“But those fellows won’t trouble us again to-night,” declared Chet, laughing. “They’ll be glad to go home and get in bed.”
“Did you know any of ’em, Andy, except Gaffington?” asked Tom.
“No, the others were strangers to me.”
“How do you reckon they got here, all the way from New Haven?”
“Oh, they didn’t come from Yale,” declared Andy. “The university closed last week, you know. Probably Mort had some of his chums out to visit him in Dunmore. That was his car. And he wanted to show ’em the sights, and let ’em see he could run all over little Milton, so he brought ’em out here. It isn’t such a run from Dunmore, you know.”
“I reckon that’s it,” agreed Tom. “Well, they got more than they were looking for, that’s one consolation. Now boys, whoop her up for the last time.”
Again they gathered about the blazing fire, and sang their farewell song.
The annual celebration was drawing to a close. Another group of lads would leave Milton to go out into the world, mounting upward yet another step. From then on the ways of many who had been jolly good comrades together would diverge. Some might cross again; others be as wide apart as the poles.
The fire died down. The big piano box commandeered by “Swipes” was but a heap of ashes. The fun was over.
There were cheers for the departing senior lads, who, in turn, cheered the others who would take their places. Then came tributes to the industrious freshmen.