We sauntered from the room, and, once outside, commenced a Babel of confused talk, which was broken up by our departing to our rooms to put on some decent apparel. I sat down and commenced to indite a letter to father, but found it impossible to write in the excited state of my mind. As we had to leave the Hill in a few hours after our dismissal, I began to pack my trunk. Soon after dinner, however, I learned that the members of the class who had not joined us, had gotten up a petition for our reinstatement. The Faculty required a pledge of future good behavior from each of us concerned before they would entertain the petition at all; and I found to my surprise that those who had been most anxious to get up the “dress,” and who had been most violent in their outcry against those who refused to join them, were now the most solicitous of all that the petition should be signed, and were among the first to put their names to the pledge. There was one exception, Joe refused to sign anything or in any way recognize the right of the Faculty to condemn us. He declared he would stand by the principles set forth in his speech, and nothing could move him from it. In spite of his frolics he was a great favorite with the Faculty, and several of them went to him privately and endeavored to persuade him to sign the pledge. He thanked them, but firmly declined, and next morning took his departure. We all gave him three cheers as he drove off to Durham’s, which he returned by waving his handkerchief till he was out of sight.
True old Joe! The last tidings I had of him were that, as Colonel in the Confederate army, he had refused parole at Appomattox and gone to the Dry Tortugas.
[CHAPTER XXX.]
The Spring session opened with pleasant prospects for us all. I was conveniently situated for study, and resolved to make the most of my opportunity. The great college office in those days was Marshal for the commencement exercises. Even early in the session those interested commenced to electioneer for their respective favorites. Frank was one of the candidates, and in the race for popularity his demagogical spirit was wonderfully successful. He had never had much to do with me since the death of DeVare, but he now seemed determined to renew our old intimacy.
As he fully possessed the art of making himself agreeable, and hiding his cloven foot, I enjoyed some very pleasant hours with him.
He was even confidential with me; said that he was engaged to Lulie, and that she loved him very devotedly, but that he had not quite made up his mind yet.
“And when do you expect to marry her?” I asked one day, when we had been talking about her.
“Marry, did you say? Ha! ha! that is a good one. Marry, the devil! Why, you do not suppose that I am in earnest with her, do you?”
“You ought to be, if she loves you, as you say she does, and as I believe,” I replied, with indignation in my tone.