CHAPTER XIX
ATTAINMENT
The afternoon of Class Day was bright and sunny; the curve of the Stadium, banked with spectators, mostly feminine, glowed and sparkled while the seniors, in academic cap and gown, marched behind their spirited brass band into the arena. Seating themselves upon the grass, they formed a somber center for a setting so gay and flashing; yet the jewel, if so the composite mass might be designated, was not without its sparkle. For the class humorist, Harry Carson, mounted the platform and, standing against a screen of greenery that had been erected for the occasion, delivered his address. David was sure that no other Ivy orator had ever been so witty or so brilliant or had ever drawn such frequent bursts of laughter from an audience. He gave his ears to the speakers, but his eyes to his mother and Katharine Vance, who were sitting together in one of the lower tiers of seats. He was eager to see how they were responding to Harry Carson’s humor—eager to see them laughing at the jokes. Or perhaps it would be truer to say that he was eager to see Katharine laughing and amused. She did not disappoint his glances; her sense of humor was sympathetic with his, and she had a sufficient knowledge of college matters to appreciate some of the orator’s remarks that left Mrs. Ives, who was less well informed, looking bewildered. David was finding in those days that the best enjoyment of all lay in seeing the person for whom he cared enjoying the things that he enjoyed.
After the Ivy orator had finished, Jim Farrar, the first marshal, led the cheering—for the president of the university, for the faculty, for the football team, the crew, the nine. Lester Wallace was in New Haven with the nine, battling against Yale at that very hour. The last and most appreciated cheer was for the ladies; when the applause occasioned by it had died away, the band struck up “Fair Harvard,” and the spectators rose and joined with seniors and graduates in the singing. Then, while the band played a lively air, the seniors marched out along the track directly beneath the lowest tier of seats; and while they marched they were pelted with bright-colored streamers and with showers of confetti; they were pelted, and they returned the pelting; back and forth flew the light missiles, weaving gay patterns in the air. David waved to Katharine Vance; her eyes flashed a merry greeting in reply; then she flung a small paper bomb at his head. David caught it and threw it back; it struck the brim of her hat and burst into a shower of bright fragments. Then a streamer tossed from some other hand entwined itself round David’s neck and another bomb caught him in the ear and exploded satisfactorily; he passed on, fishing with one finger for the scraps of paper that were working down inside his collar.
At the exit David fell out of line and stood for a while looking on at the lively scene. The graduates marched by in the order of their classes, pelting and being pelted; shrieks rose from ladies who were unable to dodge the soft missiles; triumphant shouts and laughter came from those who scored or suffered hits; arms waved, heads and hats ducked and bobbed, colored streamers fluttered and floated and flashed; and the brass band receded into the distance, with the black-gowned seniors marching behind it.
David made his way up into the section in which his mother and Katharine were stationed. He stood with them and watched the final exchanges between the spectators and the last stragglers among the graduates.
“I don’t think any of them look as nice as this year’s graduating class,” said Katharine.
“And I’m sure that none of them ever had such nice people to see them graduate,” said David.
Katharine, with her gay laugh, and Mrs. Ives, with her quiet smile, were equally pleased.
“I suppose some time, David, you’ll get over making such polite and flattering remarks to me,” said Katharine.