T. Haviland Hicks Senior Part 22

"Can that noise-we want to sing a last song, boys!"

"Chuck that engine, Dan, and put in an alarm clock spring!"

"Christmas is coming, Dan-u-el--we've graduated you know!"

"'The Dove' doesn't want us to leave old Bannister, fellows!"

Commencement was ended. The night before, on the stage of Alumni Hall, before a vast audience of old Bannister grads, undergraduates, friends, and relatives of the Seniors, the Cla.s.s of 1919 had received its sheepskins, and the "Go forth, my children, and live!" of its Alma Mater. T, Haviland Hicks, Jr., and timorous little Theophilus had jointly delivered the Valedictory, eight other Seniors, including Butch, Scoop, and the lengthy Ichabod, had swayed the crowd with oratory. Kindly old Prexy, his voice tremulous, had talked to them, as students, for the last time. The Cla.s.s Ode had been sung, the Cla.s.s Shield unveiled, and then--Hicks and his comrades of '19 were alumni!

It had been a busy, thrilling time, Commencement Week. There had been scarcely any spare moments to ponder on the parting so soon to come; after the memorable Athletic a.s.sociation meeting, when T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., and his beloved Dad had been given a wonderful "surprise party" by the collegians, and Hicks had corralled his three B's, time had "sprinted with spiked shoes," as the sunny Hicks stated. Event had followed event in bewildering fashion. The Seniors, dignified in cap and gown, had been feted and banqueted, the cynosure of all eyes. Campus and town were filled with visitors. Old Bannister pulsated with renewed life, with the glad reunions of former students. There had been the Alumni Banquet, the annual baseball game between the 'Varsity and old-time Gold and Green diamond stars, Cla.s.s Night exercises, the Literary Society Oratorical Contests, and the last Cla.s.s Supper; and, Commencement had come.

It was all ended now--the four happy, golden years of campus life, of glad fellowship with each other; like those who had gone before, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., and his comrades of 1919 had come to the final parting. The sunny-souled youth's Dad had gone to New Haven, to Yale's Commencement.

Alumni and visitors had left town; the night before had witnessed farewells with Monty, Roddy, Biff, Hefty, and the undercla.s.smen, with that awakened Colossus, John Thorwald. All the collegians had gone, except the few Seniors now leaving, and they had remained to enjoy Hicks' final Beefsteak Bust downtown at Jerry's.

The campus was silent and deserted. No footsteps or voices echoed in the dormitories, and a shadow of sadness hovered over all. The youths who were leaving old Bannister forever felt an ache in their throats, and little Theophilus Opperd.y.k.e's big-rimmed spectacles were fogged with tears. Three times, in the past, they had left the campus, but this was forever, as collegians!

"I don't care if we miss the old train!" declared Scoop Sawyer, as the jitney-Ford's engine wheezed, gasped, and was silent, for all of Dan's cranking. "Just think, fellows, it's all over now--'We have come to the end of our college days-golden campus years are at an end--!' Say, Hicks, old man, what's your Idea. What future have you blue-printed?"

"Journalism!" announced T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., sticking a fountain pen behind his ear, and fatuously supposing he resembled a City Editor, "In me you behold an embryo Richard Harding Davis, or Ty--no, I mean Irvin Cobb.

I shall first serve my apprenticeship as a 'cub,' but ere many years, I shall sit at a desk, run a newspaper, and tell the world where to get off."

"That is--If Dad says so!" chuckled Butch Brewster. "You know, Hicks, it's the same old story--your father wants you to learn how to own steel and iron mills, and when it comes to a showdown, you must convince Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., that you'd make a better journalist than Steel King!"

"Nay, nay-say not so!" responded the happy-go-lucky alumnus of old Bannister, as the perspiring" Dan Flannagan cranked away futilely. "My Dad has a broader vision, fellows, than most men. He and I talked it over last night, and he would never try to make me take up anything but a work that appeals to me. While, as Butch says, he'd like to train me to follow in his footsteps, he understands my ambition so thoroughly that he is trying to get me started--read this:"

The lovable youth produced a letter, the envelope bearing the heading: "THE BALTIMORE CHRONICLE;" Butch Brewster, to whom he extended it, read aloud:

"Baltimore, Maryland,

"June 12, 1919.

"DEAR OLD CLa.s.sMATE:

"I'd sure like to be with you, back at old Yale, next week, but I can't leave the wheel of this ship, the Chronicle, for even a day. Give my regards to all of old Eli, '96, old man.

"As regards a berth for your son, Thomas. The Chronicle usually takes on a few college men during the summer, when our staff is off on vacations. We always use undergraduates, and often, in two or three summers, we develop them into star reporters. However, for old time's sake, I'll be glad to give your son a chance, and if he means business, let him report for duty next Friday, at 1 P.M., to my office.

Understand, Hicks, he must come here and fight his own way, without any favor or special help from me. Were he the son of our nation's President, I'd not treat him a whit better than the rest of the Staff, so let him know that in advance. On the other hand, I'll develop him all I can, and if he has the ability, the Chronicle long-room is the place for him.

"Yours for old Yale,

"'Doc' Whalen, Yale, '96,

"City Editor--THE CHRONICLE."

"Here's my Dad's ultimatum," grinned Hicks, when. Butch finished the letter. "I am to take a summer as a cub on the Baltimore Chronicle, making my own way, and living on my weekly salary, without financial aid from anyone. If, at the end of the summer, City Editor Whalen reports that I've made good enough to be retained as a regular, then--Yours truly for the Fourth Estate. If I fail, then I follow a course charted out by Mr.

Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr.! So, it is up to me to make good--"

"You--you will make good, Hicks," quavered Theophilus, whose faith in the shadow-like youth was prodigious. "Oh, that will be splendid, for I am going to take a course at a business college in Baltimore. I want to become an expert stenographer, and we'll be together,"

"It's work now, fellows!" sighed Beef McNaughton, shifting his huge bulk atop of the jit "College years are ended, we're chucked into the world, to make good, or fail! Butch and I have not decided on our work yet. We may accept jobs as bank or railroad presidents, or maybe run for President of the U.S.A., provided John McGraw or Connie Mack do not sign us up.

However--"

At that moment, the engine of old Dan Flannagan's battered "Dove" consented to hit on two cylinders, and the genial Irishman, who was to transport Hicks and his comrades, as collegians, for the last time, yelled, "All aboard!" loudly, to conceal his emotion at the sad scene.

"We're off!" shrieked Skeet Wigglesworth, stowed away below, as the jitney-bus moved down the driveway. "Farewell, dear old Bannister! Run slow, Dan, we want to gaze on the campus as long as we can."

The youths were silent, as the 'bus rolled slowly down the driveway and under the Memorial Arch, old Dan, sympathizing with them, and finding he could make the express by a safe margin, allowing the jitney to flutter along at reduced speed. From its top, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., his vision blurred with tears, gazed back with his cla.s.s-mates. He saw the campus, its gra.s.s green, with stately old elms bordering the walks, and the golden June sunshine bathing everything in a soft radiance. He beheld the college buildings--the Gym., the Science Hall, the Administration Building, Recitation Hall, the ivy-covered Library; the white Chapel, and the four dorms., Creighton, Smithson, Nord.y.k.e, Bannister. One year he had spent in each, and every year had been one of happiness, of glad comradeship.

He could see Bannister Field, the scene of his many hilarious athletic fiascos.

And now he was leaving it all--had come to the end of his college course, and before him lay Life, with its stern realities, its grim obstacles, and hard struggles; ended were the golden campus days, the gay skylarking in the dorms. Gone forever were the joyous nights of entertaining his comrades, of Beefsteak Busts down at Jerry's. Silenced was his beloved banjo, and no more would his saengerfests bother old Bannister.

A turn in the street, and the campus could not be seen. As the last vision of their Alma Mater vanished, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., smiling sunnily through his tear-blurred eyes, gazed at his comrades of old '19--

"Say, fellows--" he grinned, though his voice was shaky, "let's--let's start in next September, and--do it all over again!"