“That’s all right. I can’t blame you. I dare say it looked as though I had paresis. I hadn’t, though. I simply gave you fellows credit for some sense and fight, and I wasn’t mistaken. The way you got together and played the game just to show me, proves that. Well, we’ve had the last practice for this year, and I’ve taught you all I could. It’s up to you now. I can’t do any more. You’ve pulled together well, and you’ve pulled with me well. You’ve got a fine captain, and it will be your own faults if he doesn’t lead a winning team. To-morrow afternoon we’re going to take an outing. Mr. John T. Pennimore has offered us the use of his steam yacht for the whole afternoon, and Captain Millener has accepted with thanks. I want every fellow to go along. You’re to meet at Mr. Pennimore’s pier at two o’clock. I guess you’ll have a good time. Whether you do or don’t, an afternoon on the water will do you all good. Don’t bother your heads about Saturday’s game—yet. Plenty of time for thinking about that when Saturday comes. Broadwood has a slight advantage this year in playing on her own grounds, but we can offset that if we try. To-morrow at two o’clock, then.”
“Now, fellows, three cheers for Mr. Payson!” cried Millener, jumping onto a bench. And they were given royally. And then came three cheers for Mr. Pennimore, which would have done Gerald’s heart good had he been there to hear.
Gerald saw the baseball team, accompanied by Payson and Andy Ryan, embark on the Princess the next day with regret. He didn’t regret that Dan and Alf and Millener and Colton, and all the other baseball fellows he knew by sight and duly reverenced, were going to have a jolly afternoon together; he only regretted that he wasn’t along; and he regretted that a whole lot. But Gerald had been learning during the last six months. When he first entered Yardley he would have accompanied the team to-day without a qualm, and would have wondered why the fellows treated him coolly. Now he knew that some of the fellows would call him “fresh kid,” and almost all would hold him in contempt for showing off. So he watched the embarking from the terrace of Sound View, and afterward went up to the gymnasium, got into his dark blue gym suit, and went at the punching-bag until he was breathless, cheerful, and running with perspiration. Then he trotted down to the bath and whistled happily while the luke-warm spray enveloped his grateful body. He was quite alone down there and could make as much noise as he wanted to. At last, bracing himself for the shock, he “turned on the ice,” as the fellows said, and yelled lustily as the cold jets hissed upon him. Then, glowing and refreshed, puffing and gasping, he rubbed himself dry and dressed leisurely, whistling merrily all the while, from stockings to tie. Finally he climbed the stairs again, paused at the door in the warm afternoon sunlight to cock his straw hat a trifle over one eye in the approved Yardley fashion, and then took the path to the tennis courts in search of adventure with the little swagger engendered by mental and physical exhilaration.
[CHAPTER XXIV]
ON YARDLEY HILL
Although Yardley Hall is less than forty years old, it has its customs and precedents. And one of them is that on the evening preceding the Broadwood game the combined musical clubs of Cambridge and Oxford shall give a concert in the Yard. At half-past seven the performers gathered in front of Dudley and the audience distributed itself on the grass or sat at the open windows facing the Yard. It was still light up here on the hill, although below the shadows were darkening over river and marsh and meadow. Gerald and Harry, the latter up and about in a borrowed dressing-gown, sat by the open window which looked directly across at Dudley. The mandolins, banjos, and guitars set the fellows humming and whistling with “The Merry Widow Waltzes” and one or two older favorites, and then the glee clubs hummed the accompaniment and Wheelock, substitute fielder on the Nine, sang “Mighty Lak’ a Rose,” his sweet tenor voice filling the silent Yard with its mellow tones. Such an outburst of hand-clapping and applauding voices rewarded this that he was forced to sing the song over again and follow it with “A Health to King Charles.” Then the musicians started in on “Old Yardley,” and in a moment every fellow was singing lustily, in tune or out, according to his ability. Up from the grass and down from the crowded windows were hurled the defiant strains;
“Old Yardley can’t be beat, my boy,
She’s bound to win the game!
So give a cheer for Yardley and
Hats off to Yardley’s fame!”
That started the cheering. They cheered for Captain Millener, for Colton, for Loring and so on down to Payson and Andy Ryan and “the subs,” the fellows gradually gathering above the leader who had mounted the steps of Dudley. Then they cheered for “Yardley! Yardley! Yardley!” over and over. Afterwards Millener made a short speech, and was followed by Payson. There were more cheers and finally the glee clubs started “The Years Roll On.” Off came hats and in the soft, summer twilight the slow, sweet, and solemn melody rose to the darkening sky.
“The years roll on. Too soon we find
Our boyhood days are o’er.
The scenes we’ve known, the friends we’ve loved,
Are gone to come no more.
But in the shrine of Memory
We’ll hold and cherish still
The recollection fond of those
Dear days on Yardley Hill.