“How?” asked Frank, coming over to where the two chums were. Discipline had ended for the day, as the last of the diplomas had been presented without formality.
“Follow me. We’ve got to honor ’em somehow. It’s the last we’ll see of ’em.”
As the seniors, bearing their precious diplomas, filed out, which was a signal for the rest of the pupils to follow, the four chums, led by Ned, went down a rear stairway. Ned took them into the now deserted lunch room and produced several comical false faces, some paper hats of odd design and a number of tin fifes.
“Get some of the other fellows,” Ned said to Stumpy. “We must have enough for a band.”
About ten other lads came, in answer to Fenn’s quick summons, and were soon arrayed in the masks and caps, while their coats, turned wrong side out, added to their fantastic appearances.
“All ready!” called Ned, and then, every one playing a different tune on his fife, they marched out on the campus.
The seniors, in accordance with an old custom, had gathered in a circle about an ancient elm tree and were singing. The song was “Farewell to Thee, Dear Alma Mater,” and they were in the midst of the touching lines:
“We shall be here never more;
Some go to a foreign shore,”
“Toot! Toot!” sounded shrilly on the fifes and then the band of masqueraders, followed by scores of other boys and girls, began circling the seniors.
The farewell song was drowned in a burst of weird noises, tootings, yells and shouts.