There was an assured knock on the door of our room in the reaches of the House. Before anyone could answer, an intense young man with horn-rimmed glasses and a rumpled blue suit strode in.

"How do you do," he began. "I understand from the House Secretary that you boys plan to move down to "B" entry next year."

There was a murmur of assent from my room-mate. We waited. The stranger glanced down at the newspapers littering the floor. "I see, Well, I'm in the room next to yours over there, and my room-mate and I thought it would be a good idea for me to come up, check on a few things--talk it over."

He walked over to the phonograph and shuffled through the records, grimaced at the Kiss Me Kate album. "You fellows will be quiet next year, won't you? I mean, you don't talk loudly or sing all the time? "B" entry is quiet, you know. Our gang doesn't like a lot of noise." We reassured him.

"I talked to your present neighbor here before I came in, but he seems to live very much like you do. I mean, I don't think he can be objective about your case." I noticed that one of our sofa cushions was on the floor.

"Now what is this I hear about you bringing a piano over there? We don't care for that sort of thing. Some fellows over in "A" entry were trying to form a jazz combo last fall. We broke that up." He smiled reflectively and walked past us into the bedroom. We could hear him picking up papers and letters from the desk.

When he reappeared in the doorway, he picked his words carefully. "Well, fellows, "B" entry has a tradition for . . . gracious living. I just wonder if you'd . . . be happy over there."

My room-mate walked to window, craned his neck, and stared fixedly at the Charles. There was another pause. "Think it over, fellows." The stranger was putting on his overcoat. "Of course, I'll have to put it up to the boys over in "B".

"When will we find out what they decide?"

"Oh, I'll let you know." He bowed slightly and slipped out the door.