Students were trooping back to Cascade after the Christmas holidays. Larry Kirkland, disappointed at having failed to see Helen Baldwin on the train, found himself fretting with eagerness to reach the campus. He understood, now, the feelings of the upper classmen toward the newcomers. He was part of it all now and he found himself shouting greetings, slapping his friends on the back and thrilling with the renewal of a comradeship that is dearer, perhaps, than any other in a man’s life. He felt the reverent awe of the old, gray buildings. At last he understood what is meant by “college spirit,” the unselfish patriotism to Alma Mater that all good college men must feel. He was part of it and he began to understand part of the debt he owed the institution for what it was giving him.
The winter sun was shining warm, and the tang of the trades was in the air. It was mid-January, but already the boys were talking of the baseball team, and of the chances of a strong club to represent the college. The first two weeks of the term passed rapidly. Cold and fog had succeeded the sunshine, but early in February the deferred call for candidates for the track and baseball teams was posted on the big bulletin board, to set the aspirants off in fresh excitement.
The boys gathered around the bulletin board were discussing, with much earnestness, the chances of making the team, when Paw Lattiser, sauntered closer, stood peering over his glasses for a moment and read the announcement.
“Hello, Paw,” called one Junior, proud of his right to address the veteran familiarly. “You going to try for the team this year?”
“Well,” said the veteran, “I may try to help out a bit. Here, lend me a lead pencil.”
A dozen youngsters rushed to hand him a pencil, and, holding a sheet of paper against the wall, Lattiser boldly lettered a fresh bulletin, which he tacked upon the board.
The swarm of younger boys pressed close and read:
ATTENTION!
All those interested in having a winning baseball team at Cascade this year, attend meeting in Gym Hall, Friday evening, 7.30.
P. N. Lattiser.