"We're off!" shrieked Skeet Wigglesworth, stowed away below, as the
jitney-bus moved down the driveway. "Farewell, dear old Bannister! Run
slow, Dan, we want to gaze on the campus as long as we can."
The youths were silent, as the 'bus rolled slowly down the driveway and
under the Memorial Arch, old Dan, sympathizing with them, and finding he
could make the express by a safe margin, allowing the jitney to flutter
along at reduced speed. From its top, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., his vision
blurred with tears, gazed back with his class-mates. He saw the campus, its
grass green, with stately old elms bordering the walks, and the golden
June sunshine bathing everything in a soft radiance. He beheld the college
buildings—the Gym., the Science Hall, the Administration Building,
Recitation Hall, the ivy-covered Library; the white Chapel, and the four
dorms., Creighton, Smithson, Nordyke, Bannister. One year he had spent in
each, and every year had been one of happiness, of glad comradeship.
He could see Bannister Field, the scene of his many hilarious athletic
fiascos.
And now he was leaving it all—had come to the end of his college course,
and before him lay Life, with its stern realities, its grim obstacles, and
hard struggles; ended were the golden campus days, the gay skylarking
in the dorms. Gone forever were the joyous nights of entertaining his
comrades, of Beefsteak Busts down at Jerry's. Silenced was his beloved
banjo, and no more would his saengerfests bother old Bannister.
A turn in the street, and the campus could not be seen. As the last vision
of their Alma Mater vanished, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., smiling sunnily
through his tear-blurred eyes, gazed at his comrades of old '19—
"Say, fellows—" he grinned, though his voice was shaky, "let's—let's
start in next September, and—do it all over again!"