the door. This was quickly opened and Will stepped inside the room.