Preston’s face.
Their footsteps echoed on the marble floor. The admissions building, erected in 1765, was one of the oldest on campus. The quintessence of federal architecture, its red bricks were outlined at the corners by buttresses of fieldstone. Sunlight, filtering through a transom above the door, spotlighted the letter P in the floor. The portico facing to the west side of the campus led to a gravel path.
“Princeton isn’t the gentleman’s club the administration wants you to believe,” Livingston said as they stepped on the path. “The competition is fast and fierce and egos are as tall as oak trees.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes. The distance to Albert Hall was almost three quarters of a mile. The gravel path gave way to a concrete sidewalk that led to a park-like common area punctuated by skyscraping trees. “The residence halls are infernos,” Livingston said. “We spend as much time out here in the shade as possible. I think I see your roommate. Mr. Johnson!”
A stocky, average height teenager sitting on a bench in the shade waved. He ground a cigarette in the grass, slowly rose to his feet, and loped across the green.“Mr. Johnson, I would like to introduce you to your roommate, Mr. Swedge,” Livingston said.
Preston extended his hand, “Call me Preston.”
“I’m Clark,” he said, looking up at Preston who was a good four inches taller. “Let me take you upstairs.” His ruddy face and dirty blonde hair were streaked with sweat.
“Gentlemen, I will be in my room over at Dawson. If you need anything, ring me up.” Livingston sauntered away.
“I arrived yesterday from Detroit, and already can’t stand this damn weather. The train was a sauna, and our room is a blast furnace. I haven’t slept in days,” Clark said, leading Preston toward a Georgian brick two storied building on the right side of the mall. Three massive chimneys protruded above the gabled roof. “See that chimney to extreme left? Our rooms are right underneath it.”
Granite steps led to a white paneled door framed by pilasters painted to match. The door was open. “Brace yourself for the housemaster. He’s a total prick, and I’m already on his shit list,” Clark said.
Facing them stood Ellis Price, his hands clasped behind his back. Impeccably dressed in a three-piece navy suit, Price was the epitome of deportment. His reputation was a no-nonsense rule stickler who viewed all newcomers as potential trouble until proven otherwise. A shade over five feet, Price relished the role of being Princeton’s Napoleon.
“Name!” Price barked.
“Preston Swedge,” he replied, towering over Price.
Price walked behind the reception desk, retrieving a room key and a sheet of paper. Holding them at arms length he said, “You are responsible for your key and will be charged for a replacement. The rules of the house are listed on this sheet of paper.” The corners of his razor thin mustache rose as a grin appeared on his face. “Mr. Johnson seems to have trouble comprehending what he reads. Mr. Swedge, I trust you don’t have the same problem.”
Preston took the key and paper. Price returned to his position in front of the desk.
Preston and Clark climbed an oak staircase to the second floor landing. “I told you he was a prick,” Clark said, laughing loudly.
“Getting on the wrong side of the housemaster in the first twenty-four hours must be a record,” Preston said.
Clark shrugged his shoulders, turned left, and proceeded to the end of the hall. Clark unlocked the door to room #22, ushering Preston into a living room furnished with two fireside chairs, a coffee table, and a settee. A bedroom was oneither side of the room.
“I took the liberty of taking the bedroom on the left,” Johnson said. “Call over to admissions and ask them to send up your gear.”
Preston walked into his bedroom, taking stock in the fact that it wasn’t far removed from the configuration at Choate—twin bed,
Their footsteps echoed on the marble floor. The admissions building, erected in 1765, was one of the oldest on campus. The quintessence of federal architecture, its red bricks were outlined at the corners by buttresses of fieldstone. Sunlight, filtering through a transom above the door, spotlighted the letter P in the floor. The portico facing to the west side of the campus led to a gravel path.
“Princeton isn’t the gentleman’s club the administration wants you to believe,” Livingston said as they stepped on the path. “The competition is fast and fierce and egos are as tall as oak trees.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes. The distance to Albert Hall was almost three quarters of a mile. The gravel path gave way to a concrete sidewalk that led to a park-like common area punctuated by skyscraping trees. “The residence halls are infernos,” Livingston said. “We spend as much time out here in the shade as possible. I think I see your roommate. Mr. Johnson!”
A stocky, average height teenager sitting on a bench in the shade waved. He ground a cigarette in the grass, slowly rose to his feet, and loped across the green.“Mr. Johnson, I would like to introduce you to your roommate, Mr. Swedge,” Livingston said.
Preston extended his hand, “Call me Preston.”
“I’m Clark,” he said, looking up at Preston who was a good four inches taller. “Let me take you upstairs.” His ruddy face and dirty blonde hair were streaked with sweat.
“Gentlemen, I will be in my room over at Dawson. If you need anything, ring me up.” Livingston sauntered away.
“I arrived yesterday from Detroit, and already can’t stand this damn weather. The train was a sauna, and our room is a blast furnace. I haven’t slept in days,” Clark said, leading Preston toward a Georgian brick two storied building on the right side of the mall. Three massive chimneys protruded above the gabled roof. “See that chimney to extreme left? Our rooms are right underneath it.”
Granite steps led to a white paneled door framed by pilasters painted to match. The door was open. “Brace yourself for the housemaster. He’s a total prick, and I’m already on his shit list,” Clark said.
Facing them stood Ellis Price, his hands clasped behind his back. Impeccably dressed in a three-piece navy suit, Price was the epitome of deportment. His reputation was a no-nonsense rule stickler who viewed all newcomers as potential trouble until proven otherwise. A shade over five feet, Price relished the role of being Princeton’s Napoleon.
“Name!” Price barked.
“Preston Swedge,” he replied, towering over Price.
Price walked behind the reception desk, retrieving a room key and a sheet of paper. Holding them at arms length he said, “You are responsible for your key and will be charged for a replacement. The rules of the house are listed on this sheet of paper.” The corners of his razor thin mustache rose as a grin appeared on his face. “Mr. Johnson seems to have trouble comprehending what he reads. Mr. Swedge, I trust you don’t have the same problem.”
Preston took the key and paper. Price returned to his position in front of the desk.
Preston and Clark climbed an oak staircase to the second floor landing. “I told you he was a prick,” Clark said, laughing loudly.
“Getting on the wrong side of the housemaster in the first twenty-four hours must be a record,” Preston said.
Clark shrugged his shoulders, turned left, and proceeded to the end of the hall. Clark unlocked the door to room #22, ushering Preston into a living room furnished with two fireside chairs, a coffee table, and a settee. A bedroom was oneither side of the room.
“I took the liberty of taking the bedroom on the left,” Johnson said. “Call over to admissions and ask them to send up your gear.”
Preston walked into his bedroom, taking stock in the fact that it wasn’t far removed from the configuration at Choate—twin bed,
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