[CHAPTER XXVI]
“VALE”
Allan and Pete sat on the steps of McLean Hall. The yard was a fairyland of glowing lanterns and moving colors. Near at hand, in a bough-screened stand, the band was playing. Above their heads the old elms of Erskine rustled their leaves and whispered among themselves, comparing, perhaps, this class-day with the many that had gone before. On the gravel paths matrons and maids, in light gowns, accompanied by robed seniors or dress-suited undergraduates, passed and repassed. The scene was as fair a one as ever Allan had witnessed, while even Pete was forced to grudging admiration.
“You’ll come out in August, then,” Pete was saying.
“Yes,” answered Allan, “and don’t you be afraid I won’t turn up, for this is the biggest excursion I ever took. So far I’ve never been farther away from home than this, and Colorado seems like the other side of the world.”
Pete smiled in the half-light.
“Hope you’ll like us, Allan. We may seem rather a rough and unpolished lot at first, but we’re not so bad when you cotton to our way of life.”
“Of course I’ll like you,” said Allan, vehemently. “If it wasn’t for you and your father, Pete, where’d we be now?”
“Where you are, I guess,” laughed Pete. “Let me tell you something, Allan. When you get out to Blackwater, don’t you go to speaking pieces at the old man, and thanking him; that’s a line of talk he can’t stand.”
“But I’ve got to thank him,” objected Allan.