The debaters and their small company of supporters did not return to Centerport until noon the next day, and long before that the morning papers had arrived and the college at large had proudly read their account of the contest. That explains why when Anthony, attired in a long, yellowish plaid ulster of great antiquity, and carrying his nightgown and toothbrush wrapped in a piece of brown paper, lurched from the train to the station platform and looked about him, his jaw dropped in ludicrous dismay, and he made a hurried effort to retreat. But his companions were crowding down behind him and he was forced forward into the ungentle hands of the cheering students, who filled the platform. Somehow, he never knew quite how, he was thrust and lifted to a baggage truck, from which, since his legs were securely pinioned by several enthusiastic jailers, he found it impossible to make his escape. So he hugged his bundle desperately and beamed good-humoredly about him, recognizing the advisability of making the best of things. The other debaters were hustled to his side in a wild medley of cheers, and then, clutching each other madly in an effort to maintain their balance, they were wheeled up and down the long platform in the vortex of a swirling throng and cheered to the echo, individually and collectively. For his part, Anthony was filled with a great relief when the train with its long line of grinning faces at the windows drew away, and with a greater relief when one of the occupants of the truck, losing his hold, tumbled between the framework, and so brought the triumphal procession to an end.
The prey were allowed to escape, and Anthony drew his long ulster about his thin shanks and scuttled ungracefully into Town Lane and so out of the rabble of still cheering students. But he hadn’t escaped Jack, for that youth, somewhat out of breath, overtook him before he had reached the corner and showered fragmentary congratulations upon him.
“I got up—almost before—light,” panted Jack, bravely trying to keep up with Anthony’s long strides, “and went—down and—got a—paper—and—read—read— Oh, don’t go so fast, please!”
Anthony moderated his pace and put an arm affectionately over the other’s shoulders.
“Did you?” he asked. “Well, now, that was real friendly.”
“And when I—saw—that you’d won—I danced a jig in—the—middle of Main Street!”
“And haven’t got your breath back yet?” laughed Anthony.
“But—aren’t you glad?” asked Jack.
“I should say so,” answered the other. “So tickled that I don’t mind the money it cost.”
Another event, important to a large part of the college, took place a day or two later. March, which had raged in with a big snow-storm, relented and attempted the rôle of April. The ground dried and became firm and springy and little warm breezes almost induced one to believe that he had somehow lost track of the months and had torn one too few leaves from his calendar. Erskine Field, given over during the winter to snow and winds, clothed itself in a new green livery and suddenly became the Mecca for more than half the college. One Thursday morning the following welcome notice hung in the window of Butler’s bookstore: