Across the square floated a husky bellow:
“Now, then, fellows! Once more! All together! Three times three for Harvard!”
The band played wildly, frenziedly, out of time and tune; the crowd strained its tired throats for one last farewell slogan; the men in the barge waved their hands; the horses jumped forward; a belated riser in Holyoke threw open a front window, and drowsily yelled, “Shut up”; and the Harvard eleven sped on its way up the avenue, and soon became a blur in the gray vista.
“Say, Bob, you forgot to cheer Jimpson.”
The wearied youth faced his accuser, struck an attitude indicative of intense despair, and then joyfully seized the opportunity.
“Fellows! Fellows! Hold on! Three times three for Jim—Jim—who’d you say?”
“Jimpson,” prompted the friend.
“Three times three for Jimpson! Now, then, all together!”
“Say—who is Jimpson?” shouted a dozen voices at once.
“Don’t know. Don’t care. Three times three for Jimpson!”