"We have come to the close of our college days.
Golden campus years soon must end;
From Bannister we shall go our ways—
And friend shall part from friend!
On our Alma Mater now we gaze,
And our eyes are filled with tears;
For we've come to the close of our college days,
And the end of our campus years!"
Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., Bannister, '92; Yale, '96, and Pittsburgh
millionaire "Steel King," stood at the window of Thomas Haviland Hicks,
Jr.'s, room, his arm across the shoulders of that sunny-souled Senior, his
only son and heir. Father and son stood, gazing down at the campus. On the
Gym steps was a group of Seniors, singing songs of old Bannister, songs
tinged with sadness. Up to Hicks' windows, on the warm June: night, drifted
the 1916 Class Ode, to the beautiful tune, "A Perfect Day." Over before the
Science Hall, a crowd of joyous alumni laughed over narratives of their
campus escapades. Happy undergraduates, skylarking on the campus,
celebrated the end of study, and gazed with some awe at the Seniors, in cap
and gown, suddenly transformed into strange beings, instead of old comrades
and college-mates.
"'The close of our college days, and the end of our campus years—!'"
quoted Mr. Hicks, a mist before his eyes as he gazed at the scene. "In a
few days, Thomas, comes the final parting from old Bannister—I know it
will be hard, for I had to leave the dear old college, and also Yale. But
you have made a splendid record in your studies, you have been one of
the most popular fellows here, and—you have vastly pleased your Dad, by
winning your B in the high-jump."
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s, last study-sprint was at an end, the final Exams.
of his Senior year had been passed with what is usually termed flying
colors; and to the whole-souled delight of the lovable youth, he and little
Theophilus Opperdyke, the Human Encyclopedia, had, as Hicks chastely
phrased it, "run a dead heat for the Valedictory!" So close had their
final averages been that the Faculty, after much consideration, decided to
announce at the Commencement exercises that the two Seniors had tied for
the highest collegiate honors, and everyone was satisfied with the verdict.
So, now it was all ended; the four years of study, athletics, campus
escapades, dormitory skylarking—the golden years of college life, were
about to end for 1919. Commencement would officially start on the morrow,
but tonight, in the Auditorium, would be held the annual Athletic
Association meeting, when those happy athletes who had won their B during
the year would have it presented, before the assembled collegians, by
one-time gridiron, track, and diamond heroes of old Bannister.
And—the ecstatic Hicks would have his track B, his white letter, won in
the high-jump, thanks to Caesar Napoleon's assistance, awarded him by his
beloved Dad, the greatest all-round athlete that ever wore the Gold and
Green! Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., en route to New Haven and Yale in
his private car, "Vulcan," had reached town that day, together with other
members of Bannister College, Class of '92. They, as did all the old
grads., promptly renewed past memories and associations by riding up to
College Hill in Dan Flannagan's jitney-bus—a youthful, hilarious crowd of
alumni. Former students, alumni, parents of graduating Seniors, friends,
sweethearts—every train would bring its quota. The campus would again
throb and pulsate with that perennial quickening—Commencement. Three days
of reunions, Class Day exercises, banquets, and other events, then the
final exercises, and—T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., would be an alumnus!
"It's like Theophilus told Thor, last fall, Dad," said the serious Hicks.
"You know what Shakespeare said: 'This thou perceivest, which makes thy
love more strong; To love that well which thou must leave ere long.' Now
that I soon shall leave old Bannister, I—I wish I had studied more, had
done bigger things for my Alma Mater! And for you, Dad, too; I've won a B,
but perhaps, had I trained and exercised more, I might have annexed another
letter—still; hello, what's Butch hollering—?"
Big Butch Brewster, his pachydermic frame draped in his gown, and his
mortar-board cap on his head, for the Seniors were required to wear their
regalia during Commencement week, was bellowing through a megaphone, as he
stood on the steps of Bannister Hall, and Mr. Hicks, with his cheerful son,
listened:
"Everybody—Seniors, Undergrads., Alumni—in the Auditorium at eight sharp!
We are going to give Mr. Hicks and T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., a surprise
party—don't miss the fun!"
"Now, just what does Butch mean, Dad?" queried the bewildered Senior.
"Something is in the wind. For two days, the fellows have had a secret
from me—they whisper and plot, and when I approach, loudly talk of
athletics, or Commencement! Say, Butch—Butch—I ain't a-comin' tonight,
unless you explain the mystery."
"Oh, yes, you be, old sport!" roared Butch, from the campus, employing the
megaphone, "or you don't get your letter! Say, Hicks, one sweetly solemn
thought attacks me—old Bannister is puzzling you with a mystery, instead
of vice versa, as is usually the case."