"I like the club," said Symington.
"Yes, we think it's a pretty comfortable place. Come down to-morrow and we'll show you the Trophy-room and all." Then he began to question him about his team at school.
To Symington's surprise and delight the captain seemed to know the score of all the important games they had played and how many—or how few—base hits had been gained in each one off him, Charles Symington. And he can tell you to this day every word of the conversation and at what point of the walk it was when the captain said, "Well, you are pitching pretty good ball this year. This is McCosh walk. Look at those trees."
"Yes," said Symington.
The soft evening light was sifting down through the interlacing branches, making a glow to dream about, which Symington did not notice. He had no time to waste at present.
They passed between Chapel and Murray Hall and across back of West toward North. Just as they reached Old Chapel strange notes of music broke in on the prep.'s ears. At first he could not make up his mind whether it was vocal or instrumental, or whether it was real at all, in fact, or part of a dream like everything else perhaps. The seniors were singing, and from that part of the campus it echoes oddly, as you doubtless know.
When they turned the corner and were on the front campus a wonderful sight met the prep.'s eyes. On the steps of Old North, and spilling over upon the stone walks in front and filling up the window casements on either side, was the senior class in duck trousers and careless attitudes with the dark green of many class-ivies for a background and the mellow brown wall of the ancient pile showing through in places. Most of the fellows had an arm about one or two others.
One of the number was standing up in front beating time with a folded Princetonian. They were singing a dear old song called "Annie Lyle." Their voices came rich and sweet in the twilight air.
Under the wide elms were the rest of the college. Also the poor post-graduates and some of the faculty's families and the little muckers, and even a few seminary students from over the way. But only the undergraduates seemed becoming to the scene. The others rather spoiled the effect.
Some of the fellows were sprawled out flat on their backs looking up through the tree-tops at the fading blue. Some rested their heads on each other and got all mixed up so that no one could tell which were his own legs. Others were strolling about or looking at the strangers who came to spend Sunday or to see the game. A few were passing tennis-balls and being cursed by the rest. All of them wore négligé clothes or worse.