It was with some hesitation I took his proffered hand; but I felt that it were best to make no enemies on my first entrance into college.
We all talked pleasantly together during the few minutes it took the train to reach Durham’s, and, getting off there, found a number of hacks waiting to convey us to the Hill. There were many others going there, so we hastened to secure the best hack, and were soon jogging over that worst of roads. Carrover secured a seat in another vehicle, but gave it up to a lady and child, and took a place with us.
We stopped only once to cool out the horses, under some large trees by a well, when Carrover opened his travelling case, and taking out a silver flask offered it first to Ned and myself. We both declined, but I found that, in this my first temptation, it was difficult to refuse, so afraid was I of seeming boyish. The other three all complimented its contents by a plentiful inhibition, as the driver checked up his horses’ heads and we resumed our journey.
When we reined up at the hotel we found the steps thronged with the Sophs, waiting for the hacks to bring in their victims. As soon as we got out we were surrounded by a score of them, all leering in our faces and yelling “Fresh! Fresh!” as if they had the article to sell.
With most impudent effrontery they gathered around us, each vieing with the others in casting ridicule upon us; nor were witty sallies alone the extent of their teasing; many of the coarsest personalities were indulged in. No one seemed to enjoy it much, and only an absurd sense of what was due a foolish college custom urged them on.
“Look what a big trunk,” said one, striking my solitary piece of baggage with his cane hard enough to nearly blister the leather; “I’ll bet he has homespun cake in there. Fresh, let me sleep with you,” he continued, taking my arm, with every appearance of friendship, “but no, you are too dirty,” releasing me with a gesture of disgust.
“Hoopee! what a foot!” said another, stooping down to take an exaggerated measurement of my foot. “Fresh, how do you get your boots on without a crane to lift your feet?”
“Well, Fresh,” said a pert little fellow to Ned, “what is the price of tallow where you live? It ought to be very cheap if that is a sample in your face.” As Ned was really very sallow this remark called forth a general laugh, during which we walked up the steps into the office, the crowd opening before and closing behind us in a continuous yell of ridicule and shame, heaped on us in every conceivable way.
Frank’s friends all seemed glad to see him, but, even amid the storm of persecution that surrounded us, I could not help noticing that they all wore flash clothes, and had inflamed eyes and a profane swagger. Frank told us that it was out of his power to shield us from devilment in such a crowd, but that he would get us rooms for the night and we would be safe in them. He went in to see the proprietor and we were left standing in the midst of a deriding throng. 1 never felt so much like a culprit in my life. Nowhere could I look and find a single glance of sympathy. On every side were hoots, hisses and vulgar witticisms; and the attempt to utter a word was only the signal for such a roar as would drown every syllable. While standing thus, a tall, languid youth, with drooping side whiskers and a pair of gold eye-glasses, pushed his way through the crowd and asked, “What Fresh are these you have here? Introduce me.” Some one shouted: “That is Mr. Danvers, Fresh; speak to him.”
“How do you do, gentlemen? I am most happy to see you with us,” said Danvers, offering his hand in the most cordial manner. Eager to touch somebody’s hand that would sympathize, I extended mine gladly, but ere I touched his he drew it back with the sneer, “Oh, no, Fresh, you must wash yours first; you’ve been travelling, you know.”