An hour later, when Irving sat in his room, the boys who had been entertained at the Barclays’ came tramping up the stairs. They were still singing, but they stopped their song before they entered the dormitory. Irving met them to say good-night—first Dennison and then Morrill and then Louis Collingwood.
“Have you heard the new song Wes has got off, Mr. Upton?” asked Dennison.
“No, what’s that?”
“Hit it up, Wes.”
“Oh, choke it off.” Collingwood grinned uneasily.
“Go on, Wes,—strike up. We’ll all join in.”
“Wait till I get my banjo—you don’t mind, do you, Mr. Upton?”
“No. I’d like to hear it.”
So Westby hastened to his room and returned, bearing the instrument; and all the other boys gathered round, except Collingwood, who stood sheepishly off at one side. Westby twanged the strings and then to the accompaniment began,—
“Across the broad prairies he came from the west,
With fire in his eye and with brawn on his chest;
His arms they were strong and his legs they were fleet;
There was none could outstrip his vanishing feet;
We made him our captain—what else could we do?
You ask who he is? Do I hear you say, ‘Who?’”