The train sauntered its asthmatic way into another village depot．It was a local the last thirty miles or so before its

destination,a little country town whose only reason for

existence was the college on a wooded hill．

Sam glanced up from his paperback to read the name on

the station．He had glanced up thus at every stop，and each

time he had not failed to take another look at the glinting

crown oI amber hair showing above the dull green of the

seat in front of him．Its wide natural wave was like the path

of a breeze across a wheat field． 1

About the three girls on the other side of the aisle he had

little curiosity．Two were mere types，he had decided when

he first took his place near them and heard their conversation．

“This year is going to be a blast，”declared one in a

rapturous strident key．“I m going to see that it is．I spent too

much time on books last winter,I don’t plan to do that

again.Eat,drink and be merry,I say．I ve stashed away a

tair rating with the profs and I don’t intend to worry any

more．”The girl got out a little gilt—edged comb andⅡmirror

and worked with long，slender,practiced fingers on her ash

brown slinky hair．

Her seat mate gave her a superior look．

“Have it your way,Pinky,I do intend to，”she retorted．She

was slim,long—legged and long—eyelashed，with sandal—

wood hair combed back slickly into a twist．