“Well, I never supposed he did; hasn’t he had Jimmie and you and Bill Morris and a dozen others? Why, honest, Reggie, even the Gumshoe just eats out of his hand. It’s marvelous—don’t understand it—or I guess I do understand it. You can’t help it, can you?”
“No, you can’t; but note this;—the more Tony cares for, the more it seems he can. And I tell you what, Kit, with Tony or with anyone else, the loss of one friend can never be made up by gaining others. If you and Tony don’t make up, you will never forgive yourselves later. As it is, you have lost nearly a year of school life.”
“I know, I know,” said Kit miserably.
“Well, lose no more!”
As they drew back again within the range of the singing, the Sixth were giving in fine form—“There’s a wind that blows o’er the sea-girt isle,” a song that Reggie had always particularly liked. He stepped forward a bit to encore them. But Doc. Thorn, the leader of the singing, catching sight of him, cried to the fellows on the steps, “Let’s have ‘Old Boys’ now, in honor of Reggie Carter Westover Carroll.”
And they rang it out with a hearty good will, with long, lingering, caressing notes to the last lines, notes that thrilled every Old Boy’s heart as he heard the well-loved song.
“... and the heart is glad
For all the friendliness of vanish’d years.”
The tears were in Reggie’s eyes. He was glad it was dark, and that he could let them gather there without fear of it being noticed. And just then Mr. Morris stepped somewhere from out of the gloom and slipped his arm around Reggie’s shoulders.
The singing was over then; the fellows were beginning to separate for the evening and were calling to each other as they started away from the steps. Carroll pushed Wilson forward. “Now’s your chance,” he whispered. “Don’t you be a fool and don’t let Tony be a fool!”