They arose, and each man gave his right-hand comrade his left hand, and his left-hand comrade his right, and they sang the good old song in the good old way, with the clasped hands swinging far up and down in time to the music.
Presently the song was finished. It seemed to stop suddenly. They all waited a moment in silence to see whether the leader had another verse to begin.
But he did not. Jack Stehman stepped out into the middle of the ring. "Now, fellows," he said, "let's give three good rousing cheers for the dear old class—God bless every man in it—and then we'll give up the steps to the juniors—the seniors I mean—and march four abreast to the dinner. Are you ready? Hip! hip! ... another one—Hip! hip!"
Linton was standing apart over beside the steps. His back was turned toward the others.
While the rest were cheering, Dougal Davis crossed over to him.
"Jim," he said, "I haven't congratulated you yet on winning the fellowship."
Linton kept on looking at the newly planted class ivy. His hands were in his pockets and his legs spread apart.
"Did you notice that I hadn't, Jim?"
Linton turned around suddenly. "Oh, yes, I noticed it. But that was this morning." He put his hand on Davis's shoulder as in junior year.
"Shut up, Dougal," he said; "we haven't any time to waste in talk."