The advertisements were perhaps the funniest feature of the issue. Practically every advertiser in The Scholiast was represented. The popular drug store across the river was Wallace’s, and Wallace advertised “Wallace’s Famous Fried Egg Sundae Can’t Be Beat! Try one at our Soda Fountain! We also have a full stock of Post Cards, Sarsaparilla, Toothbrushes, and Chewing Gum. Prescriptions filled while you sleep!”
“Indigestion? Farrell’s Lunch Emporium is the place to get it! Have one of my India Rubber Sandwiches! They last a Life Time!”
“Hardware of All Kinds at Topham’s. Why wear Woolen? Try a Suit of Our Chain Armor! Wears Harder and Lasts Longer!”
“Hurd and Gray’s Livery and Boarding Stable solicits the esteemed patronage of the young gentlemen of Yardley Hall. Good board at moderate prices. Try us when you are tired of Commons.”
“Proctor’s! Proctor’s! Proctor’s! Stationery in All its Branches. Post Cards Free to Patrons. Help Yourself when we are Not Looking. Try one of our Famous Non-Leakable Fountain Pens. A Bottle of Ink Eradicator Gratis With Every Pen!”
A telegraph item from New Haven announced that hereafter Yale University would admit Yardley Hall graduates without examination. Another, dated at Greenburg, stated that owing to the fact that the Faculty at Broadwood Academy had decided to insist upon a mild course of study at that institution many of its foremost athletes were leaving; and in consequence Broadwood would not be represented that Spring on field or diamond.
The Scholiant was a success, and the printer did a good business for days after in striking off extra copies at ten cents apiece for boys who wanted to send them home. “The Fake Scholiast,” as it was called, lived in history, and you will find framed copies of it hanging in the rooms of Cambridge and Oxford Societies. For days Yardley laughed itself sore over it, and hazarded all sorts of guesses as to who had perpetrated the joke. In the end the facts leaked out, and Alf and his associates reaped praise and renown, not only from their fellows but from members of the faculty as well. Tradition has it that Mr. Collins, the Assistant Principal, was discovered doubled over with a copy of The Scholiant in his hand.
But there was one who failed to appreciate the joke at its full value. That was Joe Chambers. Joe took it fairly well, but his grins lacked sincerity. No one was present when he caught his first glimpse of The Scholiant, so, unfortunately, his sensations must be left to the imagination; but Alf and Dan and Tom ran him down a half-hour later in his room. He was scowling darkly and, as he confessed days afterward, was writing a red-hot editorial on “The Vulgarity of Practical Joking.”
A day or two later, however, after the fellows got through teasing him, he regained his poise and managed to smile wanly when the subject was mentioned. The party at Farrell’s came off in due time, and, under the benign and softening influence of frankfurters and chicken sandwiches and chocolate eclairs and root beer, Joe forgave his tormentors. He would very willingly have forgotten, too, but that was denied him. I regret to say that at first Joe tried, in Alf’s picturesque language, to “squeal.”