This evening Singletree Jennings was a prey to dejection. Nor could he account for his gloom. His son opened the gate and went whistling up the street.
“Clambake Jennings, whar yo' gwine?” asked Singletree Jennings.
“Gwine ter shoot craps.”
“Have yo' got yer rabbit's foot?
“Yassir.”
“An' de snake's head outen de clock?”
“Yassir.”
Singletree Jennings relapsed into moody silence, and Clambake passed on and away.
The shouts and cries of some storm-rocked multitude was heard up the street. The Columbia College boys were taking home their new eight-oared boat. The shouts settled into something like the barking of a dog. It was the crew emitting the college cry.
“What's dat?” demanded Delia Jennings, coming to the door.