“Yes, a thousand times again, if Belmont needed me!”
The town hall was crowded almost to suffocation the next day; and by the time the exercises began it seemed impossible to admit another person. I had practical reasons for knowing this, for I was one of the ushers, and was at my wits’ end to dispose of the masses of people that packed the building.
The hall was gayly decorated with flags and flowers, and at the upper end, behind the stage, hung a glorious banner of crimson, with inscriptions upon it in letters of gold. The banner ordinarily would not have come to us for some little time after the game; but Tony Larcom determined that it should grace Ray Wendell’s valedictory speech, and, partly by strategy, partly by bluff, succeeded in obtaining it from Berkeley in time for the exercises. Even cold Dr. Drayton could not resist a smile as he saw it hanging there; and, in his words of introduction, he alluded in a dignified but graceful manner to the victory of the previous day. From what he said I had a sneaking notion that he even went to see the game himself—a remarkable concession on the doctor’s part.
There all the dear boys sat in a row, robed in their black gowns, and awaiting their turn to speak. Among the first were Clinton Edwards and Elton, both of whom delivered fine orations. Then, near the last, came Len Howard, whose oration had evidently been prepared with scrupulous care, and whose delivery was marked for its manly and vigorous tone. And as he spoke, I saw his eyes wander frequently to the third row of seats, where sat an old man with snow white hair, who was leaning forward intently, his hand to his ear, that not a syllable should be lost, a tender smile upon his lips, and his kind eyes dimmed with tears.
And last of all came the valedictory; and as Ray Wendell, pale and handsome, stepped quietly forward and stood before the audience, a roar of applause that shook the building went up from the crowd, and gently fluttered the Crimson Banner that hung behind the speaker and gracefully framed him in.
And when the touching and pathetic words of farewell had been spoken by Ray, one further tribute remained. A messenger had come to the door during the delivery of the valedictory, and had put into my hands a magnificent basket of flowers. I hurried up the aisle, and, as Ray closed his oration and bowed, I held the flowers toward him. He blushed deeply as he leaned over to take the basket from my hands, and then for the first time I noticed a tiny card fastened to the bouquet by a strip of blue ribbon, and bearing the name, “Miss Nettie Fuller.”
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