Columbia can have her white and blue;
And dear old Yale will never fail
To stand by her color true;
Penn and Cornell amid the shot and shell
Were fighting for that torn and tattered rag,
And our college cheer will be
‘My Country, ‘tis of Thee,’
And Old Glory will be our college flag!”
The effect was electrical. Everybody cheered until they were hoarse. I looked at Private Kittredge. His head was buried in his hands and the tears were trickling out between his fingers. I was too much embarrassed to say anything, and I just sat looking at him until, all of a sudden, he sat up, and reaching out his hand he caught hold of mine and squeezed it until it hurt.
“I’m going back,” he said brokenly.