Once started, though, it could not stop. The second singing was followed by a third—the third by a fourth! Then—the presentation.
“Captain Robin Sidney Drake,” was the first name called. Bobs, arrayed in his best black suit, stepped forward amid a tremendous burst of cheering, and listened uncomfortably to Mr. Branch’s eulogy on his captainship of the Marston eleven. But when the box containing the precious sweater was handed to him, his face beamed. Clasping it tenderly, as one holds a baby, he stood smiling down at it for a minute before he lifted his blue eyes to the principal’s face. Then his lips parted, and everyone leaned forward to listen.
“It’s a—pretty big box!” said Bobs, and no eloquence could have pleased his adoring schoolmates better. They screamed with mirth, they laughed until they cried, they hooted with glee, they hurrahed for Bobs. Not until he swung around and faced them with a determined air of getting ready for a speech, did they subside. Then Bobs, still hugging the big box, threw back his head and addressed the galleries which did not exist.
“Thank you!” he said. Just that, not another word, but his eyes deserted the imaginary galleries, and, with his own merry smile, he looked straight into the faces of the boys and girls who loved him. After that, he sat down. Cheer? Of course they cheered! What if he couldn’t make a speech? He was—Bobs.
At last Bud’s voice was heard announcing “the popular song entitled, ‘Old M. H.’” Then Tippie, standing on the chair by the old piano, which was tinkling out the tune of “Tammany,” led off,
“Hold Hem Haitch!
Hold Hem Haitch!
Beat our captain if you can!
We’ll defend him to a man!
Hold Hem Haitch!” etc.