"I hadn't thought of that," said Dink slowly.
"Keep a-thinking. I'm off now. Ta-ta! Got to slink in Fatty Harris' room before The Roman makes his rounds. Proud to have met you. Au revoir!"
Dink sat a long while thinking, and a lighter mood was on him. After all, he was not a blank. Some one had recognized him; some one had taken his hand in admiration. He rose and slowly made his way toward the singers on the Esplanade, and by the edge of the road camped under the shadows of an apple tree and leaned his back against the trunk.
The groups of the Esplanade stood out in cut outlines against the warm windows of the Reading-room. Above, the open windows were tenanted by boys who pillowed their heads on one another and sent their treble or bass notes down to swell the volume below.
Led by a tenor voice that soared clear and true above the rest came the melody to Stover huddled under the apple tree:
At evening, when twilight is falling
And the birds to their nests are all gone,
We'll gather around in the gloaming,
And mingle our voices in song.
Yes, in song.
The bright stars are shining above us,
Keeping their watch and ward.
We'll sing the old songs that we love, boys.
Out on the Esplanade.
Stover listened, pressing his knuckles to his lips, raised out of himself by the accord of voices and the lingering note of melancholy that was in the hour, the note of the dividing of the ways.
Again in deeper accents a song arose:
We sing the campus, green and fair.
We sing the 'leven and nine
Who battle for the old school there
And guard the base and line.
No cause for fear when they appear
And the school flag floats above our head.
When the game begins 'tis Lawrence wins,
While we cheer the Black and Red.
When the game begins 'tis Lawrence wins,
While we cheer the Black and Red.
The song ended in lingering accents. Dink shut his eyes, clenching his fists, seeing wonderful days when the school should gather to cheer him, too, and lay its trust in him.