Publisher's Synopsis
"Ah, there, Merriwell!" Frank Merriwell was crossing the campus at good old Yale, and this cry, in a familiar voice, sounded from Durfee Hall. He turned his eyes toward the favorite dormitory, and seated at an open window on the ground floor he saw his classmate, Jones, he of the famous nickname, "Dismal." "Hello, Dismal," called Frank, "aren't you going to come out and shake hands with a fellow?" "I would if it wasn't for the shower," responded Jones, whose usually solemn face was graver than ever. "Shower?" repeated Frank, looking up in surprise at the perfectly clear sky. "I see that you've just arrived, so that you probably haven't noticed it," said Dismal, coming out of his window to avoid going around through the hall. He came slowly across the grass plot that lay between him and Frank and held out his hand, saying: "How are you, Frank? I'm glad to see you." Frank, who had just come from the railway station, had a gripsack in each hand. He set them down upon the grass and shook Dismal's hand warmly. "There it goes!" exclaimed Dismal, with something like animation, "the shower's begun again."
