Then, slipping effortless from one air to another, he was singing a favorite of Trefethen’s own time.
Winds of night around us sighing,
sang Pearly,
’Neath the elm-trees murmur low.
And the other voices joined in, and the deep sound flooded the room as the boys sang words about
The merry life we lead ’neath the elms,
’Neath the elms of dear old Yale.
They were out in the street now, marching together, arm linked in arm. Dick Elliot’s big hand was on the older man’s shoulder, and the touch was pleasant to him—so pleasant that his voice stopped in the middle of a line once, and the phalanx burst into a roar of young laughter.
“Did it swallow a fly?” Jimmy Selden inquired impudently. They were all boys together now for sure.
So, singing and laughing, the five went down the dark street to the station, Trefethen in the midst, the guest, the hero, quite dazed, and happy as he thought he had forgotten how to be happy.