The boys of Columbia High on the river

by Graham B. Forbes

Loud swelled the Columbia yell, and every dear old song so precious to the hearts of those who had attended the famous seat of learning was brought forth to do duty again and again.

Dignified men with gray hair seemed to throw off their sedate manner as though it were a mantle. For the time being they were boys again, and mingled their bass voices with the shriller treble of the younger element in chanting the songs with which Columbia had marched to victory so many times in the past.

Frank was glad to break away at last and get home, where he could change his clothes and find some rest. But it was not for long. The Allen house was fated to be a Mecca for pretty much all juvenile Columbia during the balance of that never-to-be-forgotten Saturday, and the gentleman of the house laughed the next morning when he examined the trampled condition of his usually neat lawn.

"Bless my soul, you'd believe we had a Presidential candidate here in this house, and that delegations of the faithful were bent on paying visits to assure him of their support, and parcel out the expected offices in advance," he said; and the rest of the family solemnly declared that it was not always a profitable thing to have a hero under the roof.

What took place that Saturday night would not soon be forgotten by the good people of Columbia. For once they allowed their boys all the latitude they wanted, and for hours the triumphant hosts of marching, cheering students literally painted the town red.

Frank did not dare show himself out of doors, for he knew that he would be immediately seized upon and made to ride on a human platform at the head of the procession. Once was quite enough for him, and he did not envy the other members of the successful crew who were given that honor.

Paul and Ralph, as well as Lanky, had come over. Several girls had also been invited to attend, and they spent the evening after their own fashion, regardless of the tumult throughout the length and breadth of the old town.

Columbia High was lighted up from top to bottom for the occasion, and as the procession wound around near the school, loud and vociferous were the cheers for Professor Tyson Parke, and every member of the faculty; even the janitor, Soggy Dolan, and the keeper of the lunch counter, Mrs. Louden, coming in for their share of the mad applause.

Many Clifford enthusiasts had remained over to see the goings-on of the victorious crew; and bunches of them would every now and then send out a defiant bleat for their home school, all of which was taken in good part by the happy throngs.

Of course there were a few fellows belonging to Columbia High who did not take much stock in this clamorous celebration of the great river victory. Bill Klemm and Tony Gilpin were with the crowds of students, and tried to forget their personal grievances in shouting for the school; but Lef Seller stayed indoors. Perhaps he had enough to do attending to the numerous cuts with which his face was still adorned, and which he told his father he had received in falling down into a gully, after catching his foot in a root at the top.