"That you are, to see the sophs tied up. Now we'll do our do." An excited group gathered about the arrivals, asking how and why. "What's the matter with Jim Rawson?" went up the cry. "He's all right, you bet, every time." It was Chester Holland's voice that led all the rest, while those about him stared in astonishment. The actual ceremony of the Bourdon came as an anticlimax after all the fuss and flying feathers that had prefaced it. However, it may be urged that the preceding fuss and flying feathers are an important part of the affair,— in fact, the most important part. For if you could find a freshman who had studied the psychology of the occasion, he would probably explain to you that it was not the Bourdon itself that counted so much, but the winning from the sophomores of the contested right to hold the Bourdon. From the top of the truck the coffin was ignited, the red-light was burned, and the Roman candles fired into the air and the crowd. From the balcony the speeches began. These, as was expected, were almost unhearable, for the sophomores, even in their tied-up state, had plenty of voice left, and the town muckers ably seconded the sophomores at the hubbub. Worse than this, they caught the sophomore spirit to the extent of flinging not only mud and eggs, but rocks as well, at the truck and bleachers. In the course of the day's excitement James had lost his carefully written out speech. But as soon as he stood on the platform he realized that it would have done him no good to have kept it. Therefore, doing as he was told, James swung forth his arms and launched into a rhapsodical "jolly," which, screamed at the top of his voice, was yet "Ho, you scrubby But we put it all over What's the matter with hardly audible from the bleachers. sophs! You thought to do us up. you. Hurrah for the freshmen ! ninety odd? Sophs, you're not feeling so jolly now, are you? Ho, you muckers, we'll do you up next!" and some more, equally irrelevant (not to say irreverent) and immaterial. Thus another freshman class declared itself emancipated from the thraldom of the books that Bourdon and Minto had written, notwithstanding the machinations of its oppressors. With a last rattling of cheers and yells the freshman crowd dispersed; frat men to the celebrations at their respective chapter-houses, non-frats, convivially inclined to the Wid's. James, declining Holland's invitation, went thoughtfully home to square himself with his employer. CHAPTER XIV Class Day "Well, Jim, it begins to look as if this old year were on the home stretch, doesn't it?" "Sure enough. Exes Thursday, and after that we'll go out into the wide, wide world and rustle." "There's lots to happen between exes and the wide, wide world, especially for some. There's commencement week, with its swift, gay whirl of festivities, class day and commencement day themselves. You're going to stay over, of course, aren't you?" "Yes, guess I will. There'll be things doing that I want to take in." Especially the conferring of that medal, hey?" about that, Percy?" "Nothing except what I get from you- 'Read the answer in my eyes, love.'' "Oh, let up!" "But I think she stands a show from what I hear. Even Warren has been having doubtful spells lately. One of the math profs was a-telling him, I hear, about a co-ed that has done fine work and was going to be heard from. I think some of the faculty are tucking her up their sleeves to ring in like a cold deck on Warren." "Well, wouldn't you like to see it?'' "Yes, for my friend's sake." "Shut up! Give us a rest on that." And Percy walks off humming, "Oh, promise me that some day you'll be mine," leaving James standing a bit angry, a bit foolish, and a bit red about the ears. As Bourdon over, play has ended for the year, and the freshmen and sophomores forget their differences in their common troubles. James had grabbed for his books to make up for lost time. His second freshman theme demanded instant completion, and immediately following that began digging for the exes. In truth, every evidence is now pointing to the dissolution of the college year. at Christmas, the signs are plain, even plainer than then. The bum has vanished from North Hall steps, up in the Library ponies are at a discount. Many a student of the languages is wandering about, offering, like Richard III, "My kingdom for a pony!" In some cases even the daily 8:30 course in the Californian has been dropped; or, where this would be too rigorous, the reading of the advertisements is omitted. Dress-suit cases are in evidence more than usual, the most respectable vehicle for carrying soiled clothes. Around the dinner-table at Mrs. Saunders' the talk has veered from track athletics, baseball, drill and debate, to note-books, digging, back work, cinches, and examination topics in general. Now intervenes a period when everybody is studying at fever heat. These final exes, with maybe a whole year's work to review on, are anything but a "snap." Then the series of decisive hours, and the year's work is over-for some. Apartments are dismantled, trunks are packed, and those in a hurry take the train back home to await in suspense the arrival of the envelope containing a certain little card which has been left with the recorder. In the two weeks that intervened between closing of recitations and class day, James had divided his time between examinations and the turning of not a few honest dollars by smashing baggage for the students' express. He was, besides, with Percy, taking lessons in canvassing, given by the representative of a combination desk that they had decided to sell during vacation"Course in cheek-hardening 1A," they called it. a At length class day dawned for the anxious seniors typical California May day. Enough said. The seniors gathered early in their white duck trousers, co-ed seniors in white dresses. The festivities were divided into two parts, class pilgrimage in the morning and spectacular play in the afternoon, up in Ben Weed's Amphitheatre. The band is playing up at the flag-staff, and the outgoing seniors are forming into line. All about are the new seniors in their tall black plugs, soon to be wrecked into the proper state of limpness and disrepair. Brand-new juniors, too, are strutting about in their new-found dignity of gray plug, elaborately painted with U. C. monogram in blue and gold, frat letters if any, name of wearer's college, intercollegiate scores of the year-where these have been favorable and other decorations, varying with the taste and artistic ability of the decorator. Round about stroll the new sophomores, canes in hand. "Hy, there, Jim! There's Percy in his pluglet!"' Swish! whistles George's cane, and Percy's plug goes flying from his head. He runs after it. Biff! goes James' foot, and Percy has to alter his course. Stamp! goes George |