Then Andy, making an excuse to get a drink of water, passed his seat and looked at the documents. They were a mass of bills which the young man evidently had for collection.
“Stung!” murmured Andy. “But he sure did look like a Yale senior.” He was yet to learn that college men are not so different from ordinary mortals as certain sensational writers would have had him believe.
There was the usual bustle and rush of alighting passengers. Now indeed Andy was sure that a crowd of students had come up on the train with him for, once out of the cars their exuberance manifested itself.
There were greetings galore from one to another. Renewals of past acquaintance came from every side. There were hearty clappings on the backs of scores and scores, and re-clappings in turn.
Youths were tumbling out here, there, everywhere, colliding with one another, bumping up against baggage trucks, running through the station, one or two stopping to snatch a hasty cup of coffee and some doughnuts from the depot restaurant.
Andy stood almost lost for the moment amid the excitement. It had come on suddenly. He had never dreamed there were so many Yale men on the train. They gave no evidence of it until they had reached their own precincts.
Then, like a dog that hesitates to bark until he is within the confines of his own yard, they “cut loose.”
Taxicab chauffeurs were bawling for customers. Hackmen with ancient horses sent out their call of:
“Keb! Keb! Hack, sir! Have a keb!”
The motor bus of the Hotel Taft was being jammed with prosperous looking individuals. Around the curve swept the clanging trolley cars.