group list. You belong in Sanders Six."

"Thank you, sir." Hugh spoke so softly that the waiting class did not
hear him, but the instructor smiled at the intensity of his thanks. As
he left the room, he knew that every one was looking at him; his legs
felt as if they were made of wood. It wasn't until he had closed the
door that his knee-joints worked naturally. But the worst was still
ahead of him. He had to go to his English class in Sanders 6. He ran
across the campus, his heart beating wildly, his hands desperately
clenched. When he reached Sanders 6, he found three other freshmen
grouped before the door.

"Is this English One, Section Seven?" one asked tremulously.

"I think so," whispered the second. "Do you know?" he asked, turning to
Hugh.

"Yes; I am almost sure."

They stood there looking at each other, no one quite daring to enter
Sanders 6, no one quite daring to leave. Suddenly the front door of the
building slammed. A bareheaded youth rushed up the stairs. He was a
repeater; that is, a man who had failed the course the preceding year
and was taking it over again. He brushed by the scared freshmen, opened
the door, and strode into Sanders 6, closing the door behind him.

The freshmen looked at each other, and then the one nearest the door
opened it. The four of them filed in silently.

The class looked up. "Sit in the back of the room," said the instructor.