These remarks were made in the lowest and hoarsest of whispers, for Clinton’s voice, like those of his worthy “chorus,” had perished of overwork. Once or twice during the evening when the fun raged hottest, I saw him make a heroic effort to join in the cheering, but finding it useless, shake his head despairingly, and betake himself to banging on a big bass drum, which a member of the college instrumental club had brought into service. But Clinton and his chorus had done their work nobly that day, and no member of our nine will ever forget their timely appearance and loyal support at Berkeley.
As the hour grew late, the excitement waned, and gradually the mass of students broke up into small knots, and moved away. I was feeling fatigued from the exertions and nervous strain of the game and the evening’s celebration; so, about half past ten, I went to my room, and there, lying off at ease, I watched from my windows the slow dispersion of the revelers on the campus below me until the last group had disappeared.
And long after my fellow students, wearied by shouting, had retired to their various apartments, the fire burned on in the silent night, crackling, sizzling, and darting its fitful beams into my room, where they set grotesque and fanciful shadows dancing on ceiling and walls, and blending their lurid and wavering gleams with the myriad faces and images that the day’s memory recalled to my dreams.
CHAPTER XXX
BURNING THE MIDNIGHT OIL
Final examinations were now impending, and the preparation for them engaged our earnest attention night and day. The pressure upon Ray Wendell was particularly severe; for, being a Senior, his examinations took place during the first week in June. Ray, moreover, was determined to obtain a high rank in his class, and one of the honorary orations to which such a rank would entitle him. These orations were allowed to the first ten men in the Senior class, and as they were delivered on Commencement Day in the town hall before all the college faculty, trustees, and assembled guests, they were coveted and striven for as positions of marked distinction.
The valedictorian was selected by the faculty, and for the oration they chose the best speaker among the first six men in the class. It was this particular position that Ray desired; and in the estimation of his fellow students, his securing it depended solely upon him winning a place amongst the first six, for Ray was well known to be one of the best speakers in his class.
The week after our return from Berkeley, therefore, was one of steady, arduous work for Ray; and with the exception of the regular hours of baseball practice and meal time, he was to be found in his room, bent over his text books and lecture notes. And late at night, as I would retire, I could see his windows over in Warburton Hall shining brightly long after the rest of the building was darkened.
On one of these occasions I could not resist the temptation to run over for a few moments and break in on his loneliness; so, slipping on my coat, I crossed the quadrangle, and ascended to his room.
“Hullo, Harry,” he said, opening the door for me. “What are you doing out of bed at this hour of the night?”