“Don’t say it!” warned Martin, laying a hand significantly on a book. “Them’s hard words! Listen, Brand: are we going to the lecture or aren’t we not?”
“The Cliff Dwellers of--of Montana, or some place.”
“Maybe,” replied Martin cautiously. “Anyway, the fellow’s good. He was here last year. Let’s go. I’ve always wished I’d been born a cliff-dweller. There’s something awfully fascinating in the idea of shinning up a tree-trunk and climbing through a window when you’re ready for bed! Think what fun there must have been at a prep school in those days. When the fellow who lived above you was climbing up all you had to do was reach out and push the tree-trunk away. Gee, you miss a lot of innocent amusement by being born too late!”
Sunday dawned cloudy and dismal, with occasional sprinkles of rain. Breakfast was a half-hour later, and when that was over there was nothing much to do but furbish up for church. But shining one’s shoes and brushing one’s Sunday suit doesn’t consume much time, no matter how thorough and deliberate one may be, and after Willard was ready there still remained the best of an hour. The steam heat had not yet been turned on and the dormitory was chill and unsympathetic. He tried to write a letter to the folks at home, but only got as far as: “Dear Father and Mother.” Martin’s usually placid humor was perceptibly rumpled this morning, and efforts to engage him in conversation resulted in grunts and growls. Willard was heartily glad when it came time to start off for church, even though he felt uncomfortable in a derby and detested carrying an umbrella.
Dinner was at one, a heavy repast topped off with ice cream and cake that left the diner feeling like an anaconda who had just swallowed a goat. Willard, who had failed to get placed at Joe’s table and was with an unusually uninteresting group at the far end of the hall, arose from the board wishing he had not accepted young Stanley’s offer of his ice cream. Or perhaps it was the cake that was to blame. In any case, he felt horribly full and sluggish, and when, at the door, Bob brightly suggested a nice long tramp over to Banning to see the new railway bridge that was under construction he shook his head and pleaded letters to write. Banning was three miles away, and Willard wasn’t sure he could even get back to his room before going to sleep!