“The years roll on. To man’s estate
From youthful mould we pass,
And Life’s stern duties bind us round,
And doubts and cares harass.
But God will guard through storms and give
The strength to do His will
And treasure e’er the lessons learned
Of old on Yardley Hill.”
It is hard to hear that song unmoved if you are a Yardley man, and the group in front of Dudley dissolved silently, by ones and twos and by little groups, the fellows seeking their rooms or their friends’ rooms to sit at the open windows and talk of graduation, or the morrow’s contest, or the long summer vacation which was almost upon them.
Dan and Tom and Alf had listened to the concert from the window of Number 7, and after the last strain of the final song had died away they sat there in silence and watched the crowd break up and the fellows radiate across the Yard in the dusk. Finally Alf gave an impatient shake of his shoulders.
“Hang that song, anyhow,” he said, half laughing, half in earnest. “It always makes me feel so kind of teary and noble. If I was a millionaire I’d go out and give away my money. Let’s sing ‘Harrigan’ or something lively.”
“I don’t think it’s going to hurt you, Alf, to feel noble for once,” drawled Tom.
“That’s all right,” answered Alf, “but I tell you right now that if they sing that next year, just before I’m going to graduate, I’ll disgrace you and myself and the Class by boo-hooing; I’m just certain I will!”
“Don’t trouble,” said Tom soothingly. “It isn’t likely that you’ll ever graduate.”
Saturday was a “scorcher.” It started right out being a “scorcher”; even as early as seven o’clock you knew mighty well just what you were in for. At breakfast Dan turned in disgust from the hot cereal and had difficulty getting rid of the three-inch-square piece of steak and a small portion of the enormous baked potato that was set before him. The coffee scalded his throat and made him hotter still. Over at the other table, where sat the “regulars,” Payson was expostulating with Danforth, the second baseman.
“You must eat something, Danforth. You’ll be knocked up for all day if you don’t. At least put that glass of milk down and eat a roll.”
“I really can’t, sir,” Dan heard the boy answer. “I’ve had one glass already, and that’s all I want. If I eat now I won’t be able to take any luncheon. It’s so hot!”