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 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
The Cap and Gown Series 
 
 Cap and Gown in Prose 
 Cap and Gown First Series 
 Cap and Gown Second Series 
 The Golden Treasury of American 
 ^ongs and Lyrics 
 
 Poems of American Patriotism 
 
 My Lady Sleeps 
 
 Songs Ysame 
 
 Out of the Heart 
 
 Poems of American Wit and Humor 
 
 Pipe and Pouch 
 
 Through Love to Light 
 
 The Two Voices 
 From Queens^ Gardens 
 Hymns of the Higher Life 
 
 L. ۥ PAGE AND COMPANY 
 
 (Incorporated) 
 
 2J2 Summer St,, Boston, Mass. 
 
CAP AND GOWN 
 
 IN PROSE 
 
 ^^oxi ^kziti)ZQ ^zlzttz'a from ^ntiersratixiatE 
 Pniotifcals of l^ecEut gears 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 R. L. PAGET 
 
 EDITOR OF " POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM," 
 
 " THE POETRY OF AMERICAN WIT 
 
 AND HUMOR," ETC. 
 
 r 
 
 \J /UuCfMl^'t, 
 
 BOSTON 
 L. C PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 (incorporated) 
 MDCCCC 
 
TWO COPIES RECEIVBD. 
 Library of <?«._ 
 
 Office of til, "» 
 
 •fUN 1 - 1900 
 
 "'^'''T Of Copyrt,*,* 
 
 SECOND COPY. 
 
 62895 
 
 Copyright^ igoo 
 By L. C. Page & Company 
 
 (incorporated) 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 Colonial Press 
 
 Electrotyped and Printed by C H. Simonds & Co. 
 
 Boston, U. S. A. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The editor of " Cap and Gown Second Series " 
 reminded his readers, it will be remembered, that 
 college verse must not be taken too seriously. 
 The same thing may of course be said of college 
 prose. But in the latter case there is small need 
 of such warning ; only the Sophomore and his 
 admiring sisters will regard with any degree of 
 awe the " fortnightly theme "on " George Eliot 
 as an Ethical Guide," or " The Classical Spirit in 
 Arnold's Poetry," or will be fired with enthu- 
 siasm for the society story and the tale of ad- 
 venture adorning the pages of the " Lit." Prose, 
 as ordinarily written, lacks those double advan- 
 tages of verse, jingle and brevity. It is either 
 good or fatally dull. 
 
 Here is the difficulty which the editor of the 
 present volume, who wished above all that his 
 book might be entertaining, faced at the outset. 
 How should he overcome the prejudice excited 
 in advance by the word " prose "? 
 
VI PREFACE 
 
 In the first place, it was plain that the selec- 
 tions should be short. Moreover, they should, 
 so far as possible, be concerned with scenes 
 drawn from actual life. Finally, the point of 
 view should be that of youth. 
 
 If this aim has been carried out with even 
 approximate success, these sketches are not 
 without elements of unique value. Life as it 
 now appears to the philosopher he can describe 
 for us, but life as it appeared to him in youth he 
 can hardly trust himself to picture. That this 
 little book is representative of the best prose 
 composition of American colleges its editor 
 would hesitate to assert. Nor does he claim for 
 the compilation that it represents the relative 
 merit of the English departments in various 
 colleges. It aims to entertain ; to suggest the 
 college atmosphere and the college point -of 
 view ; to remind the graybeard of the days when 
 campus, gridiron, diamond, track, " Prom," and 
 grind were words which stood for things that 
 made up a large part of his real world ; and, 
 finally, to show how near in some instances the 
 natural portrayal of simple things in the fewest 
 words may approach originality. 
 
 It has proved unavoidable that some colleges 
 
PREFACE Vll 
 
 are much more fully represented than others. 
 Certain undergraduate papers seldom publish 
 short prose contributions. A number of college 
 periodicals, which have only one or two selec- 
 tions to their credit, might stand among the 
 most prominent in the book if the ability they 
 expend on long descriptions were turned in the 
 direction of *' kodak shots." The colleges whose 
 English departments make the most of daily 
 theme courses are naturally much in evidence 
 in a compilation of this character. 
 
 In some cases papers are not represented, or 
 are represented by fewer selections than might 
 be desirable, because complete files had not been 
 kept or were unattainable. 
 
 It is possible that some readers will discover 
 the " college man " of their fancy to be an idol 
 of clay. The editor can reply only that he has 
 given a picture of the student photographed by 
 the student himself. His excuse is the truth 
 of the portrait. The typical undergraduate is 
 addicted neither to vice nor to virtue. He is no 
 longer a child, but he is certainly boy all over. 
 Merry and light-hearted rather than flippant, 
 frequently an encyclopedia of slang, always fond 
 of playing jokes on his comrades and sometimes 
 
Vlll PREFACE 
 
 of outwitting his professors, his whole creed 
 honour (which he insists on defining himself), 
 — he is after all very lovable and unspoiled. To 
 object to him is to find fault with human 
 nature. 
 
 The compiler returns hearty thanks to the 
 editors and business managers of the different 
 papers for their numerous courtesies. With- 
 out their generous cooperation the book would 
 have been impossible. He would also thank Mr. 
 F. W. C. Hersey, of Cambridge, Mass., Mr. B. 
 S. Monroe, of Romulus, N. Y., and the Libra- 
 rian of the Dartmouth College Library for the 
 loan of files of college magazines in their pos- 
 session. 
 
 Boston, Mass., May i, 1900. 
 
COLLEGE PAPERS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Amherst College . . . 
 Baltimore, Woman's 
 
 College of 
 
 BowDoiN College . . . 
 Brown University . . 
 Bryn Mawr College . 
 Chicago University . . 
 Columbia University . 
 
 Amherst Literary Monthly. 
 
 Cornell University . 
 
 Kalends. 
 
 Bowdoin Quill. 
 
 Brunonian. 
 
 Bryn Mawr Lantern. 
 
 University of Chicago Weekly. 
 
 Cohmibia Literary Monthly. 
 
 Columbia Spectator. 
 
 The Morningside. 
 
 Cornell Magazine. 
 
 Cornell Widow. 
 Dartmouth College . . Dartmouth Literary Monthly. 
 Hamilton College . . Hamilton Literary Magazine. 
 Harvard University . Harvard Advocate. 
 Leland Stanford Uni- 
 versity Sequoia. 
 
 Mass. Institute of Tech- 
 nology Tech. 
 
 Michigan University . Wrinkle. 
 Mount Holyoke Col- 
 lege ....... The Mount Holyoke. 
 
X 
 
 COLLEGE PAPERS REPRESENTED 
 
 Pennsylvania, Univer- 
 sity OF 
 
 Princeton University . 
 
 Radcliffe College 
 Smith College . . 
 Trinity College . 
 Tufts College . . 
 Vassar College 
 Wellesley College 
 Wells College . . 
 Wesleyan University . 
 Western Reserve Uni- 
 versity . . . o . . 
 
 Williams College . . 
 Wisconsin, University 
 
 OF 
 
 Yale University . . . 
 
 Red and Blue. 
 Nassau Literary Monthly. 
 Princeton Tiger. 
 Radcliffe Magazine. 
 Smith College Monthly. 
 Trinity Tablet. 
 Tuftonian. 
 Vassar Miscellany. 
 Wellesley Magazine. 
 Wells College Chronicle. 
 Wesleyan Literary Monthly. 
 
 College Folio. 
 
 Williams Literary Monthly. 
 
 Wisconsin ^gis. 
 
 Yale Courant. 
 
 Yale Literary Magazine. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 After Sunday Comes Monday 
 Alien, An . 
 Alpha and Omega . 
 Arcady Farewell ! 
 As It Was in the Beginning 
 As Old as May . 
 At Mott Haven 
 At the End of It 
 At the Game . 
 Augury of the Birds, The 
 Bane and Antidote . 
 Bargain, A . . . 
 Believer in Class Spirit, A 
 Cambridge Episode, A 
 Cat the Queen Stroked, The 
 Chance Acquaintance, A . 
 Chapel .... 
 Child Sketches . 
 Choice, A. Part One 
 Choice, A. Part Two 
 Chronicle of the Exam 
 Christmas Dream, A 
 Cigarette, A . . . 
 Class Day Convert, A 
 Clever Miss Vandeveer, The 
 Cold Bluff, A . . . 
 College Revery, A . 
 Comedy, A . , . 
 
 Vassar Miscellany 
 
 Vassar Miscellany 
 
 Morningside 
 
 Yale Literary Magazine . 
 
 Cornell Magazine 
 
 University of Chicago Weekly 
 
 Harvard A dvocate 
 
 Sequoia .... 
 
 Wrinkle .... 
 
 Yale C our ant 
 
 Wiscojisin j^gis 
 
 Williams Literary Monthly 
 
 Trinity Tablet ... 
 
 Harvard A dvocate . 
 
 Yale Literary Magazine . 
 
 Tech 
 
 Bryn Mawr Lafitern 
 Harvard A dvocate . 
 Princeton Tiger 
 Princeton Tiger 
 University of Chicago Weekly 
 Princeton Tiger 
 Cornell Magazine 
 Harvard A dvocate . 
 Hamilton Literary Magazine 
 A m.herst Literary Monthly 
 University of Chicago Weekly 
 Columbia Spectator . 
 
 xi 
 
 PAGE 
 214 
 123 
 
 57 
 104 
 205 
 
 61 
 
 139 
 127 
 
 4 
 200 
 224 
 263 
 
 35 
 208 
 
 158 
 
 41 
 
 262 
 
 17 
 20 
 23 
 
 igg 
 2gi 
 III 
 
 193 
 
 180 
 
 lOI 
 
 233 
 265 
 
195 
 
 8o 
 
 150 
 
 151 
 
 281 
 
 S3 
 
 Xll CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Complete Athlete, The . . . Yale Courant .... 94 
 
 Contentment Wells College Ckro7iicle . .183 
 
 Conversation, A . . . .A mherst Literary Monthly . 217 
 
 Conversion of Fredericks, The . Harvard A dvocate . . . 227 
 
 Corn-cob Pipe, A . . . . Wisconsin ^gis 
 
 Cousin John Red and Blue 
 
 Dangerous Room-mate, A . . Harvard A dvocate 
 
 Dead Broke Harvard Advocate 
 
 Decision of a Moment, The . . Morningside 
 
 Divine Aid Yale Cozirant . 
 
 Dream of Fair Women, A . . Wesley an Literary Monthly . 48 
 
 Duets Williams Literary Monthly . 261 
 
 Economy University of Chicago Weekly. 71 
 
 Exhibits in a Trial of Hearts . . Wrinkle 105 
 
 Fable Williams Literary Monthly . 103 
 
 Fable of the Two Men and the 
 
 Pomegranate .... Princeton Tiger . . . 133 
 
 Filibustering Father, A . . . Colujnbia Literary Monthly . 258 
 First Conversation: Across the 
 
 Fence Yale Literary Magazine . . 62 
 
 First Time, The .... Harvard A dvocate ... 67 
 
 Fortunate Foursome, A . . . Yale Courant .... 168 
 
 Founded on Fact .... Williams Literary Monthly . 278 
 
 Freshman Enters the Debate, The . Wrinkle no 
 
 Freshman's Ideal, The . . . Wesleyan Literary Monthly . 231 
 
 From a College Man's Journal . Tuftonian n 
 
 From the Heights .... College Folio . . . .270 
 
 Girl Correspondents , . , . A fnherst Literary Monthly . 285 
 
 Girl in Blue, The .... Harvard Advocate . . .13 
 
 Glimpses Radcliffe Magazine . . . 289 
 
 Golf and a Bracelet .... Brunoftian 172 
 
 Hazing of Sammy, The . . • Smith College Monthly . . 147 
 
 Her Key University of Chicago Weekly . 247 
 
 Her Moral Downfall . . . Red and Blue .... 44 
 
 His First Race University of Chicago Weekly. 74 
 
 His Last Appeal .... Dartmotith Literary Monthly . 220 
 
 How I Recovered .... Harvard A dvocate . . . 258 
 
 In June Brtenonian 178 
 
 In Perspective Harvard A dvocate ... 29 
 
 In the Afternoon Car . . . Bryn Mawr Lantern . . 72 
 
 In the Car University of Chicago Weekly . 204 
 
 In the Reading-room . . . Harvard Advocate . . .251 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 XIU 
 
 In the Shell . 
 
 Inklings . 
 
 Jeems Miller's Coortin' 
 
 Johnny 
 
 Letter Home, A 
 
 Little Tommy Atkins 
 
 Love of Lop-Ear 
 
 Lunches . 
 
 Magazine Story, A 
 
 Man from Yale, The 
 
 Metamorphosis . 
 
 My First Boat-race 
 
 My Freshman . 
 
 My Old Room . 
 
 New Term, The 
 
 Observations 
 
 Of Passing Moment 
 
 Old Man . 
 
 On a High Stool 
 
 " On Linden " . 
 
 Overheard— In Arcady? 
 
 Philosophy at Twenty-one 
 
 Poor Little Reginald 
 
 Postmaster's Story, The 
 
 Progress of the Crews 
 
 Proprieties, The 
 
 Queen, A . 
 
 Ready 
 
 Reminiscence, A 
 
 Scene: Dinner, etc. . 
 
 Scene on a Kansas Ranch 
 
 Seen from the Road . 
 
 Sentinel and a Substitute, A 
 
 Shooting of Barrows, Freshman 
 
 Short Conversation, A 
 
 Smoker, The . 
 
 Stray S5m3pathy, A . 
 
 Sweet is True Love . 
 
 Swimming Race, A . 
 
 That Babington Affair 
 
 Those Teas and Things 
 
 Three 
 
 ,The 
 
 Harvard Advocate . 
 
 7 
 
 The Mount Holyoke . 
 
 156 
 
 Wesley an Literary Monthly 
 
 8S 
 
 The Mormt Holyoke . 
 
 65 
 
 A mherst Literary Monthly 
 
 92 
 
 Wellesley Magazine . 
 
 237 
 
 Sequoia .... 
 
 253 
 
 College Folio 
 
 246 
 
 Vassar Miscellany 
 
 50 
 
 Tech 
 
 144 
 
 U7iiversity of Chicago Weekly 
 
 141 
 
 Momijigside 
 
 69 
 
 Smith College Monthly 
 
 275 
 
 Harvard Advocate . 
 
 185 
 
 Kalends .... 
 
 152 
 
 Princeton Tiger 
 
 88 
 
 Harvard A dvocate . 
 
 97 
 
 Nassau Literary Moftthly 
 
 • "7 
 
 Harvard A dvocate . 
 
 236 
 
 Morningside 
 
 8 
 
 Harvard A dvocate . 
 
 132 
 
 University of Chicago Weekly 
 
 • 177 
 
 Williams Literary Monthly 
 
 243 
 
 Wesley an Literary Monthly 
 
 222 
 
 Cornell Widow . 
 
 161 
 
 Amherst Literary Monthly 
 
 107 
 
 A ■mherst Literary Monthly 
 
 137 
 
 Harvard Advocate . 
 
 I 
 
 Cornell Magazine 
 
 2 
 
 University of Chicago Weekly 
 
 212 
 
 Wells College Chronicle . 
 
 150 
 
 Wesley an Literary Monthly 
 
 252 
 
 Red and Bine . 
 
 190 
 
 Dartmo2ith Literary Monthly 
 
 122 
 
 Harvard A dvocate . 
 
 "5 
 
 Yale Literary Magazine . 
 
 164 
 
 Wellesley Magazine . 
 
 274 
 
 Seqzioia .... 
 
 166 
 
 University of Chicago Weekly 
 
 58 
 
 Williams Literary Monthly 
 
 88 
 
 A mherst Literary Monthly 
 
 14 
 
 Cornell Magazine 
 
 30 
 
XIV 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Three O'clock, A. M. 
 Told by the Doctor . 
 Two and Two . 
 Two Dear Old Ladies 
 Two Yards to Gain . 
 Unavailable 
 Un Chant D'Amour . 
 Uncle Bill's Opinions 
 Unexpected, The 
 University 5 
 Unplayed Trump, An 
 Very Young Man, A 
 Ways of Woman, The 
 World's End, The . 
 Yule-tide Happening, A 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Bowdoin Quill .... 239 
 
 Tech ...... 129 
 
 Momingside . . . .142 
 
 IVesleyan Literary Monthly . 187 
 Harvard A dvocate ... 40 
 Yale Cotirant .... 134 
 
 University of Chicago Weekly. 182 
 Princeton Tiger . . . 235 
 
 Brtmonian 39 
 
 Harvard Advocate . . . 175 
 Darttitouth Literary Monthly . 26 
 IVr inkle . . • • -43 
 . Dartmouth Literary Monthly . 272 
 Wellesley Magazine . . .163 
 Harvard Advocate ... 78 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 Ready. 
 
 "I SHALL say, 'Are you ready?' once; and 
 then, if I hear no reply, I shall say, ' Go.' " 
 The referee's voice sounds hollow and harsh 
 through the megaphone. 
 
 I take one last glance over my shoulder at 
 the other crews. They are both set, vindictive, 
 and strong, coiled beautifully with power to 
 spring. The challenge of their attitude sets 
 my teeth, and as I turn my blade square and 
 deep in the water, and feel it snug against the 
 thole-pin, with a tight grip of both hands for 
 the wrench, the intolerable and consuming ner- 
 vousness of the past hours goes from me. I am 
 conscious only of a tingling in my temples, and 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 the sense of a great clearness somewhere above 
 
 and before my eyes. 
 
 Then Hke the voice of Fate, — 
 
 " Gentlemen, are you ready ? " — 
 
 I know nothing but the nape of 4's neck. 
 
 " Go ! " 
 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
 A Reminiscence* 
 
 "Yale!" 
 
 He was down at the start of the hundred 
 yards, and his cry came with the crack of the 
 pistol that started the four men down the cinder 
 track toward the crowd with the hole in it at the 
 finish. He had no business there. The Execu- 
 tive Committee had expressly forbidden any 
 such thing as coaching, and yet he was there, 
 — he always is there, — and his shout had 
 scarcely less of command, scarcely less of thrill- 
 ing demand in it than the pistol-shot itself. 
 
 It was a small thing, but, as the crowd pre- 
 pared to swallow up the bare-legged runners, 
 and the man who had shouted grew ridiculously 
 excited, the lone Cornellian who had been stand- 
 ing by turned away to saunter off across the 
 
 1 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 3 
 
 Oval with that stirring " YaleT' in his ears, and 
 doing a deal of thinking meanwhile. How that 
 boy must have felt ! How he must have heard 
 it ringing in his ears, and felt it throbbing 
 through his brain after all else was gone, in the 
 dreadful weariness that was crowding on his 
 breast ! Perhaps his mother was over in the 
 grand stand, and some one with her who could 
 point him out ; perhaps it was a big brother who 
 had taken him by the shoulders that morning, 
 had looked into his eyes, and had said something 
 beginning, " Jack, old man," that had made him 
 feel older all of a sudden, — had made him know 
 that " brother " might mean more than he had 
 ever felt before ; perhaps Somebody Else was 
 there who had given him just a glance that had 
 not made him think anything about sisters. 
 Perhaps, but who can imagine what is in a boy's 
 head ? Whatever it was, it was all gone long 
 before he had reached the press-stands ; his 
 heart was pumping " Yale ! " into his reeling 
 brain. He ivill go faster. There is a great 
 ** Must ! " upon him. Faster ! Faster ! Ah-h-h ! 
 And the man that caught him as his breast 
 broke the string heard him gasp, " Yale ! " 
 Well, he was a very foolish boy, of course, 
 
4 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 and his mother and his father and the rest 
 ought to have been ashamed to be proud of 
 him ; but that is not what was in the Cornel- 
 Han's mind, as the shouts of the crowd struck 
 back from the green hillside. His heart had 
 gone back to Ithaca. He practised it over 
 softly to himself, " Cornell ! " And he tried 
 again and again to fancy it blending with a pistol- 
 shot and transforming a bare-headed boy in 
 white into a fierce, panting bit of the university. 
 
 E. P. Andrews. 
 Cornell Magazine. 
 
 At the Game» 
 
 Dora: Jack, is it the interference when the 
 umpire interferes with the game, and makes 
 them stop to catch their breath } 
 
 Jack : No, Dora, it's — 
 
 Dora: Oh, there they go again. That man 
 with the red hair has got the goal, and is run- 
 ning with it for all he's worth. There, they've 
 got him down, and they've all touched him. 
 Now is he a touchdown, dear } 
 
 Jack (with emphasis) : Oh, no, you girls — 
 
 Dora: There, Jack, see, wasn't that pretty? 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 5 
 
 The man with an M on his perspirationer kicked 
 the goal over that long pole between those 
 sticks. Does he kick it half way from there, 
 and do they call that then the half back, 
 Jack ? 
 
 Jack: Oh my, Dora, do keep still, there is 
 Miss Hardy, of the Vassar eleven, in the 
 next coach. I'm so afraid she'll hear you, 
 and — 
 
 Dora : Why, Jack ! What if she should ? Is 
 she a Vassar player, really. Jack ? She'll have 
 her hair all ready long, won't she ? I think I'll 
 organise a society for playing football. Could I, 
 do you suppose ? 
 
 Jack (dolefully) : No doubt of it, Dora. 
 
 A few minutes' pause. 
 
 Dora : Is the captain that man in the Fedora 
 hat, who runs with a cane every time they 
 tackle } 
 
 Jack : No, he's the umpire, dear. 
 
 Dora : Are you sure, Jack } And the man 
 with the stick of wood, is he keeping the score 
 with notches ? 
 
 Jack: Oh, Dora — 
 
 Dora (rapturously) : There they go again. 
 Oh, see there, there's that funny little duck 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 1 
 
 who falls down first every time, the one who 
 takes the football from the big fat man — what's 
 he, Jack ? 
 
 /ack (in desperation) : The official timekeeper, 
 dear. 
 
 Dora: Isn't it lovely to come to the game, 
 Jack ? It's all so exciting, and when you've 
 read up and know the plays, it makes it twice as 
 interesting, doesn't it, you old enthusiast ? And 
 I did it all for you, too. 
 
 Jack: So kind of you, I'm sure, Dora. 
 
 Dora (after the home team failed to kick 
 goal) : Ha, ha, did you see that, Jack } Why 
 didn't they all go for him when he kicked the 
 ball } So stupid, everybody seemed to be petri- 
 fied, and not one made a move. 
 
 Jack: Oh, Dora, you never — 
 
 Dora: Won't I, Jack.? I don't care, I just 
 came to please you, and now you don't seem to 
 appreciate what a martyr I am. 
 
 Jack : Nor you what a martyr I am. 
 
 Then there was another long pause, and dur- 
 ing it Dora's lip trembled once. But, finally, 
 the woman's old inquisitiveness came back to 
 her, and she touched Jack's elbow. 
 
 "Jack, just one more please, and then I'll not 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 7 
 
 say another thing. What does the M stand for, 
 Michigan or Minnesota ? " 
 
 And Jack just caught himself in time not to 
 say, " Mephistopheles." 
 
 George Russell Barker. 
 
 Wrinkle, 
 
 In the ShelL 
 
 For two hours we had sat in our shell in the 
 midst of the rain. The swift-blown mist had 
 soaked gradually through our sweaters, which 
 hung on our shoulders like heavy bags. From 
 my place at bow, I could see the water run in 
 big, round drops down the back hair of Number 
 2, and, gathering on the ends of it and on the 
 lobes of his ears, drip slowly on to his shoulders. 
 Even the oar handles were so wet that I rubbed 
 my hand now and then down my wet sweater. 
 We had quite got beyond the civilised wish for 
 dryness. As we heaved back and forth, steam- 
 ing and warm, we felt all the indifference to the 
 rain of an out-door animal. 
 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
8 
 
 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 4( 
 
 On Linden/* 
 
 " The only connection I ever had with oratory 
 in my college career," said Ned Jeffries, Colum- 
 bia 'yS, to a group of graduates at the Chicago 
 debate, "was through a course in declamation 
 in my Freshman year. I came nearer to flunk- 
 ing that course than any course I ever took in 
 college, and that is saying a good deal. If it 
 hadn't been for Phil Harkness, I should have 
 flunked it. Each man was supposed to recite 
 some piece or other four times a term. Some- 
 thing had prevented my preparing anything the 
 first time that I ought to have spoken, and Ben- 
 son, who was giving the course, recorded a flat 
 failure for me. 
 
 " yhe next time I did not remember that I 
 had to speak until I got into the room, when it 
 was too late to prepare anything. To flunk that 
 time meant a sure flunk at the end of the term. 
 I had to say something. I thought of *The 
 Charge of the Light Brigade,' ' Cannon to right 
 of them, cannon to left of them, something and 
 thundered.' I couldn't remember the rest. I 
 had an idea that the ' Wreck of the Hesperus ' 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 9 
 
 might do, and asked Phil if that wasn't the one 
 where the captain * staggered down the stair.' 
 Phil wasn't sure, but thought not. He suggested 
 ' On Linden when the sun was low/ but some 
 one had spoken that every time, and, anyway, I 
 only knew the first verse. Phil thought awhile, 
 then he started suddenly. 
 
 "a've got it,' he said. 'You go ahead with 
 " On Linden." ' 
 
 " * But I only know the first verse,' I ob- 
 jected. 
 
 " ' I'll see that you don't need any more,' said 
 Phil. 
 
 " ' But how — ' 
 
 '' ' Never mind. You get up there and speak 
 your first verse.' 
 
 "Phil wrote something on a sheet of paper 
 and passed it to the man next to him. The 
 latter chuckled happily as he read it, nodded 
 to Phil, and passed it on. 
 
 " Well, I had confidence in Phil, so when Ben- 
 son called on me, I went up to the platform, 
 struck my finest attitude, and began : 
 
 " * On Linden when the sun was low ' — 
 
 "'Chestnuts, chestnuts,' came in Phil's voice 
 from the back of the room. 
 
lO 
 
 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 "*A11 bloodless lay the untrodden snow,' 
 went on, impressively. 
 
 " ' Oh, give us a rest ! ' * Chestnuts ! ' 
 'We've heard that before,' came from all over 
 the room, Phil leading the tumult. 
 
 " ' Iser rolling rapidly ' was greeted by a 
 perfect howl. I had said all I knew, so I 
 stopped, pretended to stammer a little and 
 turned to Benson. 
 
 "'It's very hard for me to speak, sir,' I said, 
 apologetically, looking at the shouting class in 
 front of me. 
 
 " I knew Benson thought it beneath his dig- 
 nity as a college professor to take any notice of 
 a breach of discipline, so the only way that he 
 could express his anger was by taking my side 
 against the howling class. 
 
 " ' Certainly, Mr. Jeffries, it is very difficult 
 indeed,' he said, with an angry look at the 
 class. ' You are doing remarkably well. Go 
 on.' 
 
 "That was just what I could not do. I 
 began again. 
 
 " ' On Linden when the sun was low 
 All bloodless lay the untrodden snow.' 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE II 
 
 " * Oh, dry up ! ' shouted Phil, and the uproar 
 broke out again. It was, of course, useless to 
 attempt to speak against it. I hesitated, stopped, 
 and looked at Benson. 
 
 "^That will do, Mr. Jeffries,' said he. ^Very 
 good, indeed. It is disgraceful that you should 
 be interrupted in this way. I will give you the 
 maximum. The class is dismissed for to-day.' " 
 
 J. M. 
 
 The Morningside. 
 
 From a College Man^s Journal 
 
 At about eight o'clock of an evening you 
 shut your yellow-back, light your pipe, and get 
 into harness with the intention of doing four 
 days' work in one. At nine you are in full work- 
 ing stride, and the door-bell rings. You pay no 
 attention to him as he enters. He carries an 
 obtrusive fresh-lit cigar and an air of jaunti- 
 ness that says, ** Ah ! Working 1 I haven't 
 anything until next Friday." 
 
 Conversation, except of the most vapid and 
 unprofitable sort, is impossible. You aren't 
 interested in hypotheses based upon the proba- 
 ble victory of Tufts 2000 over Harvard. Work, 
 
12 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 too, is out of the question. He wanders around 
 the house like a draught, — a ghastly, door- 
 creaking, curtain-banging draught ; quiet, per- 
 sistent, maddening. He dissolves somewhere 
 in the kitchen and reappears with a coal- 
 scuttle. " Let's have a fire, it's so cheerful, 
 you know. No ? Work .-* Gad, man, it's fool- 
 ish to work," and he resumes his mooning 
 around, whistling tattered fragments of opera 
 as he goes. You are reduced to a state of 
 nervous coma in which you sit and watch 
 him from beneath your green shade, furtively, 
 fearfully, malignantly. 
 
 Finally, at eleven he chances upon the open 
 door, and after two or three unsuccessful 
 attempts drifts out ; says that he'll call again 
 when you aren't busy, and immediately re- 
 appears at the window to tap idiotically, and 
 say good night. 
 
 We call him the last straw. 
 
 The Tuftonian. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 3 
 
 The Girl in Blue* 
 
 " Ready ! " 
 
 " Get set ! ! " 
 
 " Bang ! ! ! " 
 
 You are off like a rabbit at the sound of the 
 dogs, and running Hke a whirlwind. You pass 
 a number of men, a couple pass you. The first 
 lap is run, and the race has settled down into a 
 swift procession in which every man keeps his 
 place. As you get around again, you notice a 
 pretty girl in blue near the corner. Perhaps it 
 is because of your red band, but she smiles 
 slightly as you pass, and the next time you 
 reach the corner, and the next. A bell is ring- 
 ing, the signal that it is the last lap. You try 
 to spurt, but your legs refuse to hurry faster. 
 Ah! you started in too fast. A red jersey 
 flashes by you, then another, then a blue one. 
 Everybody is shouting. You stop. They are 
 shaking hands with the man in the red jersey. 
 They tell you you were about sixth. And the 
 girl in blue, — how can you walk by her.? 
 Easily enough, she is not looking at you at all. 
 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
14 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 Those Teas and Things^ 
 
 " Well, of all the stupid, uninteresting " 
 
 These and some other words, which I do not 
 care to repeat, profaned Philebrown's entrance. 
 I laid down my pen at once. This was cheerful 
 and enlivening. " Come in, Philly," said I, 
 affably. " Have a cigarette, and confide your 
 sorrows to this trusty bosom." Philly murmured 
 something decidedly uncomplimentary to my 
 bosom, but entered in a cyclonic style. Having 
 banged the door, thrown his tile hat and his 
 overcoat into a corner, and kicked over the fire 
 irons, he subsided moodily into a chair. I for- 
 bore to break the silence. 
 
 Long acquaintance with Philebrown has given 
 me a somewhat definite insight into his moods. 
 He is a tall person, inclined to lankness, excit- 
 able, but with a saving sense of humour ; on his 
 guard immediately at an attempt to draw him 
 out, but, left alone, confiding as a child. There- 
 fore I held my peace and contemplated Philly. 
 
 " I sha'n't go again," he finally burst out, 
 regarding me defiantly. 
 
 "Ah," I remarked, softly, "you have been 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 5 
 
 once more to a tea Oh, yes, I'm listening ; 
 
 go on." 
 
 ''Well, as I said, of all the uninterest- 
 mg 
 
 '« Humanity in the mass is always uninterest- 
 ing," I murmured. 
 
 '' How some fellows can go it week in and 
 week out, I can't imagine. Why, it's — it's a 
 sign of mental " 
 
 " Have another cigarette, Philly." 
 
 " Thanks. But as I was saying about those 
 teas and things. You go and see a roomful of 
 girls — pretty .? Yes, they're pretty enough, — 
 of course a man likes to see a pretty girl — 
 every one does, — but it reminds me of this pink 
 and yellow candy in glass jars, — fearful sweet 
 stuff, you know, and bad for the digestion. I'd 
 rather chew sassafras root." 
 
 Here Philly subsided again. 
 
 " Go on, Philly," I entreated ; " this is beau- 
 tiful. And from a college man — alas the 
 day ! " 
 
 " What I want to know is, what do you say to 
 'em .? " demanded Philly, aggressively. " Aren't 
 there any sensible girls ? I suppose a man must 
 give receipts for rare-bit and fudge, whatever 
 
1 6 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 that is, and babble about the weather, and giggle 
 about the girl in the corner, or talk of the horrid 
 professors. That's what they seemed to be 
 doing for the most part." 
 
 " Philly," said I, gravely, " I am a Junior and 
 you are but a Sophomore. Hear me. There 
 may be those who are interesting. I can't say. 
 This much is so : lions and lambs do not as yet 
 congregate together. A man dare not take an 
 interesting homely girl to anything. She will 
 have a disagreeable time in a corner. To be a 
 social bluffer is an enviable distinction, but it 
 entails much weariness of the flesh, much pass- 
 ing over of intellectual deficiency, and an un- 
 ending search for that rare bird, — the pretty 
 girl." 
 
 Philly was silent for a moment. 
 
 " Well, I say," he began, " that a man's college 
 is for men. I'd rather see a college full of good, 
 honest sports, than a gang of fellows who swarm 
 to dances like flies around a honey-pot. I had ! " 
 he asserted, savagely. 
 
 "You're an orator, a Demosthenes, a — Chief 
 Justice, Philebrown," I interposed. 
 
 " Look at the men who go over " 
 
 "^Tut, tut, take another cigarette," said I. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 7 
 
 "Well, anyway," said Philly, with a sigh of 
 relief, "that's the way I feel about it, and if I 
 ever have a girl, you can be sure of one thing, 
 
 I sha'n't send her to " 
 
 " Hush, Philly, old man, this is heresy, rank 
 heresy. Come on ; there's the dinner-bell." 
 
 E. B. Pottle. 
 Amherst Literary Monthly. 
 
 Child Sketches* 
 
 The little boy crept up on my knee and sat a 
 moment, pulling thoughtfully on my watch-chain. 
 In the half twilight he looked very solemn and 
 dignified. 
 
 " How old are you, Johnny Tupper .'' " I finally 
 remarked, as a means of starting conversation. 
 H^is long lashes touched his cheek. 
 
 "Oh, Ise pretty near seben," he replied. 
 
 " Well, how near .? " I asked. " 'Bout five .? " 
 
 His round, chubby face bobbed up. "Yes," 
 he replied, with a frank little smile. 
 
 For a moment he fumbled, half -bashfully, with 
 the button at the top of my waistcoat, smiling 
 to himself ; then he leaned his cool cheek close 
 to mine and asked, confidingly : 
 
1 8 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 " Say ! do people grow very much on their 
 bhthdays ? " 
 
 " Well, well," roared the old stage-driver, tuck- 
 ing the robe around the little girl's feet, " goin' 
 home, be yer ? I reckoned as much when I see 
 yer ma this mornin'. What do you suppose I 
 ketched her doin' ? " 
 
 "What ? " said the little girl, looking up at the 
 old man with a scared expression. Perhaps she 
 was thinking of her own escapades in the pantry. 
 
 "Waal," answered the old fellow, "if you 
 won't tell yer ma I told yer, listen here." (And 
 he leaned down so that his white beard was 
 close to the little girl's ear.) " She was makin' 
 cookies, Susan, cookies built like a S." 
 
 In the middle of the slushy road, under a big 
 elm-tree, we met a small child. He was busily 
 clawing up the snow at one end of a puddle so 
 as to make a dam ; and all the while he hummed 
 softly to himself. We spoke to him, I think ; 
 perhaps asked him our way ; but he could not 
 answer. He gave us one glance out of big 
 eyes, and went on humming, and scraping, and 
 patting the snow. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 9 
 
 The dirt-court glared with the afternoon's 
 heat, and the two girls, who had been decoyed 
 into game after game by their well-matched 
 skill, were now well-nigh exhausted. A group 
 of bare-legged pickaninnies watched the game 
 with grinning interest. 
 
 " My vantage," shouted the server. 
 
 As the ball whizzed low over the net, the re- 
 ceiver, with desperate effort, gave her racquet 
 full sweep — the ball flew back, over the server's 
 head, and down the asphalt street. One of 
 the small darkies bounded after it, and the 
 hot asphalt yielded under his footsteps like the 
 cooled lava crust over a boiling volcano. He 
 caught the ball, pocketed it, and walked away 
 whistling. 
 
 " Stop there," called the players ; " where are 
 you going with that ball ? " 
 
 The brown imp thrust both hands into his 
 ragged pockets, as he turned and shouted : 
 
 " Goin' to de devil ; wan' ter come along ? " 
 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
20 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 A Choice: Part One. 
 
 The whole thing began this way. As the car 
 rounded the corner and swung into Fourth 
 Avenue, Tim dropped off first. I came next. 
 There was some joke or other among the fellows, 
 and I suppose I wasn't noticing much where I 
 was going. I remember that some one yelled 
 at me, and that a copper on the corner waved 
 his arms and started to run forward, and then 
 something caught me behind the shoulder like a 
 ton of brick, and shot me over the cobbles on my 
 face. It was quite like bucking the interference 
 in a Yale game, and what made it so real was 
 that something went bumping over me just as 
 the backs do when you get in their way. 
 
 At the second bump, the stones against my 
 head felt very soft, and I was wondering at 
 this when all of a sudden I fell asleep. 
 
 The next thing I remember was hearing 
 Tim's voice. I can't recollect the exact words, 
 but you wouldn't care to hear them if I could. 
 I opened my eyes, and you may imagine my sur- 
 prise at finding the ceiling of the Murray Hill 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 21 
 
 above me. I couldn't begin to count the bell- 
 boys and porters and clerks that stood around, 
 but they irritated me horribly. Some one brought 
 some kind of a stretcher thing, and laid it on the 
 floor beside me. Then I went to sleep again. 
 
 It was funny the way they changed things 
 about. When I woke up they had made the 
 office much smaller, and repapered the walls, 
 and put in a bureau and the bed I was lying on, 
 and lots of things that looked very much out of 
 place. Tim and Jerry were sitting at the foot 
 of the bed, looking out of the window. 
 
 I remember Tim saying : " Well, this does 
 for us when they try us through left guard, all 
 right." Then both of them growled a bit and 
 kicked their chair legs. " You've got to put 
 Mugs in the game now," Jerry said. Tim 
 growled again, got up and went over to the 
 window. 
 
 The door opened, and Billy the trainer slid 
 in. " We've got to start in a minute, boys," he 
 said, snapping his watch. They all turned to 
 look at me, and when I cocked an eye at them 
 they came over to the bed. " What's the game ? " 
 I asked, huskily. 
 
22 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 They all three started to talk, and then 
 stopped. Finally Tim said : " You've been 
 broken up a bit, old man, and we've got to leave 
 you here for awhile." He was not looking at 
 me. Neither was Jerry. ^' And miss the 
 game .-* " I asked. My voice sounded very queer. 
 " Doctor's orders," said some one. 
 
 I looked out of the window. It was a beautiful 
 day — regular football weather. Then Tim took 
 my hand and sat down on the bedside, and 
 talked to me for some time in the way he has. 
 
 " We'll get some one who's not on the team 
 to stay with you," he said, finally, "and is there 
 any one in New York we can send for ? " 
 
 "I won't have anyone stay," I said; "and 
 there's no one to send for." They all looked at 
 me very solemnly. Then they shook hands with 
 me. " Good-bye, me boy," said Billy. " Good- 
 bye, old man," said Tim and Jerry, " till to- 
 night." They went out. By and by a nurse 
 came in. All the rest of the morning she sat 
 by the window reading. 
 
 The little clock on the bureau pointed to three 
 o'clock. I knew what they were doing miles 
 away. There was a big orange and black bank 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 23 
 
 on one side of a field, and a blue bank on the 
 other. Tim and a man in a blue sweater were 
 tossing a coin in the middle of the field. And 
 I should have been there, to run forward, and 
 butt my shoulder up against some one and tear 
 over him, and fall underneath the pile, and hear 
 the whistle blow faintly above the grinding of 
 leather. Instead of that it was some one else. 
 I'd worked hard all year for it, and now it was 
 some one else. It was pretty hard lines, wasn't 
 it.? 
 
 The nurse came to the bed. " Did you call ? " 
 she asked. *' No," I said, and turned my head 
 away. 
 
 Princeton Tiger. 
 
 A Choice: Part Two. 
 
 There was a little knock on the door. It 
 opened, and I give you my word my heart 
 jumped clear up in my mouth. She was stand- 
 ing in the entrance with a boa and a muff of 
 gray fox, and the nicest little hat over her eyes 
 — all alone. She looked frightened. 
 
 The nurse went over, and they whispered 
 together. She never took her eyes off my face, 
 
24 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 and I know I was staring at her with my mouth 
 open. 
 
 The nurse went out, and she came over and 
 sat down beside me. I didn't say anything. I 
 couldn't. Finally she said, " Poor Tom," but 
 you can't get any idea just how she said it. 
 
 " How did you know ? " I asked when I found 
 my voice. She drew an extra out of her muff 
 and showed me the big black headlines : 
 
 .YALE LUCK AGAIN. 
 
 Princeton's left guard tackles a truck and 
 IS PUT on the shelf. 
 
 I was reading it for the third time when she 
 said : "Is it very dangerous, Tom ? Can't I 
 do anything ? I came right away — without a 
 word to any one. I knew they'd leave you for 
 the game." " You were going yourself ! " I cried, 
 remorsefully. She shook her head. " I don't 
 want to," she said. I looked out of the window 
 for a long time. The first half must have 
 been over long ago. If I only knew. I felt 
 her hand on mine. "Tom," she said. "I won- 
 der," I remarked mostly to myself, " if they are 
 trying the fullback tricks." "Tom," she said, 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 25 
 
 " I want to tell you something. " " If I only knew 
 which was winning," I muttered to the wall. 
 
 " Tom ! " There was a break in her voice. I 
 looked at the clock. *' Why, the game's over ! " 
 I cried. " We've won or we've lost ! " There 
 was a noise in the street below, a clatter of feet, 
 and a crying of shrill voices. " The extras are 
 out " — I tried to sit up, and the room began to 
 whirl dangerously. " Which won — you can 
 find out at the window, Marie — which won ?" 
 She went to the window — but how slowly ! 
 She listened for a moment, and then turned. 
 "Which won.?" I repeated. The shadow fell 
 across her face. "I came to answer some- 
 thing," she said, steadily, " that you asked me 
 last week. Which do you care to hear — that 
 or the result of the game ? " 
 
 Fm afraid I didn't quite understand her at 
 first. The noise outside grew fainter and fainter. 
 You know her face was in the dusk, and I raised 
 myself to see her more plainly. Then the room 
 went round again, and I dropped back against 
 the headboard. And the next thing I knew, she 
 was beside the bed, telling me both in the same 
 breath. 
 
 Princeton Tiger. 
 
26 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 An Unplayed Trump* 
 
 Hat in hand, Freshman Black, with bowed 
 head, thoughtfully trudged up the stairs into the 
 dean's office. From under one arm was stick- 
 ing his big black-covered note-book. On the 
 fingers of his left hand he was making a careful 
 computation. 
 
 " At four — too young ; at eight — sick abed ; 
 at twelve — one hundred and eightieth merid- 
 ian ; sixteen this month. There, that ought to 
 be good," he growled to himself, as he gave an 
 officious thump on the door at the head of the 
 stairs. 
 
 The dean was busy. Black sat down in one 
 of the empty chairs. It was his first invasion 
 of the official apartments since he had taken out 
 his Freshman Bible. His inexperience occa- 
 sioned him not a few misgivings, which were not 
 allayed at all by the rather dejecting dismissal 
 of two Juniors, who he knew had come on errands 
 similar to his own. However, he felt himself 
 well prepared. 
 
 " Good morning, Black," very shortly. 
 
 "Good morning, professor. I intend to go 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 27 
 
 home during Washington's Birthday recess, and 
 I wish to speak with you about — " 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know," interrupted the dean, 
 " about an extension of time. Very sorry. Black, 
 but no excuses are to be given this year. I have 
 refused fifty men already, and must treat all 
 alike." 
 
 "I see that, professor, of course, but I have 
 got-" 
 
 " An ulcerated tooth. I understand perfectly. 
 Black. Very unfortunate, but you see so many 
 are afHicted with that same malady, at precisely 
 this time every year, that I positively cannot 
 grant absences on account of it. If every 
 ulcerated tooth in this college were to be 
 extracted, half the Freshman class would be 
 in bandages." 
 
 '^ So I have been told, professor, but some 
 one must have misinformed you in regard to my 
 case. I've got full sets of false teeth in both 
 jaws. What I was about to say was, that my 
 sister — " 
 
 ** Yes, yes, yes. Black, I understand, I under- 
 stand. Your sister is just on the point of death. 
 I am just as sorry as I can be, but I couldn't let 
 you go if your whole family had the yellow fever 
 
28 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 and you were the only nurse available. Good 
 morning." 
 
 "Again you have been misinformed, sir," 
 went on the complacent Freshman. " My sister 
 is in charming health. She will be sixteen years 
 old the twenty-ninth of this month, and that's 
 why I want to go home. This is but the third 
 birthday that she has ever had, and, naturally 
 enough, she wants me to be there." 
 
 "Third!" thundered the dean. "I thought 
 you said she was sixteen." 
 
 " She is sixteen," Black went on, hotly, " but 
 didn't I tell you she was born on February 29th .? 
 Her birthday comes only once in four years. 
 Her first one, when she was four, she was too 
 young to have any fun out of it. On her second, 
 when she was eight, she was sick abed. On her 
 third, when she was twelve, we were travelling, 
 and happened just then to be crossing the one 
 hundred and eightieth meridian. The time 
 reckoning did us out of that day. The poor 
 girl has only had two birthdays, so you will see 
 now why I am so anxious about getting home." 
 
 "Black," said the dean, slowly, "as annually 
 happens at this time, in the last two days I have 
 had twenty-seven cases of ulcerated teeth, thir- 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 29 
 
 teen business appointments, eight dead grand- 
 parents, six fatal illnesses, three marriages, and 
 two departures for Europe. Black, even a dean 
 appreciates originality. Black, you are excused 
 for two weeks." 
 
 " I didn't have the heart to tell the young 
 rascal," chuckled the good-natured dean to him- 
 self, as the delighted Freshman rushed down 
 the stairs two steps at a jump, " I didn't have 
 the heart to tell him I happened to know that 
 he is an only child." 
 
 F. V. Bennis. 
 Dartmouth Literary Monthly. 
 
 In Perspective^ 
 
 All of a sudden the two narrow specks away 
 up-stream flashed in the sunlight. From the 
 two tugs, great black clouds of smoke began to 
 roll up, and there was a faint whistle. 
 
 The 'Varsity eights were off. 
 
 On they came, the two narrow specks, like 
 swift waterbugs, with their long, thin legs work- 
 ing rapidly on each side. As they approached, 
 the lines lengthened and the eight divisions of 
 each could be seen, each moving for itself and 
 
30 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 yet all working together, like the ridged back of 
 a caterpillar. Behind each, the two tugs black 
 with men, with clouds of oily smoke pouring 
 up from their funnels and rolling up before them 
 a surging fold of green water, steamed heavily 
 along. 
 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
 Three^ 
 
 Now Tom Ralston, as everybody knew, was 
 the pleasantest and laziest and best-natured 
 fellow in the world, and everybody knowing 
 that took advantage of it and of him. He 
 couldn't say no to any one or anything. No 
 one ever knew him to refuse to do a favour at 
 any cost to himself, and presently he was the 
 best liked and worst abused man in the place. 
 
 His particular forte was answering " Here " 
 for other men who for various reasons saw fit 
 to absent themselves from divers and sundry 
 recitations and lectures, especially eight o'clocks. 
 His one particular failing, his friends said, was 
 that he could not or would not cut lectures, and 
 he was thus a useful man to know, his friendship 
 being especially cultivated by men who did cut. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 3 1 
 
 He answered to the names of his friends 
 when asked to do so — and that was very often 
 — with painstaking care. But one day, when 
 he had answered for five men at one lecture, it 
 occurred to him of a sudden he was somehow 
 being imposed on. It was hard work to re- 
 member to answer for them in the right place. 
 Now the best-natured of us do not like to think 
 our kindness is being taken advantage of, and 
 the more Tom thought the situation over, the 
 more firmly he became convinced this thing 
 must stop. For a time 'he was puzzled to find 
 just how this could be done. It was no use to 
 tell the men he wouldn't, that would make hard 
 feeling, it would take a lot of time and trouble, 
 and it would be months before men would quit 
 asking him. Some simpler plan must be de- 
 vised that would be quick, effective, and univer- 
 sal, something that would impress his change of 
 heart forcibly on their minds. He said nothing 
 to any one about his decision. He was not that 
 kind. He kept his own counsel and, having a 
 sense of humour, devised a plan presently, in his 
 easy-going way, that he thought would work. 
 
 Professor Summers's class was very large. 
 Three times a week he lectured to two or three 
 
32 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 hundred men of several classes and courses. 
 Tom's friends mustered into these lectures in 
 force, and it was here he was obliged to perjure 
 himself oftenest. Here it was, then, that his 
 plan must be put in execution. 
 
 One evening, going down-town for the mail 
 after tea, he met a chum. " By the way, 
 Charlie," he said, ^'Fm going to cut Prof. Sum- 
 mers in the morning. Answer for me, will 
 you .? " 
 
 *' Glad to," said Charlie. 
 
 He met another an instant later, with the 
 same request and answer, and another, till he 
 had unostentatiously pledged some twenty-five 
 or thirty men to respond to his name. Then he 
 dropped in on several men on his way up and 
 got them. At breakfast he asked some more, 
 and all he met on their way up, till half the class 
 had agreed to assure the mild professor of his 
 presence. 
 
 Then when they had gone rejoicing on their 
 way, with his slow, sweet smile, he strolled up 
 the campus and dropped unnoticed into a seat 
 by the lecture-room door, as the roll was being- 
 called. It went as peacefully and monotonously 
 as usual. "Adams, Alexander, Arkwright, 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 33 
 
 Baldwin, Berdick, Binks, Blinn," and the "here," 
 "here," "here," "here," "here," till along at 
 the end there came "Perkins," "here," "Piatt," 
 "here," "Prather," "here," — "Ralston," and 
 with an emphasis that rattled the windows, half 
 the class answered " Here ! " 
 
 Then there was a sudden hush. In deathlike 
 silence each of the obliging men looked curiously, 
 then angrily, around at his companions, suspect- 
 ing that somehow he had been betrayed, yet not 
 fully understanding how. The other half of the 
 class looked even more stupefied, but, supposing 
 there was some joke on the professor, laughed. 
 The professor himself, startled from the dull 
 routine of the roll-call, looked up in puzzled 
 surprise, not unmixed with anger, but seeing an 
 equally puzzled look on the faces of some of the 
 men nearest to him, waited a moment and called 
 again " Ralston ! " And from the far corner 
 where Tom sat with his slow, sweet smile, there 
 came with startling distinctness his " Here ! " 
 that turned his half of the class in their seats as 
 if they had been moved by an electric shock. 
 But he sat and smiled pleasantly at them. 
 
 Then the old professor looked over his glasses. 
 " Mr. Ralston," said he, " will you kindly stop 
 
34 
 
 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 a moment at the desk after the lecture ? I 
 would like to speak to you." And so after the 
 lecture Tom went slowly up to the desk while 
 his friends waited outside. 
 
 ** Mr. Ralston," said the professor, "that was 
 a curious manifestation in class to-day." 
 
 ** Yes," said Tom, encouragingly. 
 
 " Do you — ah — happen to know, Mr. Rals- 
 ton, the — ah — names of any of those young 
 men who — ah — put up that joke on you this 
 morning ? " 
 
 And Tom, with smiling truthfulness, assured 
 the dear old man that he knew no man who had 
 played any joke on him that morning. 
 
 But the anxious friends who awaited him out- 
 side assured him in turn, on his emerging safe 
 from the hands of the professor, that if he ever 
 dared tell that story while he was in college, 
 they would do themselves the honour of attend- 
 ing his execution en masse. And he, having 
 sufficiently impressed his point on their minds 
 by his little joke, and having through it become 
 a college tradition, be it said to his honour, never 
 did tell the story till years afterward when he 
 came back an alumnus. 
 
 Cornell Magazine. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 35 
 
 A Believer in Class Spirits 
 
 While in college Charley West had been a 
 loyal and devoted member of the class of 1900. 
 Throughout his course he had always signed 
 himself, "Charles S. West, 1900," and this 
 became so strong a habit that he found it 
 hard to break in the first few years after his 
 graduation. He found himself still putting 
 "1900" after his signature, and when starting 
 to Cuba to accept a position as civil engineer, 
 he discovered that he had absent-mindedly 
 added the cherished numerals to his signature 
 in the passenger list of the Santiago line. 
 *' There's no such room in the boat," the 
 purser had reminded him, with an indulgent 
 smile. 
 
 Charley did not build any great hopes on his 
 new appointment. The company was just being 
 formed, for the purpose of building a railroad 
 from Santiago to a point some forty miles east, 
 and Charley was engaged to assist the surveying 
 party in laying out the road. Unfortunately, 
 the financial backing of the new concern did 
 not look promising. 
 
36 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 For several days the subscription books of the 
 Santiago and Eastern Railroad Company, as it 
 was called, were open for local investments. 
 As the engraved stock certificates were not yet 
 ready, the subscribers were given temporary re- 
 ceipts. Those who wanted only one share were 
 to sign simply their names, while those who 
 desired more were to indicate after their names 
 the number of shares desired. Charley West 
 thought he might as well buy a share in his 
 own company, — they were selling at twenty-five 
 dollars, but he would not be able to pay for it 
 till he had received his first salary, at the end 
 of the week. Consequently he signed his name 
 in the book, and, instead of making the usual 
 deposit asked the clerk in charge if he could 
 be given credit till Saturday morning. The 
 clerk, knowing of his connection with the 
 company, readily agreed, and Charley left the 
 office with hardly a thought of his invest- 
 ment. He intended to call Saturday morn- 
 ing, pay for his share, and receive a receipt 
 or a certificate. 
 
 The next morning, Tuesday, he learned that 
 lack of confidence in the company had caused 
 the stock to fall to 1 5 in the Havana market. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 37 
 
 " Well, I'd be out ten dollars if I sold now," 
 he told himself. 
 
 Wednesday morning, as he was about to leave 
 his lodgings at Santiago to depart for the scene 
 of the day's work, a friend called him back to 
 show him an item in the Santiago Ctiban- 
 American. 
 
 " Listen to this, Charley, that stock of yours 
 is going up. Look at the headlines : 
 
 RISE IN SANTIAGO AND EASTERN. 
 
 INTRODUCTION OF AMERICAN CAPITAL BOOMS RAIL- 
 ROAD STOCK. 
 
 " Ah I To proceed. 
 
 " * It was stated last evening at the offices of 
 the Santiago and Eastern Railroad Company 
 that a syndicate of American capitalists had 
 made an offer for all the unsubscribed stock of 
 the company, acceptance of which was promptly 
 given. The syndicate agents, who are now in 
 the city, have been thoroughly investigating the 
 new company and its projects, and say that the 
 work will be vigorously prosecuted,' etc., etc. It 
 goes on to say that the stock has risen to 60." 
 
 " Jumping Jupiter ! " shouted Charley. " I'm 
 in thirty-five dollars ! " 
 
38 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 " Just wait awhile, old man, — I see your 
 name down here somewhere, and I'll read what 
 it says : 
 
 " ' Several local investors were prudent enough 
 to secure seats in the band-wagon before the rise. 
 Most of the orders were for small amounts, how- 
 ever. In fact, the only investment of any con- 
 sequence is that of Mr. Charles S. West, whose 
 name is down for nineteen hundred ' — Great 
 Scott, man, do you mean to say you bought — " 
 
 " Hurrah for ' Naughty-aught ! ' " cried Charley, 
 who was just comprehending the situation. For 
 a moment he did some figuring on the margin 
 of the newspaper. "I'm in sixty-six thousand 
 five hundred dollars — and all because of my 
 class spirit ! I'm sure I can easily cover that 
 bid — but wait till I tell you how it happened." 
 
 And yet there are those who say that a col- 
 lege education is of no practical value in later 
 life! 
 
 James Albert Wales. 
 
 Trinity Tablet. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 39 
 
 The Unexpected* 
 
 There were seven or eight of us in Dixon's 
 room, shortly after the examinations, Hstening 
 to a story which the Hvely Sophomore was 
 telhng. 
 
 "The jay was just going into University Hall 
 when I let drive at him with a snow-ball, and — " 
 He stopped suddenly and held up his hand for 
 silence, while a look of alarm overspread his 
 face. 
 
 Tramp ! Tramp ! Tramp ! came the sound of 
 slow footsteps in the hall. 
 
 " Flunk-notices ! " said Dixon, tragically. 
 
 There came a sharp click at the letter-hole of 
 the door and a letter dropped on the floor. 
 
 " Hang it all ! " said Dixon, aggrieved. " That's 
 just my infernal luck. I'll bet it's in chemistry." 
 With disgust written all over his face he picked 
 up the letter; then his expression changed to 
 one of joy. He hastily tore open the envelope 
 and held up a check for us to see. 
 
 "Whoop-la!" said Dixon. "It's from home 
 and was sent to the steward's office by mistake ! 
 I'm getting tired of being scared that way at the 
 
40 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 ,511 
 
 end of every term. Moral : don't cry till you 
 are hurt." 
 
 " I should think," said Marvin, who was a 
 student, " that there is a much plainer moral 
 than that — " 
 
 But Dixon was dancing a startling sort of 
 can-can, while he waved the check above his 
 head. 
 
 Brunonian. 
 
 Two Yards to Gain» 
 
 We had only two yards to make to carry 
 the ball over. "2-14-18 1-2-3," cried the quar- 
 ter. I put my head down and dove for the line 
 just as a brown streak twisted itself into my 
 arms. I watched the brown wall ahead of me. 
 " How long I was in reaching it ! Would it never 
 open ! " Suddenly a break appeared, only to be 
 stopped up by a brown object with a splash 
 of white on top. I was lifted off my feet and 
 thrown ; but fell forward. As I fell, I caught 
 a glimpse of the grayish-blue sky, rolling like 
 the waves of the ocean, and on one side a high 
 wall dotted with crimson specks which rose and 
 fell like the hammers of a piano. Bright copper 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 4 1 
 
 discs suddenly burned my eyes. Then the most 
 refreshing, cool darkness shut in. 
 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
 A Chance Acquaintance^ 
 
 It was a particularly attractive girl that sat 
 opposite Jim Ware in the train that night, and 
 Jim Ware had an eye for attractive girls. She 
 had a naive sort of look about her that quite 
 charmed him, but even this failed to exert any 
 salutary effects whatever, and I am ashamed to 
 say that he stared across the aisle quite impo- 
 litely, and then coughed in a gentle but repre- 
 hensible manner. 
 
 His charmer looked up and caught his admir- 
 ing glance, but she blushed slightly and made 
 a pretence of being busy with some papers in 
 her lap, not being able, however, to control a 
 slight twitching at the corners of her mouth. 
 Jim thought that these papers which she fum- 
 bled with were students' notes, but she was 
 really too good-looking for a co-ed, and then, 
 besides, who ever heard of a co-ed who would 
 — well — who would smile at a strange man t 
 So Jim beamed upon her again, and, assured 
 
42 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 that his tentative efforts did not appear to have 
 offended her to any particular extent, he exerted 
 himself anew, and for the next five minutes 
 shamefully neglected his evening paper. 
 
 " West Newton, West Newton ! " screamed 
 the brakeman. 
 
 Jim's station was next, and, realising that 
 every moment was precious, he made a sign to 
 the girl, and scribbled a couple of words on his 
 card, observing with satisfaction that she was 
 doing the like on one of the papers in her 
 lap. 
 
 " Auburn dale ! " called the brakeman. 
 
 A skilful exchange of billets was but the 
 work of a moment, and, emerging from the train, 
 Jim hurried to the flickering gaslight at the 
 station, and unfolded the crumpled note which 
 his fair vis-a-vis had pressed into his hand. One 
 side of the sheet was covered with print, of 
 which Mr. Don Juan Ware caught a few words 
 at the end : 
 
 "... Think what joy there is in heaven 
 over the sinner that repenteth. Turn ye there- 
 fore from your evil ways and sin no more." 
 
 {Pub. by S. S. and Tract Union of the Evan- 
 gelical Mission.) 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE ' 43 
 
 At the top were two lines in a delicate 
 feminine hand, saying, " I hope you will come 
 around to our meeting to-morrow night. Salva- 
 tion Hall, up on Washington Street, you know." 
 
 But I have forgotten whether Jim went. 
 
 The Tech. 
 
 A Very Young Man» 
 
 He was a young man. For months he had 
 worshipped the girl in blue, who sat opposite 
 him in the parlour. He had never told her of 
 his love. She didn't want him to. He had 
 come often and stayed late. She could only 
 sigh and wait. 
 
 He was about to leave on his summer vaca- 
 tion, and had decided to spring the question 
 uppermost in his mind. He kept it to himself 
 until the last moment. It was 11.30 by the 
 clock on the mantel. It was not a very rapid 
 clock. 
 
 "Miss Edith," he said, " I am going away to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Are you .? " she asked, with all the thought- 
 lessness of girlhood. 
 
 She gazed tearfully at the clock. 
 
44 
 
 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 " Yes," he replied, " are you sorry ? " 
 " Very sorry," she murmured ; " I thought you 
 might be going to-night." 
 
 She glanced toward his chair. He had van- 
 ished. 
 
 K. E. H. 
 
 Wrinkle. 
 
 Her Moral Downfall 
 
 Charley certainly was happy with his de- 
 voted little wife, and showed in every possible 
 way how dearly he loved her and appreciated all 
 she did for him. Formerly Charley had been a 
 club-man, but on being married had given this 
 life up for a time. 
 
 The attractions of club life, however, were in 
 the end too much for him, and the frequent press- 
 ing invitations were not to be resisted, so one 
 evening he told his wife that be was going out 
 " on very important business, my dear, and will 
 not be home until quite late," and departed, leav- 
 ing his latch-key in the left-hand pocket of his 
 other trousers — as usual. Mrs. Dirgee paid a 
 call upon her dearest friend, and stayed with her 
 all evening, talking over the virtues of their ab- 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 45 
 
 sent acquaintances, the latest fashions in chate- 
 laine reticules, the rival merits of cod-liver oil 
 and Hood's Sarsaparilla as a tonic, how to 
 fricassee oysters, and other choice bits of fem- 
 inine conversation. When she got home she 
 found the cook had taken advantage of her 
 master's and mistress's absence, and had gone 
 to call on her dearest friend, too. 
 
 The prospect of being alone in the house, for 
 some little time, was by no means a pleasing 
 one to Mrs. D., even though she was not a very 
 nervous woman. She had quite a little courage, 
 but the thought of all that silver in her room 
 made her rather uneasy. She would have moved 
 it if she could, but it was too heavy for her. 
 However, she put a bold face on the matter, 
 and locking up, and barricading her half-opened 
 door with a chair, she went to bed. 
 
 About half-past eleven she woke up again. 
 Neither Charley nor the girl had returned. She 
 began to feel nervous. A beam creaked sharply 
 and frightened her. The clicking of her clock 
 grew louder and louder. She felt as if she were 
 being suffocated. How she did wish Charley 
 would return ! She felt sure that, unless he 
 came home very soon, something dreadful would 
 
46 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 happen. She began to get very nervous. Bur- 
 glars might get into the house and murder her, 
 and steal her beloved punch-bowl. She imag- 
 ined she could hear people walking around in 
 the house. They might get in at a window — 
 and then, with a dreadful sinking sensation, she 
 remembered that she had left the parlour win- 
 dow unfastened. To go down and latch it now 
 in the dark and cold was very hard to do ; but 
 she felt that she must. She arose in bed in 
 order to go down and do so, but she fell back 
 again, trembling with fear, and in a cold per- 
 spiration. She could hear the parlour window 
 being gently raised ! Heaven above us, bur- 
 glars ! So they had come at last ! Oh, if 
 Charley were only here ! If he had returned 
 earlier, she was sure she would have been saved 
 this. She would be murdered ; her silver punch- 
 bowl would be stolen. What should she do ? 
 What could she do ? If Charley were here, he 
 could shoot them ; he had a revolver. She might 
 shoot them ! But a revolver had sucA an un- 
 comfortable habit of going off the wrong way, 
 and she knew she would scream when it was 
 fired. Charley would find her a bleeding 
 corpse ; and she found herself wondering 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 47 
 
 whether she would have a rosewood or a 
 mahogany coffin. 
 
 By this time, she could hear the burglar in the 
 parlour. He stumbled over a chair, and the 
 sudden racket nearly scared poor Mrs. Dirgee 
 to death. How Charley would mourn when he 
 found his little wife dead ; she knew he never 
 would get over it. But then, dreadful thought, 
 he might marry again ! This new, horrible idea 
 stirred Mrs. Dirgee to action. Something must 
 be done to avert such a dreadful calamity. She 
 began to think what she might do to save her 
 loving Charley. Oh, if she were only a man ! 
 What would a man do t Would he get up and 
 speak to the burglars, and frighten them off.? 
 She thought she might do that at any rate. 
 But was her voice deep enough, and would not 
 a man use very dreadful language under such 
 circumstances } She felt she could not bring 
 herself to swear, but something must be done to 
 save her life, even at the cost of her reputation. 
 So she got quietly out of bed, trembling vio- 
 lently, stealthily unbarricaded the door, and 
 crept out to the top of the staircase. She could 
 hear the burglar coming up in his stocking-feet ; 
 but the pitchy darkness hid everything from her 
 
48 
 
 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 sight. Summoning all her courage, she called 
 out in her deepest tones, but with a decided 
 quaver : " Who in h — 1 is down there, any- 
 how ? " And there came up out of the dark- 
 ness a voice, meek but not unmixed with 
 surprise : " It is only me, dearest." 
 
 William Hastings Easton. 
 
 Red and Blue. 
 
 A Dream of Fair Women. 
 
 (In a Co-educational College.) 
 
 I AM not in the habit of sleeping over my 
 books, but a fellow will doze over Ethics in the 
 evening, especially after a ten-mile tramp. 
 
 I was just reading for the fifth time, "Noth- 
 ing can be a good except in relation to the 
 sensibility in its most general meaning. If we 
 conceive of all elements of feeling struck out of 
 existence" — when I found myself seated in 
 the rear of the chapel. I was a post-graduate. 
 The chapel was about to be dismissed, and the 
 president had said, " There is a call for a college 
 meeting." 
 
 Instinctively I arose, as had been my habit, 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 49 
 
 and waited for the ladies to pass out. But what 
 did I see ? In front of me was a sea of hats, 
 bonnets, and Tarn o* Shanters, while down the 
 aisle came a handful of the most abject, pitiful 
 looking youths I had ever beheld. They passed 
 out huddled together as if for mutual support 
 and protection. I stood rooted to the spot, and 
 was hardly conscious of the glances of surprise 
 and scorn cast at me from all sides. I was evi- 
 dently considered beneath their* notice, for the 
 president of the Senior Class, a pretty miss of 
 about eighteen, mounted the platform, and, in 
 a rich alto voice, requested somebody to state 
 the object of the meeting. A damsel from the 
 Junior Class arose and thus addressed the 
 chair : " A report has been circulating through- 
 out the newspapers, to the effect that Wesleyan 
 at one time in history had both a football and 
 baseball team. We feel that such reports are 
 ll contrary to the best interest of the college, and 
 I move an absolute denial of the slander." The 
 motion was seconded and passed, and I turned 
 to go, but the movement aroused me, and I 
 woke to find the page before me wet with tears. 
 
 John A. Thompson. 
 Wesleyan Literary Monthly. 
 
50 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 A Magazine Story. 
 
 " It's so tiresome ! " said Polly. 
 
 " I suppose I should think so, too, if I knew 
 what you were talking about," said I. 
 
 " Love stories are all alike," said she, throw- 
 ing the magazine upon the floor. 
 
 "Ah," said I. "In magazines, do you mean, 
 or in life ?" I picked up the magazine and it 
 opened of itself to some " storiettes." 
 
 "I'm only eighteen," said Polly, "so I can't 
 judge of life." 
 
 " Well, you were going to remark — " sug- 
 gested I, looking straight into her brown eyes. 
 (If she had been more than eighteen she would 
 have dropped them.) 
 
 "The man always asks the girl's advice. 
 We'll call the girl ■ — well, Susan. There is a 
 girl he loves passionately, but he dares not tell 
 her. What would Susan advise him ? Susan 
 stifles her own grief, for she loves him, and 
 says, ' By all means tell her you love her.' 
 Thereupon he tells Susan he loves /ler. And 
 there is great surprise and joy on her part, and 
 the story ends." 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 5 1 
 
 "Would you think it tiresome if you were 
 Susan ? " said I. 
 
 " I don't know." (I don't believe she's 
 more than seventeen.) " I mean it's tiresome 
 because any girl would know what he meant, 
 you see ! " 
 
 " Ah," said I, "I don't believe you were ever 
 in love." 
 
 " Dear me, no ! " said Polly. 
 
 "I've been thinking," said Polly, after a 
 hopeful pause. 
 
 "I'm not surprised," said I. 
 
 "There's one other kind of love story. It's 
 even more tiresome than the first." 
 
 " Is it possible ? " said I. (Love stories in 
 magazines may be tiresome ! ) 
 
 " In this other kind, Susan knows that he 
 means her, you see, and she advises him just 
 the same ; but unfortunately he really means 
 another girl." 
 
 "Yes, that is rather tiresome." 
 
 "In the first one," said Polly, "Susan 
 grieves, then rejoices for ever. In the second, 
 she rejoices, then grieves for ever." 
 
 " In magazine love stories ? " 
 
 "Oh," said Polly, "I'm not talking about 
 
52 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 life. Girls don't grieve for ever in life. They 
 haven't time." 
 
 " I've been thinking," said I, after a hopeless 
 pause. '* In both of those cases the girl loves 
 the man ! " 
 
 "Yes," said Polly, *' that's the tiresome part." 
 
 '' Oh, I don't know ! " said I. 
 
 *' But you're a man, you see," said she. 
 
 " Polly," said I, " are you a sympathetic 
 person } " 
 
 " At times," said Polly. 
 
 " Well, I'm in love." 
 
 Polly looked interested. "Does she know 
 it.?" 
 
 " I don't know. I never told her. Would 
 you risk it .? " 
 
 "No," said Polly, "I wouldn't." 
 
 "Why not.?" 
 
 "Well, this isn't a magazine story, it's life. 
 And Susan really doesn't love the man in either 
 case." 
 
 "Oh!" said I. 
 
 I am afraid Polly prevaricated when she said 
 she was only eighteen. 
 
 Maude Louise Ray. 
 
 Vassar Miscellany. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 53 
 
 Divine Aid. 
 
 A SEVERE-LOOKING maid opened the door. 
 
 "Well?" she said. 
 
 " Is Miss Tabitha Hopkins at home ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " She's waiting for you." 
 
 "Evidently," I thought, "my great -aunt 
 keeps her maid informed of her doings." My 
 great-aunt had sent for me to come to her. 
 She owned many thousands in her own name, 
 and perhaps this compulsory visit meant much 
 to me. I hope that I am not too mercenary, 
 but I own that the prospect was not displeas- 
 ing. 
 
 The maid threw open the door and I entered 
 the parlour. It had a faded, musty smell, but 
 looked new, and evidently had looked so for a 
 long time. Each piece of furniture was placed 
 at exactly the right angle. A glance was suffi- 
 cient to convince one that it had been replaced 
 precisely in the same position for many years. 
 All the chairs had white worsted doilies pinned 
 to their backs. On the mantel was a glass case 
 containing wax flowers. Before the fireplace 
 
54 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 was a narrow table, with nothing but a fringed 
 cover and a large Bible upon it. 
 
 My great-aunt rose to meet me. She was a 
 little old lady of about seventy, dressed in black 
 silk. 
 
 " This is Robert Hopkins ? " she said. 
 
 *' It is," I answered. I was greatly em- 
 barrassed. 
 
 " Sit down, Robert ; I wish to talk with 
 you." 
 
 I sat down on one side of the fireplace, and 
 my aunt on the other. The narrow table was 
 between us. I felt an almost irresistible 
 impulse to laugh. 
 
 " For a young man of the present times, your 
 appearance is passable." 
 
 " Thank you," I said. 
 
 "There is no need. You are none of you 
 half the gentlemen your grandfathers were." 
 
 I bowed. 
 
 "Don't do that," she said, sharply. "You 
 make me nervous." 
 
 "I beg your pardon." 
 
 " If you are worthy of it, I intend to leave 
 you my fortune. Now answer my questions." 
 
 " Oh, aunt, this is so sudden," I said. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 55 
 
 " Sudden ? What do you suppose I sent for 
 you for ? Have you no brains ? " 
 
 " No," I answered, shortly. I was nettled. 
 
 " Well, try to develop some. Do you believe 
 in the Word ? " 
 
 ** Whose word ? " I asked, bewildered. 
 
 " Are you a religious young man ? " 
 
 " Oh ! — No, Fm afraid not — very." 
 
 "That's very bad. I am." 
 
 " A religious young man ? " I ventured. 
 
 My aunt looked undecided for a minute, and 
 then laughed. I was getting on, 
 
 " I like you for admitting it," she said ; 
 "but what do you depend on for your moral 
 guidance .'' " 
 
 " Honour," I replied. 
 
 She positively smiled. 
 
 " Ah ! that sounds like your grandfather. 
 Have you any bad habits ? " 
 
 " What do you call bad habits ? " I asked. 
 
 " Do you drink } " 
 
 " Occasionally." 
 
 " Every day ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Do you smoke ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
56 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 "Well," she said, "you may." 
 
 This was rather sudden, but I produced a 
 cigar. I struck a match, lighted my cigar 
 (what a concession ! ) and threw the match 
 beneath the table toward the fireplace. Un- 
 fortunately, it caught in the fringe. In a 
 moment little flames were curling along the 
 edge of the table - cloth ! My great - aunt 
 screamed. I tried to extinguish the fire with 
 my hands, but only succeeded in burning them. 
 Then a brilliant idea struck me ! I seized the 
 great Bible, opened it, and closed it with a bang 
 over the curling flames. My great-aunt started 
 up. 
 
 " Go ! " she said, pointing toward the door. 
 
 " Wha — what's the matter ? " I asked, taken 
 aback. 
 
 "Go ! You have desecrated the Book." 
 
 " Why — why, I only extinguished the fire with 
 divine aid. See how well the Bible served us." 
 
 My aunt's arm slowly dropped. 
 
 " It saved us," I urged, eagerly. " See. The 
 fire did not mark it." 
 
 She looked at the Bible and then at me. " I 
 believe you are right," she said. "It was divine 
 aid, That settles it," 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 57 
 
 I was too bewildered to understand what my 
 aunt meant then, — but the fortune is settled 
 on me. Roy M. Mason. 
 
 Yale Courant. 
 
 Alpha and Omega* 
 
 A Freshman of social pretensions was noti- 
 fied at the end of his first year that he had 
 been elected to the first eight of the Alpha 
 Omega Society. He paid the initiation fee of 
 ^50, and was duly initiated by about twenty-five 
 sportive Sophomores. 
 
 After the ceremonies the society adjourned 
 to Delmonico's, where a fine dinner awaited its 
 members. When all had feasted, and the cham- 
 pagne had begun to flow, the president arose 
 and said : " Gentlemen : For the benefit of our 
 new member (applause), I feel it my duty to 
 explain what is of course well known to you 
 (You bet !), but what must often have puzzled 
 him (Hear, hear ! ). I allude to the name of this 
 gloriashoshashun (applause). Sir, the Alpha 
 Omega Society is so called because this is its 
 first and last meeting." 
 
 The Morningside. 
 
58 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 A Swimming Race* 
 
 " Timers ready ! Get set ! " the starter cries. 
 " Crack ! " goes the pistol, and six hthe, scantily 
 clad fellows dive into the water like so many 
 peas blown from a pea-shooter. Just beyond 
 the circle of ripples caused by the dives, after 
 several seconds, six dripping mops of hair reap- 
 pear, one by one. Each swimmer draws in a 
 deep, quick breath, and then, with head under 
 water, speeds along toward a red flag marking 
 the 220-yard stake. 
 
 " Rah ! Rah ! Rah ! Church ! — Go it, Hath- 
 away ! " shout the onlookers, thronging the pier 
 and sitting in the boats closely crowded together 
 along the course. As soon as the swimmers are 
 by, the fleet of cutters, tenders, and dories on 
 both sides of the course come together with a 
 rush, marring the varnish on the side of many a 
 natty-looking gig. The onlookers, however, are 
 heedless of this trifle. To gain a better view, 
 many even stand upon the unsteady thwarts of 
 the boats, looking over a gay scene of yachting- 
 caps, straw hats with variously coloured college 
 ribbons, white duck trousers and skirts, moving 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 59 
 
 parasols, and sun-tanned, enthusiastic faces. In 
 the hot glare cast by the sun upon the trem- 
 bling water, the observers see several black 
 objects bobbing toward the red buoy and flag. 
 Then a sustained cheer announces that the race 
 is half over, and that the return course has been 
 begun. 
 
 A naphtha launch, going at half speed and 
 whistling shrill toots, drives back from the 
 course the maze of small boats. From this 
 launch a man calls out, in answer to numer- 
 ous questions, that the swimmers are on the 
 way back, and that the dark-haired man in 
 the maroon shirt has a little the best of it 
 over the tall fellow in black. Whereupon a 
 small lad sitting in the stern of a yacht's 
 tender, and holding a maroon cap and a 
 sweater with a " C " upon it, jumps up, shrieks 
 out : *' Whee ! Harry's ahead ! " and tosses the 
 cap into the air. It lights upon the water and 
 is rescued with an oar, while blood-red drops of 
 salt water drip from it. 
 
 Once more the swimmers come into view. 
 They are swimming in pairs, the hindmost men 
 hopelessly behind. The next two are hotly 
 contending for place with a man in black, 
 
6o CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 who is but two feet behind "the dark-haired 
 man in the maroon shirt." As they come 
 along they seem like a school of porpoises, 
 each turning his head to catch a breath of 
 air and see the direction, then poking it under 
 the water, now raising one arm forward above 
 the surface of the water with clock-like regu- 
 larity, like a glistening fin, then disappearing 
 completely. Suddenly the man in black changes 
 his stroke from the English racing stroke to the 
 wearisome Trojan, one hand alternating with 
 the other in sharply, surely cutting the water, 
 then springing back while the swimmer liter- 
 ally jumps ahead. " Go, go, go, Hathaway ! 
 Rah ! Rah ! Rah ! " shout the crowd. But 
 above all this noise a shrill voice pipes : 
 " Harry, Harry, Harry ! " And Harry hears. 
 He, too, changes his stroke, and half -raising 
 himself from the water, like the sails on a 
 windmill, his arms beat down, hurling him 
 across the tape a winner by a foot. 
 
 R. T. Rogers. 
 University of Chicago Weekly. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 6 1 
 
 As Old as May. 
 
 The warm May breeze blew a shower of 
 white cherry petals in at the window. A girl 
 was sitting there reading a letter, but as the 
 petals fell into her lap, she stopped a moment 
 and smiled out at the cherry-tree. Then she 
 went on reading. The letter was from her 
 married sister, some ten years older than 
 she. 
 
 " Your letters have been saying a good deal 
 lately about some young man friend of yours," 
 the letter ran. " I don't know how much you 
 see of him, or how much you think of him ; but, 
 oh, Floy, before you begin to think much of 
 any man, be careful. You are an impulsive girl, 
 
 too impulsive, I'm afraid. Maybe this is all 
 
 unnecessary, and there haven't any ideas of 
 marriage ever entered your head ; but, Floy, 
 believe what I tell you, — I wouldn't say it to 
 any one but you, — a woman never knows any- 
 thing about a man until she is married to him. 
 There isn't a woman that don't wish within six 
 months that she'd never gotten married, and 
 there ain't one in ten that don't keep on wishing 
 
62 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 either that, or that she had a chance to choose 
 over again." 
 
 The girl laid down the letter and smiled out 
 at the cherry-tree once more. Then she picked 
 up a picture off the bureau — it was the face of 
 a good-looking young man, with a weak mouth 
 and retreating chin — and kissed it. 
 
 University of Chicago Weekly. 
 
 First Conversation: Across the Fence* 
 
 As I turned the corner I had a confused 
 vision of some one vainly struggling with the 
 heights of the fence on the left. '' A fair maid 
 in distress," was my silent comment. I strode 
 forward, but contemplated the other side of the 
 street. She gave a sob of defeat, and fell back 
 to the sidewalk ; at which I looked around. 
 
 She was leaning against the fence, breathing 
 rapidly, her face, as it seemed in the dusk, red- 
 dened by her exertion and ill success. She 
 looked at me appealingly. " Would it be pre- 
 sumptuous," said I, doffing my cap, "for me to 
 offer my humble services in any way } " 
 
 " You see," she began in embarrassment, " I 
 must be back in time for evening prayers, but 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 63 
 
 the only gate is around in front, and this fence," 
 she looked vengefully at the offending structure, 
 "is so high." « 
 
 "Yes, I see," said I, striving to look en- 
 lightened. 
 
 " I'd be sure to get caught if I went in at the 
 gate," she continued. " And it was only," she 
 added, pitifully, " to get a glass of soda." 
 
 " No one is in sight," I began, holding out my 
 arms, " and — " I paused, for she had drawn 
 herself up very sternly. I twirled my cap in 
 perplexity. Then- 1 had a happy thought. " If 
 I should bend down," I began again, ''you might 
 step on my back, grasp the fence, and — " 
 
 At a guess I should say she weighs, well — a 
 hundred. 
 
 "Thank you," said she from the other side 
 of the fence. 
 
 " Evening prayers don't begin quite yet, do 
 they ? " I ventured, since she seemed on the 
 point of leaving. 
 
 " Well, no-o," she admitted ; " but very soon." 
 
 " How many girls are there in the school .-* " 
 I asked, at a loss how else to open the conver- 
 sation, 
 
 " About thirty," she said. 
 
64 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 " Whew ! " said I, mopping my brow, *' soda 
 is good these hot days ! " 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " isn't it ! and don't 
 you like strawberry best ? " 
 
 '^ Of course," I agreed, and then regretted 
 lying, for it might have been made a subject for 
 discussion. 
 
 " I think I ought to be going," she said. 
 
 " Do you often go for soda at this hour .-* " I 
 asked. 
 
 " No," said she, " to-day was the first time." 
 
 " But you will again .? " 
 
 " But the fence .? " 
 
 " Yes, but that's been — " 
 
 « Well .? " 
 
 " To-morrow, won't you 1 " 
 
 « I can't tell." 
 
 " I shall wait on the other side of the street." 
 
 " Really } " And then the sound of the bell 
 came from the house, and she ran across the 
 garden. She runs well. 
 
 Richard Hooker. 
 Yale Literary Magazine. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 65 
 
 Johnny* 
 
 We had planned an all-day drive through the 
 beautiful country near Norfolk, and by nine in 
 the morning were well started on our way. 
 Mother had promised to stifle her usual lack of 
 confidence in my horsemanship, so in the gayest 
 of spirits we found ourselves speeding over the 
 road toward Colebrook. 
 
 I always believed that when mother got out 
 of the carriage *'for blackberries," it was only 
 that she might have a few moments of free and 
 easy breathing on the kind of " terra " that was 
 absolutely firma, where she could regulate her 
 own speed. 
 
 My little horse and I were climbing slowly up 
 the hill, when suddenly I heard a voice by my 
 side, " Oh, once-t I killed a adder ! " The 
 dearest little face, belonging to a boy about nine, 
 was looking up at me from the blackberry 
 bushes by the side of the road. He climbed in 
 with mother and myself, and we took him home ; 
 but although his face lighted up when we talked 
 with him, and he perfectly understood, yet he 
 could say nothing, apparently, beyond his one 
 
66 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 remark about "a adder." We were beginning 
 to think him a Uttle too much of a mystery, and 
 I resolved to know more about him. 
 
 We learned that he had been dumb for some 
 time, and had been in a school for mutes two 
 years. They had been able to teach him noth- 
 ing, but one day he astonished them all with 
 the remark, " Oh, once-t I killed a adder ! " 
 
 Johnny and I became the fastest of friends, 
 and were together a great deal during the 
 summer. I tried very hard to teach him my 
 name, saying, over and over again, " Miss Flor- 
 ence, don't forget." To my delight he began 
 to make sounds, out of which I frantically en- 
 deavoured to make " Florence." He never got 
 any farther than <^ My Florence, don't forget," 
 and " My Florence " it remained to the end of 
 his life. 
 
 One day quite late in the fall, Johnny's mother 
 sent for me very suddenly. I found my little 
 friend very ill. 
 
 That night, as I sat by him, he suddenly 
 stretched out both his arms to me, and the piti- 
 ful little voice said, '^ Oh, my Florence, don't 
 forget — once-t I killed a adder ! " It had 
 always been his only way of making me feel 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 6/ 
 
 what he meant, and I could always understand. 
 Johnny was sorry to leave me, and all the sorrow 
 of his little soul was fully expressed in the lan- 
 guage of his one great exploit. Could I ever 
 forget it, with all its variations of meaning, that 
 Johnny had once-t killed a adder.? 
 
 Florence E. Wilder. 
 
 The Mount Holyoke. 
 
 The First Time* 
 
 " Won't you have one } " I leaned forward 
 in my chair, one hand on my knee, the other 
 holding out a box of cigarettes. She looked 
 wistfully at it. 
 
 " I'd like to try it ever so much, but — oh, 
 well, they'll never find out, anyhow. You'll 
 promise not to tell any one, won't you .?" 
 
 " I shouldn't think of it," I replied, reaching 
 them out temptingly. 
 
 " You shouldn't think — " 
 
 " Of telling, I mean," and I tossed them into 
 her lap. 
 
 Bending forward, she took one out, and, hold- 
 ing it between her thumb and forefinger, lighted 
 it clumsily. Then she put it to her lips, and, 
 
68 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 taking a couple of puffs, laid it down in the little 
 bronze ash tray beside her. I took a long pull 
 at my cigar and leaned back to watch the smoke 
 float upward, until it joined the long, stringy 
 cloud that waved across the room. 
 
 '< I wonder when Alice will be back," she 
 said, finally. " I don't even know where she's 
 gone." 
 
 "Neither do I," I responded, "but I don't 
 care. If you find this amusing, I'm sure it 
 satisfies me." 
 
 She took another puff at her cigarette, and, as 
 she held it, a thin blue line of smoke curled up 
 from the tip, and drifted across the little table, 
 until it was sucked up by the hot air rising from 
 the lamp. Whenever Alice had to leave her 
 visitors for an evening, I was expected to amuse 
 them, and when the family was out the easiest 
 way was to give them cigarettes. Strange as it 
 may seem, none of them, so far, had refused the 
 offer. 
 
 I turned to see how she was getting on. The 
 cigarette was pretty low — she had burned up 
 half in lighting it. 
 
 " How is it ? " I said, smiling. 
 
 " It is perfectly horrid," she replied. She 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 69 
 
 leaned back, throwing one arm over the back of 
 the chair, looking down at the other hand where 
 it lay in her lap. A line of smoke drifted along 
 the stump. 
 
 *'It tastes — oh, my! it's all in my nose and 
 my eyes. I hate the nasty thing ! Here, take 
 it." 
 
 Then, after a pause : 
 
 ^*And it leaves an awful taste in my mouth, 
 too. I'll never touch another one." 
 
 It was three weeks later, after her visit was 
 over and she was gone, that I received a note 
 from her. 
 
 "Please burn this, after you have read it," 
 she wrote, " but won't you tell me what sort of 
 cigarettes those were ? " 
 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
 My First Boat-race^ 
 
 It was my first boat-race. After six months' 
 hard training I had at last made the crew. I 
 was perhaps a little more nervous than the rest. 
 I remember thinking, at the start, how I was 
 ever going to jam my legs down, for, from ner- 
 vousness, every bit of strength seemed to have 
 
70 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 left them. I looked around at the crowd of 
 boats in a bewildered fashion as if wondering 
 what they were doing there. Suddenly the 
 referee said " Ready." Every muscle tightened. 
 All my energies concentrated on the start. 
 " Go." We were off. For the first few strokes 
 I could hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing. 
 Gradually I discovered I was keeping time. I 
 recognised the neck of the man in front of me. 
 I heard the voice of the coxswain. That was 
 all. Suddenly a cannon boomed almost behind 
 my ear, and I felt as if I had been knocked 
 overboard. The sweat began to pour down 
 my back only to be replaced by the spray, for 
 it was a rough day. I saw the mile flag pass, 
 out of the corner of my eye. I knew the race 
 was half over. On ! on ! was it never going to 
 end .-* I could feel nothing, though I knew I 
 must be doing my part. Suddenly the coxswain 
 shouted, " For God's sake, boys, pull ! One 
 hundred yards more and Yale is still ahead." 
 We gave a last dying effort and crossed the 
 line. I looked around. We were beaten by 
 half a length, but Harvard was ten lengths 
 behind. 
 
 The Morningside, 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 7 1 
 
 Economy* 
 
 The streets were deluged with moonlight. 
 The ground was frozen hard ; it felt like stone 
 under our feet. The air had the pleasantness 
 in our throats of cold water after a dusty drive. 
 We had been together to see Julia Arthur in 
 "A Lady of Quality," Miss W. and I. As all 
 the seats on the ground floor had been taken, 
 we had bought balcony seats ; and as we had 
 been alone we had come home immediately 
 after the theatre, instead of going first to 
 supper. While walking rapidly from the car 
 to our house, we were counting up how much 
 money we had saved in this way, and were 
 congratulating ourselves hilariously on our wise 
 economy. 
 
 As we passed a row of little stores on Fifty- 
 fifth Street, we saw one still brightly lighted. 
 Within, on the wide wooden sill of the window, 
 among torn and rumpled newspapers, lay a two- 
 year-old child asleep. Beyond, stood the child's 
 mother, the little woman to whom we take our 
 laundry. Her dingy, clinging calico wrapper 
 showed how bony her shoulders were, how hoi- 
 
72 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 low her chest. Her thin face, though wet with 
 perspiration, was without colour ; it was haggard, 
 and set in lines of terrible weariness. Her 
 prominent blue eyes were more staring than 
 usual. She was ironing still, at twelve o'clock ; 
 ironing collars at three cents each. 
 
 University of Chicago Weekly. 
 
 In the Afternoon Car^ 
 
 By late afternoon the car was almost crowded, 
 but the young man of the foremost seat did not 
 know it. A large box of sweet peas filled the 
 rest of the seat ; he held a book, and from time 
 to time read a page, but for the most part 
 looked out of the window. 
 
 The day had been hot ; it was still gray, 
 smoky, sombre. But to him the world was 
 exquisitely beautiful. As they flashed by, he 
 saw a thousand details he had never caught 
 before. The fallow brown of newly ploughed 
 fields delighted him ; a man at the plough was 
 guiding a shambling gray horse, and trotting 
 along in the furrows, driving him with a piece 
 of string and a dead stick, came his little boy, 
 whose pinafore had taken on the exact shade of 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 73 
 
 the fresh-turned earth ; a yellow cur, very active 
 as to tail, followed them. Then the track ran 
 for several miles by what had once been a busy 
 canal, now disused, stagnant, covered over with 
 scum of that extraordinary green the impres- 
 sionist painters alone know. Steering a cranky 
 boat stood a girl in a scarlet gown, like a jungle- 
 blossom. 
 
 He found his thoughts breaking into metre 
 and rhyme ; tag-ends of unwritten songs, it 
 seemed, were floating through his brain, which, 
 when he tried to catch them, slipped through 
 his fingers, and, breaking, spoiled his mere joy 
 in the beauty outside ; so he left off trying. 
 Nevertheless, his heart was crooning to itself a 
 song without words ; her face changed into 
 melody, and the remembered touch of her hand, 
 blending with it, gave the chord. 
 
 " Six o'clock ! six o'clock ! six o'clock ! " said 
 the car- wheels as they hurried on. The sky 
 was all gray except in one place, where the sun- 
 set fire had eaten almost through, and gave 
 there a red shine as of flame through porcelain. 
 The time of the car- wheels changed : " In half 
 an hour ! half an hour ! half an hour ! " they 
 sang. The young man fancied his deep delight 
 
74 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 must shine through his face, as the sunset glory 
 was shining through the clouds. 
 
 Georgiana Goddard King. 
 
 The Bryn Mawr Lantern. 
 
 His First Race» 
 
 The announcer, greeted by the odour of lini- 
 ment as he pokes his head in the doorway of 
 the dressing-room, sings out : ** All out for the 
 mile run, and get a hustle on you, too, for the 
 events are dragging ! " 
 
 A number of active fellows, clad in the usual 
 running costume and wrapped up in bath-robes 
 and blankets, soon follow this busybody to the 
 starting tape. They are all tall, mature, solid- 
 looking chaps, except one, whose boyish air, 
 emphasised by his curly, light-coloured hair and 
 small, springy figure, makes him seem somewhat 
 out of place among these experienced giants. 
 
 There is little time to think before the starter, 
 not deigning to look at the crowded grand stand, 
 nor to hear the eager words of encouragement 
 from the friends of the contestants, calls, warn- 
 ingly, " Are you ready t " Several of the white- 
 suited athletes, who are digging small holes in 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 75 
 
 the running path with the toes of their spiked 
 shoes, stop as the order, *' On your marks ! " is 
 heard ; then, all bracing themselves, with weight 
 well forward, arms extended — one in front, one 
 behind — at the command, ** Get set ! " are off 
 in a bunch at the pistol shot. 
 
 The pace is "pretty stiff" for a mile, but 
 "the little fellow," as some one on the bleachers 
 advises, " holds it." 
 
 What fun it is for him to see the bright rib- 
 bons and gay costumes of the women, who 
 smile at him. The " rooters " shout ** Go ! Go ! 
 Go ! " How light his tireless legs feel as they 
 rise and fall ; his feet seem barely to touch the 
 ground. He notices the gradual turn in the 
 track, the bill-boards with various coloured signs, 
 the green grass, the yellow clay baseball dia- 
 mond, now hidden for a moment by the back- 
 stop. Then he passes the sign, painted in white 
 letters, ** Start, 880 yds. ; " next the grand stand 
 on the right reappears. As he bounds along, 
 one lap finished, he catches one glimpse of a 
 pretty girl in a duck suit who wears his ribbon. 
 
 The cheers die away. He looks up from the 
 corner of his eye and sees the perspiration stand- 
 ing out on the man to his right. 
 
76 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 He determines that that lone man ahead of 
 him by only a few feet shall gain no more. 
 
 How worn the edge of the upright board 
 bounding the track is. There, too, is some 
 burned sand beside it. He hears the deep 
 nose-breathing and the methodical pum-pum as 
 the spikes in the shoes of the runners behind 
 him hit the track. The sun is beating down 
 very warmly, too warmly, and makes his throat 
 feel parched. The gaseous, hot air rising from 
 the track gives everything a dizzy appearance. 
 Suddenly his chest feels full of hot coals. He 
 catches a glimpse of the trainer, and wonders if 
 the words he has overheard this friend say are 
 true: '* Jamie has lots of grit." No, they are 
 not, for he wants to tumble over on the grass 
 and cry, to hide his face, to get away from 
 everybody. 
 
 But the race is two-thirds over, for here is the 
 grand stand again ; sort of moving about appar- 
 ently and kicking up a big rumpus ; he wonders 
 what about. Yet the noise gives him heart and 
 he forges ahead of the man on his right and 
 strives to gain more on the fellow ahead, mov- 
 ing with long, sure strides. 
 
 Six feet never seemed such a distance before. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE "]"] 
 
 He grits his teeth, runs his nails into the corks 
 in his hands and stares resolutely ahead. The 
 perspiration, rolling down in little streams, is no 
 longer felt. He doesn't realise now that he 
 has a body. The running is mechanical — up, 
 down ; up, down. That fellow is ahead. Every- 
 thing grows very dim and far-away looking. 
 He must go faster, something seems to say. 
 That fellow is no longer in front of him. Where 
 did he disappear } What is that noise straining 
 along by his side t Is that the grand stand 
 ahead coming toward him as though mad, cheer- 
 ing and yelling, jumping up and down like a 
 monkey on a string } Can he ever reach those 
 things sticking up there with something shining 
 in front of them } They must be the timers ; 
 the bright things watches. But no, he can't, 
 for the men are gone. He stumbles in despair, 
 and, falling, feels something across his legs. 
 Then all is blank. 
 
 The grand stand surely has gone mad, — 
 people cheering, waving colours, throwing up 
 hats, stamping ; all is confusion. 
 
 Strong arms gently carry him to one side and 
 stretch him on the grass. The doctor says, 
 *' He'll be around directly." 
 
"J^ CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 '* Rah ! Rah ! Rah ! " What is that noise ? 
 Why are they pouring red-hot ice down his 
 throat ? He slowly turns his head toward the 
 shouting, and spies an anxious, girlish face 
 above a duck suit straining forward from the 
 front row of seats. A voice in his ear says : 
 " If he hadn't fallen forward at the finish, he'd 
 have lost ! Won by a head ! Intercollegiate 
 record busted ! Plucky little cuss, eh ? Fine 
 time, 4:33 4-5 ! " And he swoons again. 
 
 R. T. Rogers. 
 University of Chicago Weekly. 
 
 A Yule-tide Happenings 
 
 They were seated in the parlour, he and she. 
 She was a pretty Back Bay lass, with a taste 
 for bric-a-brac ; he, a traditionally impecunious- 
 Soph, with a desire to create an impression on 
 her heart. It was the day before Christmas, 
 and the conversation naturally tended toward 
 Yule-tide topics. Just now it was touching 
 upon gifts. 
 
 " Oh, Dick," said the girl, " did you see the 
 stunning vases that came in at Harding & 
 Ware's, to-day } They were beauties, and I 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 79 
 
 was just dying to have one, but they cost 
 over — " 
 
 " Well, one of them may turn up your way 
 yet ; " replied he, complacently. " I happened 
 to see those vases, and thought you — " 
 
 " You didn't get me one, did you ? You 
 foolish, extravagant boy ! But it is awfully 
 sweet of you, and I shall never forget it." 
 
 The youth smiled as he thought how he had 
 procured that vase for a trifle, after it had been 
 smashed by a careless clerk, and had ordered 
 that clerk, for another trifle, to pack up the 
 vase and send it to her home. He wondered 
 what she would think if she knew the true 
 story of his *' foohsh, extravagant sweetness." 
 Just then the bell rang, and a moment later the 
 maid entered the parlour with a box, which she 
 handed to the girl. 
 
 ''Why, it's from Harding & Ware!" the 
 latter exclaimed. ''Your vase! How quick 
 they were in sending it up here ! " 
 
 " I hope nothing has happened to it," he said, 
 artfully; "the sidewalks are pretty slippery 
 to-day, and lots of people have tumbled down." 
 
 " Oh, I hope so, too," rejoined the girl, be- 
 ginning to take off the wrappings. The youth 
 
8o CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 Stood near her, ready to give vent to exclama- 
 tions of astonished indignation and surprise. 
 As she finally opened the box, he bent forward, 
 gave one look, and then — bolted from the par- 
 lour, grabbed his hat, and fled. 
 
 The clerk had earned his money too well. 
 Every fragment of the broken vase was wrapped 
 up in a separate bit of paper. 
 
 H. P. Huntress. 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
 Cousin John. 
 
 We were returning from the opera very late 
 that evening, and as we neared home my wife 
 remarked : 
 
 " When do you expect that cousin of yours 
 to arrive } He surely ought to be here to- 
 morrow, for it's only forty-eight hours from St. 
 Louis here." 
 
 " Well, I can't say," I replied. "John's very 
 erratic, you know, and he may be here to-mor- 
 row, or he may be here next week, or he may 
 not be here at all." 
 
 With this I opened the door, and, to my 
 surprise, found John dozing in an easy chair 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 8 1 
 
 before the hall fire. He started up as we 
 entered, but before he could say anything I was 
 shaking hands and welcoming him as heartily 
 as one naturally welcomes a cousin who has 
 been away ten years. 
 
 "My, John, but you've changed!" my wife 
 and I exclaimed, simultaneously. " One would 
 scarcely know you since you've had the fever." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose I have changed," replied 
 John, "but you two look the same as when I 
 last saw you. Pardon me for making myself 
 so much at home, but I thought I'd rest a little, 
 while waiting for you." 
 
 After talking a short time, we retired, as it 
 was very late, and John was very tired. I 
 assisted him in carrying his valise to his room. 
 That valise was the queerest and heaviest thing 
 I've ever seen or carried. 
 
 About six o'clock my wife and I were awak- 
 ened by Bridget pounding on the door and 
 crying : " Shure, ma'am, there's been robbers 
 in the house, and it's nary a bit of silver that's 
 left at all, at all." 
 
 We hastily dressed and hurried down, only to 
 find that Bridget's words were too true. We 
 examined the house but could find no clue to 
 
82 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 the thief, nor were there any marks of violence 
 on door or window. Then I thought of John, 
 and rushed up-stairs to find him and get his 
 assistance. On opening the door of his room, 
 I could see nothing of John or his valise, and 
 the bed, moreover, had not been occupied at all. 
 Under the bed, however, was a pair of shoes, 
 apparently on some one's feet. I looked under 
 and saw Cousin John — no, it wasn't he, for 
 this man had a full beard, whereas John was 
 clean-shaven the night before. But the man 
 under the bed was securely bound and gagged, 
 and looked decidedly uncomfortable. He tried 
 to talk, but couldn't, so I pulled him out and 
 loosed his bonds. He was very grateful at 
 being set free, and among his many exclama- 
 tions he cried out, "Why, doctor, don't you 
 know your Cousin John ? " 
 
 " Cousin John, fiddlesticks ! " I replied. 
 " Cousin John was here last night, and had a 
 smooth face, while you have a full beard. No 
 one but Christopher Columbus could grow a 
 beard like that in one night. Who are you, 
 and how did you get here ? " 
 
 " I'm your Cousin John, as I'll soon prove to 
 you in relating how I got here." 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 83 
 
 " Proceed," said I, being always open to con- 
 viction. 
 
 "Well, I arrived here last night about ten 
 o'clock, long before I expected when I tele- 
 graphed you. I was told you would be home 
 soon, so I decided to wait for you in the hall, 
 near the fire. About eleven a fellow came and 
 inquired for the doctor. I heard the servant 
 tell him to wait in the office. Soon I fell into 
 a doze, and began dreaming that I was a soldier, 
 facing the Spanish guns, when suddenly I 
 became aware of some one standing near me, 
 and awoke to find myself looking into the 
 muzzle of a revolver. 
 
 " < Well, John, we're here at last, aren't we ? ' 
 said the man at the other end of the revolver, 
 pleasantly. ' I know you, and I've come all the 
 way from St. Louis with you to meet you here. 
 Don't look frightened, for I won't hurt you if 
 you do as I say.' 
 
 " I hardly knew what to do or say, but kept 
 blinking at the pistol, when my friend drew 
 several handkerchiefs from his pockets, gagged 
 my mouth and bound my hands behind my back. 
 " ' Now, just go up-stairs to the guest-chamber, 
 if you please,' he said, following me up with the 
 
84 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 pistol still at my head. When we were inside 
 the room he made me crawl under the bed, and 
 then securely bound my feet and strengthened 
 my other bonds. Then he went away, but 
 came back about one o'clock, looked to see if I 
 were fast, stayed about half an hour, all the 
 time chuckling to himself, and then left for 
 good." 
 
 *' All right, John," I replied, "you've proved 
 your identity. Your friend, who used you ill, 
 palmed himself off on us as our Cousin John, 
 and departed during the night with all our sil- 
 ver, so let's see what can be done in the way of 
 finding him." 
 
 We notified the police, and made every possi- 
 ble search, but "■ John " could not be found. 
 The real John was much chagrined at the turn 
 of affairs, and vowed to find the false John and 
 bring him to justice. Whether he will succeed 
 remains to be seen. All we ever heard of 
 "John" was the following telegram received 
 from New York about a month after the 
 robbery : 
 
 " Dear Cousins : — The silver was of the 
 finest quality. I'm off to Europe on the pro- 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 85 
 
 ceeds. If you have any more to spare, kindly 
 forward it to London as a souvenir to your 
 Cousin John." 
 
 H. Wilson Stahlnecker. 
 
 ^ Red and Blue. 
 
 Jeems Miller^s Coortin^ 
 
 " Weel, Jeems, an' hoo are ye the day ? I'm 
 shure ye're lookin' gey happy." 
 
 "I'm brawly, thenk ye. Tarn, an' hoo's 
 yersel' .? " 
 
 *'Ay, man, I've guid richt to be happy this 
 day. An' did ye no hear aboot it } " 
 
 " Aboot whit ? Hae ye had a fortune come 
 to ye t I'm rael gled, Jeems. I s'pose ye'll be 
 gaen awa' to bide amang the gentry noo. Cam- 
 lachie'll no' be a bonny eneuch place for ye. 
 Eh.?" 
 
 '' Weel, Tam, it's no' juist a fortune in ae 
 sense o' the word, but I'll tell ye — Meg Tam- 
 son an' me's gaun to get mairrit." 
 
 " O-o-h ! Ay an' hoo did that come aboot, 
 Jeems } Naebody thocht you an' Meg was 
 thick thegither." 
 
 " Weel, I've been kin' o' castin' aboot for a 
 
86 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 wife for some time noo, an' at last I settled on 
 Meg. I gaed to see her faither twa' three 
 times, an' hintit at Meg, ye ken, till I'm shure 
 she had an inklin' o' whit I was efter. I didna 
 get on very quick tho', for Meg's a gey weel 
 faured lass, an' I'm thinkin' she expeckit a 
 better man nor me. Weel, things was juist 
 aboot so so, when I gaed ower to ca' on her last 
 nicht. As shune as I opened the door, there 
 was Meg sittin' in front o' the kitchen grate, 
 an' haudin' her face up near the fire. I thocht 
 at aince she maun hae neuralgy or teethache, 
 an' I felt gey bad for the puir lass, I tell ye, for 
 I didna ken hoo muckle I thocht o' Meg till 
 that meenit. *Ay, Meg, an' whit's the maitter, 
 lass ? ' says I. She didna say a word, but I could 
 see she was fell 'shamed to hae me catch her in 
 sic a wy. Jock, her wee brither, cam' up . to 
 the stule whaur I was sittin' an' says, *Jeems, 
 Meg's got an awfu' sair teeth.' *Ay, puir 
 lassie,' says I, but wi' that Meg flares up an' 
 says, 'Jeems Miller, wha ast for yer peety .? 
 Keep it to yersel', for I'm shure naebody here 
 wants it.' Man, I was so astonish'd I could 
 haur'ly speak, but at last I advised her to see 
 the doctor an' hae it pu'd. Efter a while she 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE ^"J 
 
 cam' roun' an' was quite ceevil, tho' I could see 
 she could haur'ly keep frae greetin'. The 
 teeth was quite lowse, so I offered to pu't 
 ma'sel' wi' a bit string, but Meg wudna hear o't. 
 Juist then, Jock cries oot, *Meg, tie a string 
 to't, an' tie the ither en' o' the string to the bed- 
 post, an' juist walk back an' it'll come oot.' 
 ' Havers, Jock, gae 'wa,' says I, But Meg was 
 rael ta'en wi' the idea an' wantit to try't, juist 
 as she used to when a wee bit lass. Weel, she 
 tied ae en' o' the string • to her teeth, an' the 
 ither en' to the bed-post, for she wudna let me 
 touch it. But when it cam' to walkin' back, 
 Meg couldna' dae't. While she was staunin' 
 trirablin' an' no' lookin', I walked up to her 
 quite quick like, and firm, an' afore she kent 
 whit she was daein', she stepped back, an' there 
 was the teeth danglin' frae the bed-post. It 
 was so sudden like she begun to greet. I sent 
 Jock for a ha' penny worth of sweeties, an' then 
 tried to comfort her. I juist put my airm roun' 
 her an' — weel, I needna' tell ye the rest, only 
 we're gaun to be cried next Sunday." 
 
 John Gowdy. 
 Wesley an Literary Monthly. 
 
8S CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 Observations* 
 
 Try so to live that when you die even the 
 undertaker will be sorry. 
 
 A single life often ends in happiness. A 
 double life often ends in prison. 
 
 The quality of friendship is so steadfast, so 
 beautiful, and so holy that it will last for a life- 
 time if not asked to lend money. 
 
 Self-love is a virtue, for he who loveth him- 
 self shall have his love returned, whereas he 
 who loveth another, unless he accompany it 
 with an expensive bunch of double violets, 
 shall go unrequited. 
 
 Princeton Tiger. 
 
 That Babington Affair* 
 
 "You will pardon my being so abominably 
 personal," I said to my friend Reeves, in a burst 
 of confidence, as we sat smoking before the 
 open fire, talking over our summer at Babing- 
 ton. "But did I ever tell you the little stunt 
 that happened to Miss Marston and me on the 
 links last summer } " 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 89 
 
 He moved rather uneasily at the mention of 
 that name, I thought, but Hstened with interest. 
 
 "Well," I continued, '' you know that, thanks 
 to your exploiting of my peculiarities and a 
 natural diffidence which I must admit, I got a 
 reputation with those girls for being the most 
 bashful thing there ; I don't think she seriously 
 believed it, though. 
 
 *^ It was the afternoon that you were feeling 
 rather rocky from meeting those Yale people 
 the night before. I was much flattered when 
 she accepted my services as instructor, and, with 
 a few remarks as to the uselessness of engaging 
 a caddy, I proudly took an armful of clubs, and 
 we started. 
 
 *' You are also aware that the Babington golf 
 course was not laid out with a view to pleas- 
 ing the novice. Those apple orchards and 
 swamps that diversify the landscape, and the 
 omnipresent Sackett brook, so dangerously 
 near, are very trying. But that is neither 
 here nor there. 
 
 " Miss Marston progressed rapidly under my 
 competent tuition. Going through Profanity 
 Lane, we chatted about Farmington, and upon 
 my remarking that I should probably see Alice 
 
90 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 Walker in August, she exclaimed : * Why, 
 really ? Do give Alice my best love ! ' 
 
 " ' May I keep it until I see her ? ' I asked, 
 rather clumsily, trying your favourite bon mot. 
 But just then the lusty Mrs. Wrenn-Smith (you 
 remember seeing her avoirdupois galloping over 
 the links) cried ' Fore ! ' about twenty yards be- 
 hind us, and we turned around inopportunely to 
 see a large area of turf lose its connection. So 
 my maiden effort was lost. 
 
 " We passed ' Sleepy Hollow ' and * Despair ' 
 easily, but in approaching the eighth green a 
 long mashie shot sent the ball across the brook, 
 where it poised defiantly. I admit I was up a 
 tree. 
 
 " * Thunder ! ' I think she said — some forbid- 
 ding word of two syllables. ' How can I cross t 
 There doesn't seem to be a sign of a bridge. 
 And I so wanted to make this my record.' 
 
 " * A toppy lie, and you had such a good show 
 for the bogy ! Won't you allow me to carry you 
 over } ' I suggested, and I swear I saw mischief 
 in her look as she smiled at me and then turned 
 in the direction of Mrs. Wrenn-Smith — a 
 friendly hill had already managed to conceal 
 that lady." 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 9 1 
 
 Reeves had removed his feet from the mantel 
 early in the narrative, and now he clutched his 
 chair nervously. I refused to notice this agita- 
 tion, and went on : 
 
 " I imagine Miss Marston was surprised when 
 she found herself speedily transferred to the other 
 side. Anyway, she played the stroke in silence. 
 We recrossed as before. 
 
 ** There was rather a long pause as we walked 
 up. Finally she couldn't refrain from laughing : 
 ' Are you the Mr. Jackson they spoke of at the 
 hotel as being so unfortunately — ' 
 
 " I supplied, * Such a bashful fool } ' and as- 
 sured her the accusation was entirely just. 
 
 " Later, as we were seated on the club-house 
 porch with several others, I alluded to our expe- 
 rience : * You know. Miss Marston and I had 
 such an amusing adventure to-day,' I began. 
 
 "^ Yes, and we only lost two strokes by it,' 
 she deftly interposed, and commenced a discus- 
 sion on the use of the niblech in putting. 
 
 '' My reputation for diffidence continued as 
 good as ever — except with one person, and on 
 the whole I am glad it is that way, as she is the 
 only girl — " 
 
 Reeves leaned forward eagerly : " Eh ! You 
 
92 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 don't mean that you and she — But Ethel 
 Marston was a corking girl — quite the queen 
 at Babington. I have som^ pleasant memories 
 of her myself." 
 
 Reeves did not seem to care particularly for 
 my story. I confess I was too dense to see 
 why at the time, — but four months later their 
 engagement was announced. I am planning a 
 trip around the world — after graduation. 
 
 John Barker. 
 Williams Literary Monthly. 
 
 A Letter Home* 
 
 Amherst College, Amherst, Mass. 
 North Dormitory, Sunday, Oct. 5th, 1898. 
 Dear Mother : — Your last rec'd and read 
 with delight. Went to church this morning, 
 and heard a magnificent sermon by Doctor 
 Drawler, of New York City. Afterward there 
 was class Bible study, which is interesting for 
 those of us who really want to learn. As to 
 the odour of tobacco which you detected in my 
 mid-week letter, it is quite possible that you 
 were not mistaken. I entirely agree with your 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 93 
 
 strictures on the vice. My room-mate, however, 
 is an inveterate smoker, although otherwise a 
 noble and earnest young man, just such an one, 
 I think, as you would have me associate with. 
 I have spoken to him on the subject along the 
 line of your remarks, but you know how it is 
 with a habit of that sort. Yes, I have renewed 
 my Y. M. C. A. membership, and, although it 
 costs me ^12.50 a term, not to mention smaller 
 contributions to certain little charities which we 
 are supporting, it has proved, as you predicted, 
 both restful and uplifting. Church attendance 
 is required, as you are aware, and this year the 
 expense of filling the pulpit is met by subscrip- 
 tions among the fellows. I know that you will 
 be glad that I have pledged two dollars a Sun- 
 day for that noble purpose, — this aside from 
 pew rent, of course. Tell father, in answer to 
 his inquiry, that the work is rather confining, 
 but that he need not fear for my physical devel- 
 opment. The Amherst gym. system takes care 
 of that. No, the exercise we get is not too vio- 
 lent, I received the dft. for ^150, for which 
 thanks. With board at $7 per week, — which, 
 really, is outrageous, don't you think .? — and my 
 subscription to the Alumnus Missionary Fund, 
 
94 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 it all went the day I cashed it. Besides, I un- 
 fortunately broke an expensive plate-glass win- 
 dow in Northampton last Saturday. I tipped 
 a cigar store Indian into it. The accident cost 
 me ^20, but if you will send ^50 right away I 
 can settle everything up, and have enough over 
 to buy a new Standard Dictionary, of which I 
 stand much in need. The vesper chimes are 
 ringing, and as one must go early to get a seat, 
 I will close now. Lovingly, William. 
 
 Joseph W. Barr. 
 Amherst Literary Monthly. 
 
 The Complete Athlete* 
 
 BEING A SELECTION, TREATING UPON A TRUE 
 MANNER OF SPORT. 
 
 Ancient. Heelor. 
 
 Ancient. A good morning to you, young sir. 
 If your course be toward Milford, I have well 
 overtaken you, and we will go our way together. 
 
 Heelor. Your company and discourse will be 
 welcome, sir. T go indeed to Milford, and pur- 
 pose to rest there some days from my studies, 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 95 
 
 and doubt not that lively talk will soon bring, us 
 to the inn. 
 
 Ancient. Tell me then, student, for such you 
 seem to be, how is it with manly sport in that 
 university from which you come ? 
 
 Heelor. With your pardon, good sir, it is now 
 at a height which in the days when you were a 
 lusty scholar it had scarce attained. 
 
 Ancient. It may be that you hold those days 
 lightly ; but tell me, I pray you, of football. I 
 held some small skill in that noble exercise, 
 and would know if in this day it is played so 
 well. 
 
 Heelor. But lately we took new men, and 
 have equalled those who were great in the sport. 
 
 Ancient. And from the breadth of your 
 shoulders I hold you for one learned in the game. 
 
 Heelor. You think rightly, sir. Not a day 
 but I have left my books to see the struggles 
 upon our field, and cheered right lustily when 
 by skill our noble team hath driven down the 
 lines. 
 
 Ancient. But for yourself, do you not run 
 with the ball t 
 
 Heelor. You forget, sir, we have a noble 
 team. I cheer them on ; I have even staked 
 
96 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 much money upon their trials. What would 
 you more ? 
 
 Ancient. But you, scholar, trouble not to 
 play. How, then, with that strenuous sport of 
 rowing 1 You pull an oar with the best, I will 
 be warranted. 
 
 Heelor. In truth, good sir, the water is far 
 away, and the sliding seat perplexing to the 
 ignorant ; but we have a noble eight. Twice 
 have I journeyed to the Thames, and heartened 
 them with cheerful cries. Belike they shall win 
 this year, and I gain back that which, in my 
 love for the university, I do put upon their 
 success. 
 
 Ancient. But you row not, gentle scholar. 
 Tell me, then, friend, for already have we come 
 upon Milford Hill, you and your class do run, 
 perchance, or jump at the hurdles, or bat the 
 ball. In my day, though now forgotten, we 
 prided ourselves, each one, that, for the love 
 thereof, we partook of some healthful sport. 
 
 Heelor. Well enough, master, and so do 
 many now ; but, as there may be no doubt that 
 not all of us can win a place, so, indeed, do I 
 and others heel valiantly those who succeed. 
 
 Ancient. It was not so in my day ; and, 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 97 
 
 scholar, I have thought that he who loveth sport 
 will rather enter into manly pursuits, that he 
 may row because it is good, and run because it 
 is good, and thus find the truest service in the 
 doing, not contenting himself with the watching 
 alone. But here is the inn, which will put an end 
 to our talk, and bring me to my journey's end. 
 
 Heelor. And you should come to the nearest 
 game. We would tell you of that doing ; and 
 so, good-bye. 
 
 Henry Seidel Canby. 
 
 Yale Courant. 
 
 Of Passing Moment* 
 
 She grew to be a sort of habit with him. In 
 earlier days it had been different. Even to have 
 her about had irritated him ; and he had detested 
 her presence as he would that of a fly or any 
 live thing that made a noise. Her queer little 
 face, old and dried, yet with a perk of sharpness 
 to it, had seemed to him absurd. Her tiptoeing 
 quickness of motion, her puffing lack of breath, 
 had grated on him even while it bored him. 
 Her wheezy inanities of observation on the com- 
 monplaces of life were doubtless well meant ; 
 
98 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 but they jangled on his nerves. They struck 
 him as ludicrous in their inherent uselessness. 
 
 But all that was past. As I say, she had 
 grown to be with him a habit. He liked to 
 watch her. He would stare and dumbly marvel 
 that a thing so withered could retain so much 
 of life. He speculated on her age, wondering if 
 she were forty or seventy ; he had no idea which. 
 Such nervous energy of motion in one seemingly 
 so old amused and puzzled him. When he be- 
 gan to notice a little more closely her idiotic, 
 shrunken face, he saw that the lines of it were 
 kind ; and he liked her for it. When he came 
 to think of it, her observations on the weather 
 seemed to him harmless and well-intentioned ; 
 they ceased to be a matter for irritation. He 
 saw that she did her work well ; that she swept 
 and dusted often ; that she kept the room clean, 
 and well-ordered ; and all that in her, even apart 
 from selfish reasons, he liked. He saw, too, 
 that she never meddled with things of his ; that 
 she threw away no papers that he might leave 
 carelessly about ; that she left things where he 
 wanted them, and was not arbitrary in the use 
 of her power to put the room to rights. This 
 also he thought to be considerate, 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 99 
 
 In time, his relations with her became a bit 
 more personal. Once when he was sick she did 
 him several little kindnesses, got his breakfast, 
 and that sort of thing, and these he remembered. 
 She came to see that he didn't care to talk ; and 
 she would come in, do her work, and go away 
 without a word. At length, also, he saw that 
 she began to accommodate her hours of work to 
 his convenience. All this in her he liked. He 
 had a trick of locking himself out of his room ; 
 and then he would have to hunt about for her, 
 and borrow her string of keys. This always 
 struck her as unspeakably amusing, and her 
 toothless amusement always in turn amused him. 
 Her wizened, bent little figure became to him a 
 familiar sight on other landings than his own ; 
 and he always grinned when she bade him good 
 morning. 
 
 Many aspects of her interested him. The 
 awkward fumbling of her keys before she could 
 open his door appealed to him as typical. When 
 she would reach his room too early in the morn- 
 ing, and find him in the act of dressing, he never 
 failed to smile at the half-shocked, apologising 
 abashment with which she withdrew from the 
 room. When she found him not even out of 
 l»i •f G. 
 
lOO CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 bed, her bewilderment was ever new and ever 
 obvious. She did some of his washing for him ; 
 and the air of timid effacement, with which she 
 would now and then dun him for a payment on 
 account, touched him a bit even while it caused 
 him to laugh. When he chanced to be in the 
 room while she was putting it in order, he would 
 covertly drink her in, with her look of half- 
 alarm, her dimming eyes, her motions quick with 
 the energy of age. He heard her wheezy puf- 
 fings, her shortness of breath ; he saw her talk- 
 ing in garrulous undertonings to herself ; about 
 what, he wondered. 
 
 In a half-formulated way he pitied her a little ; 
 perhaps he sometimes wondered just how sordid 
 and blank could be the side of her life that he 
 never saw. An ill-defined impulse may have 
 come to him now and again to question her 
 about it. But he never did. 
 
 One day he noticed that a different goody 
 fixed his room. A little later it occurred to him 
 that he hadn't seen Joan about the place for 
 some days. 
 
 On his way down-stairs he ran across Collins, 
 the janitor. It occurred to him to ask Collins 
 about her. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE lOI 
 
 " By the way, Collins, where's Joan, my goody, 
 these days ? " 
 
 " Why, didn't you know ? " said Collins, with 
 businesslike directness ; " she was taken sick the 
 other day and died. Thought you knew." 
 
 " No," he said, '' I hadn't heard ; " and went 
 on down-stairs. 
 
 That night at dinner the fellows at his table 
 jollied him a bit about being sober — not much, 
 they said, but just a little. 
 
 Philip Greenleaf Carleton. 
 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
 A Cold Bluff. 
 
 "Whoopee!" remarked Bud, throwing his 
 coat in one corner and his hat in another, '' I 
 just worked the coldest game of bluff you ever 
 saw." 
 
 " Thought that was a regular thing with you," 
 said Wilhe, glancing up from his desk. ''It's 
 the only game you play, isn't it .'* " 
 
 "Oh, but past experience wasn't in it with 
 this. I usually don't have any luck when I try 
 to bluff a Prof, in recitation, but this was a cooler. 
 I made a rush and no mistake." 
 
I02 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 "Hear the man blow," said Lem, from the 
 window-seat : " Bud, you're a conceited ass. 
 Tell us about it." 
 
 " Well, you see I was dreaming away in recita- 
 tion, — didn't hear a thing that was going on, — 
 till all of a sudden Pete hit me a biff in the back 
 and I heard the Prof, saying, ' Do you believe in 
 the truth of that theory, Mr. Bud .-* ' Gee, I was 
 phazed. I got up and said, * Yes, sir, I do,' with 
 a lot of emphasis, just as if I had been giving 
 it thought for the past week. Then he said, 
 ' And your reasons for it, Mr. Bud ? ' Well, I 
 thought I was stumped, but I looked him sternly 
 in the eye, just as if I thought he was asking un- 
 necessary questions, and said, 'Why, professor, 
 it struck me as the only reasonable theory,' and 
 then I stuck again. Then bless his heart, if he 
 didn't throw out a line and I bit. He said, 
 'Then you agree with So-and-so when he said 
 so-and-so ? ' I said, ' Certainly, sir,' and I re- 
 peated what he said So-and-so said. Then he 
 talked some more and I followed him up, and 
 we two held the floor most ten minutes arguing 
 it out, and when I sat down he said, * Mr. Bud, 
 your position is a strong one and I heartily agree 
 with you.' How's that for a rush, Willie ? " 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE IO3 
 
 ''Nothing else," said Willie. "It seems to 
 me, though. Bud, you're going to sleep entirely 
 too much in recitation. Half the time I look at 
 you, you're miles away." 
 
 " Seven miles," murmured Lem, with his head 
 buried in the pillows. 
 
 Amherst Literary Monthly. 
 
 Fable* 
 
 Two men argued at the fork of a road. 
 
 " One road leads to Heaven and the other to 
 Hell," said the first. 
 
 ''That must be so," agreed the second. 
 
 " The left-hand road leads to Heaven and the 
 right to Hell," said the first. 
 
 "You are wrong," said the second. "It is 
 just the other way." 
 
 " I am sure that I am right," said the first, 
 " I shall take the road to the left." 
 
 " I am sure that I am right," said the second, 
 "I shall take the road to the right." 
 
 They had gone some distance when the roads 
 came together again, and the travellers found 
 themselves once more in each other's company. 
 
 " Where are we .'* " asked the first. 
 
I04 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 " I really don't know," said the second. 
 " At any rate, let us eat and drink here," said 
 the first, ''for the sun is hot and I am weary." 
 So they ate and drank and afterward lay down 
 to sleep. 
 
 James Owen Tryon. 
 Williams Literary Monthly. 
 
 Arcady Farewell! 
 
 Large and primal she looked, girl with a 
 woman's growth, as she swung along the moun- 
 tainside with the grace of a forest Dian. I 
 compared her with women elsewhere, womanish 
 girls in pent-up places with their one-ness in con- 
 vention. The Swiss girl's woollen skirt scarce 
 covered her knees, and below it her legs showed 
 bare and brown, and her footprints, by their 
 lightness, barely visible in the morning sod or 
 beaten path, might have marked the swiftest 
 nymph in Thessaly. She crossed the last knoll 
 of the foot-hills, appearing for a moment in quick 
 relief against the red sky-line. Her hair, in no 
 way bound, and lifting in the breeze, showed her 
 neck full and straight from the crown. Disap- 
 pearing, she left floating a Tyrolese air by which 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE IO5 
 
 I followed her. She had turned in the village, 
 and, arms akimbo, looked longingly into a 
 gaudy shop where the peasants buy their 
 things. Then she looked down, digging her 
 toe in the sand impatiently. She passed 
 through the village, and I lost her. There 
 is no Arcady. And with Virgil (or any one 
 else) I say that the choral ringing woods are 
 gone and the virgin of the forest has run away 
 with Pan. For in the dingy window what but 
 a pair of shoes! Wood ones with fastenings 
 of red leather ! 
 
 F. A. L. 
 
 Yale Literary Magazine. 
 
 Exhibits in a Trial of Hearts* 
 
 Exhibit A. 
 
 February 6, 1899. 
 Mr. J. HopPE : — Can't come, Jack. Heart 
 broken. Will write. Mabelle. 
 
 Exhibit B. 
 
 February 6, 1 899. 
 Miss Mabelle Prom: — Awfully sorry. 
 Likewise heart broken. Jack. 
 
I06 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 Exhibit C. 
 
 February 6, 1899. 
 Miss Isabella Dance : — ... Can't you 
 come to the Hop, Friday "^ I would have written 
 you long ere this, but I have been laid up with 
 grippe. Do come. . . . Jack. 
 
 Exhibit D. 
 
 February 7, 1899. 
 Mr. J. HopPE : — Will be delighted. Arrive 
 at 4.58 Friday. Isabella. 
 
 Exhibit E. 
 
 February 9, 1899. 
 Mr. J. HopPE : — Coming after all. Hurrah ! 
 Arrive 5.15 Friday. Mabelle. 
 
 Exhibit F. 
 
 February 12, 1899. 
 Mr. J. Hoppe: — 
 
 expense account. 
 
 Per tickets, carriages, etc., etc. . ^20.00 
 
 Per ticket for roommate to take 
 
 Mabelle ..... 6.00 
 
 Per flowers, candy and other offer- 
 ings to win back favour . . 50.00 
 
 Per broken heart and personal mis- 
 ery (incalculable) 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE I07 
 
 Exhibit G. 
 
 February 12, 1899. 
 Dear Mr. Hoppe : — I return your ring. 
 
 Mabelle Prom. 
 
 Exhibit H. 
 
 February 12, 1899. 
 Dear Mr. Hoppe : — I return your pin. 
 
 Isabella Dance. 
 
 Exhibit I. 
 (From the Herald.) 
 The engagement of Mr. J. Hoppe and Miss 
 Neverdance is announced. 
 
 Wrinkle. 
 
 The Proprieties* 
 
 "I don't know about that," he said. 
 
 "I know you don't," she replied, with some- 
 thing approaching asperity. " But I do. One 
 must have a Httle regard for the proprieties." 
 
 "But I can't see why — " 
 
 " That makes little difference if I can. You 
 know perfectly well that I'd love to do it." 
 
 "Then I don't understand — " 
 
 "Why will you persist in flaunting your 
 
I08 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 weakness of comprehension in my face ? It 
 would be quite dark." 
 
 " You've been down there alone when it 
 wasn't any lighter. And it is the moonrise 
 we were going to see any way." 
 
 "The moonrise would be only a hundred 
 yards nearer even if we did go down on the 
 beach." 
 
 " It's much better than this glary old veranda, 
 though. The clean white sand and the sound 
 of the breakers and the light on the water — " 
 
 " Yes, and the nice slimy seaweed and those 
 lovely squshy jellyfish and — " 
 
 " You needn't guy a man about it. I suppose 
 if you won't go I'll have to try somebody else. 
 Do you fancy that Claire Vance would come ? " 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder. Good-bye." 
 
 " Er — a — say, Margie, hadn't you better, 
 come .-* " 
 
 " My dear — I mean, you foolish boy ! Mother 
 doesn't like to have me wander off after dark 
 on the beach. Besides, you're going with Claire 
 Vance." 
 
 " If I must, I must. Good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye." 
 
 " Eh, Margie ? " 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE IO9 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " You've been down alone, haven't you ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " She doesn't object to that ? " 
 
 " No. It's going off with — '* 
 
 " The fellows. That's what I thought. Now 
 if I should go down there alone. — Are you 
 listening ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And if you should happen to take a little 
 stroll just on the breakwater — " 
 
 "If I should." 
 
 "Why, if I chanced to meet you, it really 
 wouldn't be civil for me to pass by without a 
 word, would it .-* " 
 
 " Oh no, indeed." 
 
 "Well, good-bye." 
 
 " Where are you going ? " 
 
 " I'm going to take a turn on the beach to 
 see the moon rise." 
 
 " How nice ! I may go over that way myself 
 later. Good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye." 
 
 p. B. 
 Amherst Literary Monthly. 
 
I lO CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 The Freshman Enters the Debate* 
 
 Mr. President, Honourable Judges, Ladies 
 and Gentlemen (flustered) : I beg your pardon, 
 but there aren't any ladies present. The ques- 
 tion before us to-night is resolved that the U. S. 
 should build and maintain a much greater navy 
 than at present. Remember the question. 
 
 Now, Honourable Judges, I do not think that 
 the U. S. should adopt the free coinage of silver 
 at the ratio of i6 to i. Then there's Hawaii. 
 I can not see that the restriction of immigration 
 will do us any good, and what's the use of retain- 
 ing the Philippines if we don't want them ? Mr. 
 President, think of the nations of Europe ! Can 
 we stand idly by .-* No ; the time for us to act 
 is passed, and when we think of our national 
 honour, when we think of woman suffrage, when 
 we think of free trade and protection, it is then, 
 Honourable Judges, that we decide that the U. S. 
 should have a much greater navy than she has 
 at present. I thank you. 
 
 Wrinkle. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE I 1 1 
 
 A Cigarette^ 
 
 Staying late one evening at the Officers' 
 Club, I looked up from my paper and found 
 myself alone with old Colonel Cox, every one 
 else having gone home. Although I knew the 
 colonel very well, I had never heard him spin a 
 yarn, for which, by the way, he had quite a 
 reputation. Thinking this a favourable oppor- 
 tunity, I laid the paper aside and engaged him 
 in conversation. I first told a story myself, as 
 the conversation seemed to lag, and then asked 
 the colonel for a yarn. 
 
 "Well, if you insist," said he ; "but first give 
 me a cigarette. They play a large part in my 
 life, as well as in my story." 
 
 I hastened to offer him a cigarette, which he 
 lighted in a leisurely manner, and after a proper 
 show of reluctance he opened fire. 
 
 " It happened many years ago. I was then 
 a first classman at the Academy,' and I regret 
 to say a prominent member of the ' Immor- 
 tals.' ^ I had lately been caught in various 
 
 ^ Senior at West Point. 
 
 '^ Men of lowest possible standing. 
 
112 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 scrapes, and already had a ghastly array of 
 demerits constantly staring me in the face. In 
 fact, had I committed the slightest faux pas of 
 any description at that time, I should at present, 
 sir, be denied the honour of calling myself an 
 officer of the U. S. Army." 
 
 While the colonel was clearing his throat I 
 hazarded the remark that his series of narrow 
 escapes began early in life. 
 
 "It was in June," he continued, without 
 assenting to my remark, " I met her at the 
 hop. She was of a very fine Southern family. 
 Ah ! that was a great campaign. I had to fight 
 with a dashing young captain for every moment 
 of her society. His name was Grier. Against 
 him I employed all the strategies known to 
 modern warfare. He was good, but I was 
 better. Then, too, you know, I was practically 
 in disgrace, which of course was of the greatest 
 assistance to me. The first time I met her I 
 told her all about it. I told her how ' Sept ' 
 Moor and 'Piggie' Perkins, unbeknown to me, 
 had hauled up my chimney, for safe-keeping, a 
 roasted turkey that they received from* Piggie's ' 
 home, and how I got all the blame. I explained 
 to her that I didn't see why they should suspect 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE II3 
 
 me, simply because half of the specimens in the 
 geological collection were missing when * exams ' 
 came around. Besides, there was no loss of 
 property, for they were all found afterward, 
 'having evidently been thrown out the window,' 
 as the instructor reported." 
 
 By this time the colonel had warmed up to 
 his story, and it took only a moment to light a 
 fresh cigarette, when he began again. 
 
 " Well, I got on finely with her. The next 
 day I found time to call ; and, by the way, it 
 might be well to state here that I always seemed 
 to be more apt at finding time than any other 
 man in the Academy. As the June air was 
 delightfully refreshing, I proposed a walk ; she 
 acquiesced. Now, as luck would have it, I hap- 
 pened to have some cigarettes about me. Cadets 
 were forbidden to smoke, but as we were stroll- 
 ing along a lonely part of 'Flirtation,' and she 
 didn't object, I thought I'd risk it. I was to 
 graduate in a few days, and if I should be 
 caught — well, I shouldn't have been an officer 
 to-day. I ' lit up,' and we were chatting pleas- 
 antly together, when suddenly round the corner 
 strode no other person than Captain Grier. I 
 threw the cigarette away before he saw me, but 
 
114 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 it struck a tree and fell directly in the path 
 between us, smoking like a Vesuvius. 
 
 " Grier stopped, stared at me for a moment, 
 then said, curtly, ' Smoking, Mr. Cox ? Con- 
 sider yourself under arrest, sir, and report to 
 the commandant.' 
 
 *' I was completely dazed for a moment, as it 
 dawned upon me that my one ambition, my 
 whole future career, was shattered. But 
 on the instant a merry little peal of laughter 
 rang out beside me, and a sweet voice remarked, 
 amusedly, yet reluctantly, 'Why, captain, how 
 funny, 'tis / who was smoking. I just threw 
 the cigarette away.' " 
 
 After some minutes' silence, the colonel rose 
 and marched toward the door. 
 
 "Colonel," said I, *' under the circumstances 
 there was but one thing for you to do. Your gal- 
 lantry, you know. You should have married her." 
 
 " Y-e-s, but you know often when I come home 
 late at night — " 
 
 He stopped, glanced suddenly at the clock, 
 seized his cap, and bolted for home, remarking, 
 as he slammed the door : " I'm d — ed if I agree 
 with you." J. M. Parker. 
 
 Cornell Magazine. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE II5 
 
 A Short Conversation^ 
 
 " Why is it men are so slow to take hints ? " 
 she asked, looking at him with questioning eyes. 
 
 "Are they always?" he asked, in return, as 
 though surprised. 
 
 "Almost always. Sometimes I think they 
 must be very blind indeed, or else — " 
 
 " Or else what } " 
 
 " They don't care. And you see it's so hard 
 to decide which is true. I hate to think them 
 all blind, and — " 
 
 " I am sure they care," he interrupted. 
 
 " Now, I once heard of a man," she continued, 
 meditatively, " who was not blind, and who really 
 did care. I should like to have met him." 
 
 " Please tell me about him," he begged. 
 
 " Well, you see he was a very nice man indeed. 
 Only the girl hadn't known him very long — had 
 just met him the week before, in fact, but dur- 
 ing that week she had seen him almost every 
 night. He was very polite and, having known 
 her such a short time, was very discreet — as 
 he should have been, of course," she added. 
 
 "Of course," he repeated. 
 
Il6 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 "But one night at a dance the girl thought 
 she would like him to be a little bit indiscreet, 
 just a little, you know, so she gave the very 
 slightest of hints." 
 
 "What was it?" 
 
 " She told him she liked men who weren't 
 conventional, and who didn't always think of 
 how things would appear, and then she asked 
 him to take her out into the conservatory, and 
 — well, he wasn't conventional, that's all." 
 
 " He was just a trifle indiscreet." 
 
 " Exactly. Of course she wouldn't have hinted 
 if she hadn't rather liked the man and fancied he 
 liked her." 
 
 " I'm sure he must have liked her very much." 
 
 "Well, he was a man who understood, you 
 see. Oh, dear, there's my carriage, and I really 
 must go. I'm not going to tell Arthur, though, 
 for he always enjoys walking home, he says. So 
 you may see me into the carriage, if you will." 
 
 He bowed and thanked her. A few moments 
 later he went down the steps with her, and to the 
 carriage. 
 
 " Isn't it a beautiful night ? " she said. " So 
 cold and clear. I always feel particularly happy 
 on such a night," 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE II7 
 
 "And I particularly gay," he rejoined. 
 
 He opened the door of the carriage and helped 
 her in. 
 
 "Good night," said he, and closed the door. 
 
 She rapped lightly on the glass. "Let the 
 window down," she begged. 
 
 When he had done so, she explained : " The 
 air is so fresh I'd much rather have it blow in. 
 I'm well protected, you see." 
 
 "Yes, I see," he answered, and he put his 
 head in at the window and looked at her. " Yes, 
 very well protected. Good night." 
 
 Rupert S. Holland. 
 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 DuNROY looked big and wholesome as he 
 came across the campus in cool ducks and 
 rowing jersey that hot August afternoon. The 
 rowing jersey displayed to best advantage his 
 perfectly muscled arms and magnificent shoul- 
 ders, and the owner of them evidently knew it, 
 judging from his air of satisfaction and comfort. 
 A party of summer visitors passed him, and one 
 of the women turned to look. 
 
Il8 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 "That's Dunroy, the 'Varsity tackle," the 
 guide explained, and then all the women fol- 
 lowed the example of the first. Unconscious 
 of this admiration, Dunroy turned the corner of 
 Old North and narrowly escaped walking over a 
 youth who wore glasses and carried a book. 
 
 " Hello, old man — didn't know you were 
 back," said Dunroy, extending his hand, which 
 the other took hesitatingly. 
 
 "We're the only people here," Dunroy con- 
 tinued. " Come up and see me, won't you ? I 
 am rooming over on Mercer Street." 
 
 Old Man called that evening, and he and 
 Dunroy talked over everything from football to 
 faculty. When Old Man took his hat to depart, 
 Dunroy volunteered to walk up-town with him. 
 The street was crowded, — it was Saturday night 
 when the town people promenade, — and a score 
 of pedestrians stared after the football player 
 longer than was consistent with good breeding. 
 Old Man saw this, and he threw back his stoop- 
 ing shoulders and strode along proudly. They 
 had ice in a restaurant, and as they reached the 
 street again, a young man with a cigarette and a 
 dress-suit case pounced upon Dunroy with a joy 
 that was unfeigned. Old Man went on down 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE II9 
 
 the street toward home, and heard the man 
 with the cigarette inquire, with a disagreeable 
 inflection, ** Who's your friend?" He heard 
 Dunroy laugh indulgently. Old Man lay awake 
 that night thinking hard, and before he went 
 to sleep he resolved not to visit the house on 
 Mercer Street again. But when Dunroy called 
 under the window next morning. Old Man 
 grabbed his cap eagerly, and the two walked 
 ten miles over Rocky Hill before lunch-time. 
 
 This was the beginning of an acquaintance 
 that grew very close under the soft, sleepy vaca- 
 tion spell of the old campus. Each told the 
 other of his hopes and aspirations, and there 
 were few heart secrets of one that the other did 
 not know. Old Man was happy in Dunroy' s 
 confidence ; but sometimes, when they loafed 
 in the shade of a campus elm, dreaming away 
 the quiet summer afternoon, or tramped with 
 cleek and niblech across the golf links, he 
 doubted. 
 
 One week there was unusual stir among the 
 University minions ; the dormitory doors stood 
 open, and Biddies with brooms and bunches of 
 keys waited about the entries. With suit-cases 
 and Freshman brothers, with song and joyous 
 
I20 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 greeting, the students returned. Old friend- 
 ships were cemented for another happy year, 
 and after a week of confusion the University 
 settled into its accustomed routine. The foot- 
 ball men came back a few days earlier, and then 
 it was that Old Man began to miss Dunroy. 
 There were no more cross-country walks, no 
 more tennis games, and Old Man was lone- 
 some. The only time he saw Dunroy was 
 when he went down to 'Varsity field to watch 
 practice. One night after college was opened 
 he climbed the stairs to Dunroy's room. There 
 were a number of classmates there whom Old 
 Man knew by sight. Dunroy introduced him 
 to the crowd with careless grace ; but Old Man 
 went away soon. They seemed too happy. 
 
 The next day Old Man passed Dunroy, who 
 was coming from Prospect with a crowd of fellow 
 club-men. Dunroy, with his arm on another's 
 shoulder, was deeply engaged in conversation, 
 and did not hear Old Man's salutation. Again 
 they met, face to face on the stairs in Dickin- 
 son ; but Dunroy was hurrying to a class, and 
 did not see Old Man or the look of appeal in his 
 eyes. Five minutes later, in the solitude of his 
 room. Old Man buried his face in a pile of sofa- 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 121 
 
 pillows and sobbed bitterly. He cut classes 
 all that day, and when night came, and the gas- 
 lights flickered in his entry, he did a very foolish 
 thing. 
 
 It was time for all football men to be in bed 
 when Dunroy hurried across Nassau Street 
 toward the campus. At the gate he noticed 
 a group of men and paused. 
 
 " Don't say anything about — please don't," 
 said a voice, entreatingly ; *' he never did it 
 before." 
 
 Dunroy drew near. In the midst of the 
 group he saw Old Man was hatless, a wild, 
 fearful look shone from his wandering eyes, 
 and tears ran down his cheeks. A hard-faced 
 proctor confronted the three. 
 
 Dunroy regarded Old Man with an expression 
 of amusement and contempt. 
 
 " I didn't think it of you," he said. *' You're 
 a fool." And he walked away whistling. 
 
 Leonard H. Robbins. 
 Nassau Literary Magazine. 
 
122 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 The Shooting of Barrows, Freshman* 
 
 Jim Barrows was a fair student and an 
 influential Senior, but had been a very green 
 Freshman. As he had come from somewhere 
 back in the woods and had almost wholly pre- 
 pared himself, the ideas he brought to college 
 were extraordinary. Freshman year he roomed 
 on the lower floor front of Rood House. Some 
 Seniors and a "Medic." had the rooms where 
 the coop store now is. Jim always had to touch 
 his hat to the Seniors, and had to call the Medic. 
 " Doctor." 
 
 He had not been in town a month before an 
 incident occurred whose memory stuck to him 
 through his whole course. His neighbours had 
 filled him with hazing yarns until, stout-hearted 
 as he was, he really despaired of getting through 
 college alive. 
 
 One evening three Sophomores were return- 
 ing late from a partridge hunt over back of 
 Norwich. Aside from a few hard green apples, 
 they had nothing to show for their tramping. 
 As they were wearily trudging by Rood House, 
 they espied the unfortunate Jim standing be- 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 23 
 
 tween his lamp and the wide-open window. His 
 back was toward them and his shoulders were 
 bare. The night was dark. One man quietly 
 cocked his gun, another selected a very hard 
 apple, the third counted, "one, two, three." 
 Bang, went the charge of shot in the air, 
 while the well-thrown apple smacked stingingly 
 between Jim's shoulders. 
 
 He didn't make a sound, just turned the most 
 pitiful-looking face to the window, and then 
 rushed across the hall. "They've done it at 
 last," he gasped, bursting in upon the Seniors. 
 " Where's the doctor t I'm shot, I'm shot. You 
 fellows explain it all to mother, how a man has 
 to run his chances when he goes to college." 
 
 A full explanation appeared in the next issue 
 of the ^gis. 
 
 F. V. Bennis. 
 Dartmouth Literary Monthly. 
 
 An Alien^ 
 
 " Throw up your hands, there ! " 
 
 The answer was the flash and crack from 
 three rifles. A trooper lurched forward heavily 
 over his horse's neck. 
 
124 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 " Fire ! " cried the sheriff. 
 
 The Boy sighted along his gun-barrel as coolly 
 as though he were at home on his grandfather's 
 farm, shooting at a mark. All three men on 
 the opposite bank fell. Two struggled to rise, 
 but one lay motionless. The troopers splashed 
 into the ford, the Boy following them. An 
 excitement such as he had never felt before 
 had succeeded his calmness. The sheriff bent 
 over the dead man. 
 
 " Charlie Kirk ! " he exclaimed, "the leader of 
 the whole gang. He's your man too, sonny," 
 turning to the Boy. *' Only one of your slugs 
 could make that," and he pointed to a hole in 
 the man's forehead from which the blood was 
 oozing, drop by drop. The Boy looked at the 
 dead face. It was young and handsome, and 
 the repose of death gave it a refinement, 
 almost a nobility, which it might have lacked 
 in life. 
 
 " Did I do that ? " muttered the Boy, thickly. 
 
 " Makes you feel sort of winded, don't it .'' " 
 said the sheriff. " I recollect the first time I 
 knocked over a man myself. But you needn't 
 cry much over kzm. He's the biggest horse- 
 thief in Arizona, and I reckon he's plugged 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 25 
 
 several of that kind of holes in the citizens of 
 these parts." 
 
 The Boy mounted his horse unsteadily. " I 
 guess I'll go up to camp," he said, and, paying 
 no heed to the sheriff's laugh, he rode into the 
 ford again. 
 
 As the Boy wound slowly up the trail he 
 wondered if it could be only two months since 
 he was mowing hay on the old farm in New- 
 Hampshire, and moving his scythe carefully lest 
 he should hurt some of the many little crea- 
 tures that live in the meadows. To-day he had 
 killed a man as indifferently as he would have 
 shot a squirrel. What was it to him if the man 
 was a horse-thief ? He had not stolen his horse. 
 In New Hampshire horses were not considered 
 of so much more value than men. 
 
 When he looked up at last he saw that he was 
 on a new trail, leading over a part of the moun- 
 tain unknown to him. All about him was the 
 dark, solemn mountain, without sign of civilisa- 
 tion except one cabin in the bend of the trail. 
 Flowers blossomed in the plot around it, vines 
 twined over the little porch, and white curtains 
 fluttered at the windows. Homesick tears filled 
 the Boy's eyes, it was all so cheerful and happy 
 
126 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 in the midst of that dreary land. A woman 
 stepped into the trail from the open door. She 
 was young and sweet-faced. The late sunlight 
 made her brown hair gleam like bronze and 
 touched her cheeks with rose. Her eyes, as 
 she lifted them to the Boy, were as soft and 
 innocent as a little child's. The Boy gave a 
 great sigh like one awakening from an evil 
 dream ; life out in the far, strange country was 
 not all violence and death. 
 
 " Good evening, stranger, won't you 'light ? " 
 said the woman. " We'll have some supper as 
 soon as my husband comes. I'm waiting for 
 him now. Maybe you passed him ? His name's 
 Charlie Kirk." The hand on the horse's bridle 
 twitched violently and a fierce trouble leaped 
 into the Boy's eyes, but his voice was steady as 
 he answered, " No, ma'am, I ain't ever known 
 him. I've got to be pushing on, thank you ! " 
 
 As he spurred his horse down the trail, 
 although he did not know it, he was the Boy 
 no more. 
 
 Grace Margaret Gallaher. 
 
 Vassar Miscellany. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 27 
 
 At the End of It. 
 
 Sometimes it is the college life that brings 
 out in a man's four years the best that is in 
 him ; sometimes it is the struggle for college 
 life. I have known men to sing and whistle 
 away their dinner-hour, lest others returning 
 well filled should think them hungry. I have 
 known men to grind out good mathematics 
 under the impetus of a gnawing abdomen ; to 
 grow harsh and disagreeable under the double 
 strain, and yet withal to retain a tender feehng 
 for the college mother. It was the last night of 
 the year, with the big hall deserted and lone- 
 some, that one such man came into my room, 
 and strolling to the window looked out into the 
 darkness of the court below. I knew he did 
 not wish to talk, so I left him to himself. His 
 story I knew too well. 
 
 He had entered college an unknown Fresh- 
 man ; he had waited on table for his board ; he 
 had passed papers for his room rent ; had gone 
 on to the gridiron in the afternoon, and studied 
 late into the night. After two years the honours 
 came, first the '' S," then the captain of it, but 
 
128 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 even that could not atone for the hardships still 
 pressing. A 'Varsity captain must live, and the 
 bigger he is the more he must eat. In the last 
 days he was a hero, but his previous struggle 
 made light the honour he should have felt. 
 " Let's go and get drunk," he said, at last, turn- 
 ing suddenly. I was trying to solve him, and 
 was finding the problem hard. I laid my pipe 
 away and took down my hat without replying. 
 He opened the door and we went out. A hun- 
 dred yards down the road he stopped. " I don't 
 want to get drunk," he said; "I've never been 
 drunk in my four years. Let's steal fruit — any- 
 thing — I can't stand it." We started toward 
 the orchards, known of old to the Phi-Phis, but 
 we had not gone far when he stopped again. 
 
 " I'm going to bed, old man," he exclaimed, 
 and turned about. I was still studying him,- 
 when he opened the conversation. 
 
 " I haven't any blankets to-night," he began ; 
 " they are in my trunk, and my trunk is in Palo 
 Alto. As I spent my first night, when the 
 student's transfer forgot my trunk, so I spend 
 my last one, — between the mattresses." 
 
 "My roommate is away," I said; "take his 
 bed." So it was agreed. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 29 
 
 We reached the hall, and, turning down the 
 dark passage, climbed the stairs to my room. 
 At the entrance he stopped and spoke. He 
 began harshly, but before he finished speaking 
 his voice broke. 
 
 " I'm not going to sleep here," he said. " I'm 
 going to my own room. It's the last — night 
 — and — I'll not be here again." 
 
 An hour later, taking some bedclothes in my 
 arms, I slipped around to his room and quietly 
 opened the door. In the middle of the room 
 was the bed, and between the mattresses a 
 figure. 
 
 " I brought you some bedclothes," I began. 
 
 " Go 'way, Ham," he said. " I don't want 
 them." 
 
 I left him and closed the door, and he was 
 alone with his room, 
 
 J. R. Hamilton. 
 
 Stanford Sequoia. 
 
 Told by the Doctor* 
 
 Doctor B. never partook of our hospitality 
 without duly rewarding us with a story, usually 
 a personal experience ; and as he had spent a 
 
130 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 large part of his life in India, as surgeon in 
 the British army, the tales were varied and 
 exciting. 
 
 We had been discussing the possibility of 
 death caused by fright, and some one had made 
 the statement that it was all foolishness to 
 believe that a man was ever killed in that way. 
 
 "I know better," said the doctor. *' Listen 
 to this little incident of my life in India, and 
 then see what you think about it. 
 
 "We had just finished tiffin, and were sitting 
 around the table trying to keep cool. We con- 
 versed in a desultory fashion, until we got started 
 on the subject of snakes, when young J. stated 
 that he had been in India six months, and as yet 
 had not seen a cobra. 
 
 " * What would you do, if you suddenly became 
 aware that a cobra was crawling across your- 
 leg ? ' I idly asked. 
 
 " * Do .? Why, I'd knock it off like a flash, and 
 shoot it.' 
 
 " 'You'd be a fool if you did,' said old Major 
 C, as he tipped back his chair, and thrust his 
 arm through the open window, resting it on the 
 sill. 
 
 " ' Well, then, what would j/ou do ? ' asked J. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE I3I 
 
 " * Sit still till he'd crawled off, and then shoot 
 him,' said the major. 
 
 " ' There isn't a man living who has the 
 nerve — ' 
 
 "*For God's sake don't move, major,' I inter- 
 rupted, in a whisper ; ' don't stir, don't breathe ; 
 there's one of those devils crawling up your arm.' 
 
 "The major turned a shade paler, but sat like 
 a statue carved from stone ; not a muscle in his 
 face moved, and he scarcely seemed to breathe. 
 J. and I were almost as still, as we watched the 
 devilish, beautiful thing with a sort of fascination. 
 It seemed unaware of our presence, and glided 
 slowly along the man's arm, over his shoulder, 
 and across his breast, stopping from time to 
 time, and swaying its head gracefully from side 
 to side. 
 
 " The suspense was horrible, but we could do 
 nothing, as the slightest movement on our part 
 meant death to our companion. At last the 
 creature slid slowly down to the ground, and had 
 glided half-way to the door, when J. suddenly 
 drew his revolver, and fired, blowing the brute 
 to atoms. 
 
 *V' You have wonderful nerves, major,' I said, 
 turning with a sigh of relief. He made no reply. 
 
132 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 but sat staring straight ahead, with fixed, glazed 
 eyes. I touched his hand, but drew away in 
 horror, for it was rigid. 
 
 "And that," said the doctor, *'is how I know 
 that death can be caused by fright." 
 
 The Tech. 
 
 Overheard — In Arcady? 
 
 " Well, now, I think — " 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! Be quiet, will you t Think ! 
 Keep thinking ! " 
 
 " I was going to say that I think — " 
 
 " But you don't think. You only think you 
 think." 
 
 " Bah, lad. You talk like a Shakespeare fool 
 at his worst." 
 
 " And you — you talk like Hall Caine at his 
 best. Now, let me work." 
 
 " Well, as I was going to say — " 
 
 "That's better! Oh, Lord, that's better! 
 * Going to say ! ' A moment ago you were 
 going to think. But whatever you're going to 
 do, leave me out of it." 
 
 « Well — " 
 
 " Shut up ! " 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 33 
 
 " I was going to say — '* 
 
 " Again ? " 
 
 " I've got to be going along." 
 
 " How ? What ? Don't be an ass, man. I'll 
 be through this stuff in a couple of minutes, and 
 then we'll hit up the pipe and sherry. Sit down ! 
 Well, if you won't, go to the devil. Good night, 
 Mike." 
 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
 Fable of the Two Men and the 
 Pomegranate* 
 
 Now it happened once upon a time that two 
 young men were travelling along a country road 
 and conversing of ambition. The one said, " I 
 am ever striving for lofty ideals and high favours, 
 for 'tis only thus that one can become President." 
 
 The other said, " I take what fortune throws 
 into my lap. The paths of glory lead but to the 
 undertaker's, and I'm a democrat, anyway." 
 
 Now they had not gone many paces when they 
 saw by the roadside a pomegranate-tree with a 
 single pom hanging from a lofty branch. 
 
 " I wish that I had it," sighed the fellow. 
 
134 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 **I, too, wish it," said the other, "but I do 
 more than idly wish. Behold ! " So saying, 
 he climbed into the tree after it. But just as he 
 was about to grasp it the wind swayed the 
 branch, the fruit fell, and the fellow below 
 caught it and ate it. 
 
 IMMORAL. 
 
 Caesar was ambitious. What's the use, any- 
 
 way ? 
 
 Princeton Tizer. 
 
 <b' 
 
 Unavailable* 
 
 The two subsequent tales were perpetrated 
 by a secret concentration of several " Courant 
 stories." In a manner they are epitomes of the 
 sort of thing it doesn't pay to "hand in." 
 
 This is one sort : 
 
 It was an awf'ly fine day. Really delicious. 
 There were lots of pretty girls about. And a 
 soft, balmy breeze was sighing in the trees. The 
 girls were very pretty. It was distracting. So 
 thought Archibald Waters. Archibald threw 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 35 
 
 aside his book with a muttered curse. He could 
 see the pretty girls from his window. And he 
 knew that a balmy breeze was sighing through 
 the trees, 
 
 *' Oh," he sighed, pacing his room like a 
 panther, and again, "Oh." Suddenly his face 
 grew diabolic. His white lips curled back from 
 his clenched teeth. *' Darn it ! " he cried aloud 
 in anguish. Suddenly he staggered backward. 
 He pressed his hands to his fevered brow. He 
 was thinking of his mother. Etc. 
 
 This is the other sort : 
 
 The prairie rolled away. Distant grumblings 
 of thunder grumbled. It was going to rain. 
 
 My little mustang was nervous. And I, 
 although I have seen so many horrible things, 
 ah ! so very many horrible things, I too was 
 nervous. A premonition that something hor- 
 rible was going to happen came over me like 
 a flash. It was horrible ! 
 
 My hair rose swiftly, and I glanced at my 
 Indian guide, who was riding sullenly at my side, 
 as he had done for many, many miles, saying 
 nothing, but looking surly and sullen, and so 
 
136 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 murderous that I had already frequently cursed 
 my childlike foolishness in taking unto myself 
 such a devil, such a brute, such a — Suddenly 
 it began to rain, and fearing if it continued we 
 would get wet, I dismounted from my little 
 mustang, who was appearing still more nervous, 
 as if she, too, felt the fell clutch of the horrible 
 premonition which had come over her beloved 
 master like a flash. 
 
 We encamped. The prairie rolled away. It 
 rained, ah ! so drearily. 
 
 I turned to my Indian guide. 
 
 He was not there ! 
 
 So it was true ! 
 
 Something had happened. 
 
 Etc. 
 
 These two may be classed as the '' Lyric 
 Love," and the '' Epic Indian." They are fre- 
 quently astonishing ; but they do not interest 
 a sufficiently large number of readers. This is 
 our sole objection to them. 
 
 Samuel G. Camp. 
 
 Yale Courant. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 37 
 
 A Queen* 
 
 He loafed into the room, slumped into the 
 window-seat and gazed reflectively at the last 
 faint traces of a once gorgeous sunset. In the 
 silence that followed, I suppose he thought that 
 he was communing with me, for we are believers 
 in that poetic creed. But I was worrying over 
 a cash book with two ends that couldn't be per- 
 suaded to meet, and the golden medium didn't 
 work. He heaved a sigh or two, — to no avail, 
 for I was chasing an errant thought, — and 
 finally spoke in tragic tones : 
 
 " She's a queen ! " 
 
 ^'No doubt." 
 
 " But she'd show a good head if she wouldn't 
 come over to any more football games." 
 
 "No doubt." (I was making a mental tour 
 of all the stores in town now, and had worried 
 the difference down to less distressing dimen- 
 sions.) 
 
 "There are two things an average girl can't 
 do — " 
 
 "More than that." 
 
 " One is to preserve her beauty in the surf, 
 
138 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 and the other is to show intelHgence on the side 
 lines." 
 
 " No doubt." (It was a mere matter of dimes 
 now and I rejoiced that the end was near.) 
 There was an ominous silence followed by a 
 thud as a pillow landed. I gave up the chase 
 and paid undivided attention. 
 
 " Give me no more of your doubts and no 
 doubts," he said. " What I want is a little sym- 
 pathy. Got her well seated on the stand, and just 
 began to give her a pointer or two, when she waxed 
 poetical. Said the five-yard marks reminded her 
 of the first verse in *Tosti's Farewell.' " 
 
 " How's that .? " 
 
 " * Lines of white on a sullen sea ! ' Didn't 
 like the uniforms as well as white ducks and 
 cheviots. Wanted to know why they kept stop- 
 ping to stand up in those funny rows. Won- 
 dered why we didn't kick a goal from our own 
 ten-yard line. Noticed that one of them hit 
 another when he didn't need to. And finally 
 crooned for joy when a run of fifty yards was 
 made around our left end." 
 
 "Well, it's all over now," I said, in attempt 
 to comfort him. " You won't have to go through 
 it again." 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 39 
 
 "Yes, I will, too," he said, quickly. And then 
 he tried to look unconcerned : 
 
 ^^ Oh! — you will?" 
 
 But he went away. Just because I laughed, 
 I suppose. But he's right. She is a queen. 
 
 Amherst Literary Monthly. 
 
 At Mott Haven. 
 
 The race had started. Before I had time to 
 notice anything — before my brain had recovered 
 from the strain of listening for the pistol — we 
 all rose mechanically to the first hurdle. Then 
 ideas began to flash in, clear and distinct. Be- 
 fore the second hurdle I realised that I was 
 behind, and even recognised my opponents, 
 partly by remembering their positions at the 
 start, partly by noticing their peculiar gaits. 
 There was Bright ; and, to my left, Stevens ; be- 
 yond him, the six-feet-four of Heard, — two from 
 Yale, she had one place sure. At the third 
 hurdle I was still behind, but gaining ; last year, 
 too, they were all ahead of me for half the race. 
 
 The fourth flight : I could hear the crowd 
 yelling, and could distinguish my name in the 
 babel. One voice, puzzlingly familiar, rose 
 
140 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 above the others in a cry of " Harvard." Weeks 
 afterward, a friend surprised me (for he is 
 not usually interested in athletics) by men- 
 tioning that he had seen the race. At once 
 I was back on the track and hearing his 
 "Harvard." 
 
 At the fifth hurdle — half-way through the 
 race — we were all abreast. She said they had 
 seats opposite the hundred finish ; that was the 
 next flight ; but I remembered how Conant fell 
 last year, and did not dare look round even to 
 see if she was wearing that bit of ribbon. Yet 
 I must have begun to dream of last winter, of 
 the dances before I went into training, for all at 
 once there were only two hurdles in front of me. 
 How like clock-work the long weeks' training 
 had made the motion. Seven steps and a — 
 
 And then I felt some one spurting behind me 
 on my left — that must be Stevens. I had 
 never run against him before ; if he should 
 prove a strong finisher ! Bright noticed his 
 spurt, too, and tried to equal him. But, instead, 
 he weakened terribly, and fell behind over the 
 ninth hurdle. 
 
 That was my time, I knew. With the extra 
 effort came a sense of exhilaration. How easy 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE I4I 
 
 it had been to clear the ninth flight, and what a 
 pleasure it was to run ! 
 
 Yet how odd it all was, — the judges and 
 timers pressing forward around the finish-line, 
 the crowd cheering and excited, and we four 
 running and jumping bars of wood placed in our 
 path. Why did we do it ? . . . 
 
 The last flight of all, and then the twenty- 
 yard sprint, straight at the crowd on the track, 
 the snapping of the tape across my chest, and 
 friends grasping my hand. 
 
 J. W. HOPFORD. 
 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
 Metamorphosis* 
 
 Two years ago she flunked lightly through 
 Trig. I sat back of her all that quarter, and 
 worshipped the underneath of her chin, her 
 hair, her choking collar, her wee, wee waist, and 
 her swagger little Oxfords. I, with the rest of 
 the men, did her homage, knelt to her, and 
 burnt incense in unobtrusive silence. She was 
 to me the very essence of light fun and sweet 
 feminine caprice. She footed it so neatly through 
 her cobwebby loves and gaieties. 
 
142 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 To-day I saw her with her husband. She is 
 still that striking thing, — a woman with a beau- 
 tiful back, who does not shock you when she 
 turns around. But I surprised in her eyes, with 
 the glance of recognition, a look so grave and 
 sad that I wondered if she found life a Strauss 
 waltz, — bubbling foam above and heaven knows 
 what briny bitterness beneath. 
 
 A. 
 
 University of Chicago Weekly. 
 
 Two and Two* 
 
 " Dick," she said, arching her eyebrows, " do 
 you really love me .? " 
 
 ** By the eternal stars ! " I cried. 
 
 " If you swear such oaths, I shall be afraid 
 you're trying to convince yourself," she re- 
 marked, lifting her chin at a high angle. 
 
 I kissed her. 
 
 "Why did you dance so often with Alice 
 Weston last night ,-* " she said, with a pout. 
 
 " She is the best dancer here," I answered. 
 
 " Oh, is she .? " 
 
 " Ah, sweet, is it worth while to say that two 
 and two make four t Always excepting you." 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 43 
 
 " Sha'n't I fill your pipe for you ? " she said. 
 That is what she always does when she is 
 pleased. I gave it to her. She very slowly 
 packed the tobacco into the bowl with her little 
 finger. I had once been foolish enough to tell 
 her she never looked quite as pretty as when 
 she was doing that. 
 
 "Yes," I answered, when she handed me the 
 pipe at length, "it is certainly true." 
 
 " What .? " she queried. 
 
 "I don't think you would be interested," 
 said I. 
 
 " Oh, if you adopt that tone, I'm going," she 
 said, fastening two large blue ribbons under her 
 chin. 
 
 "Would you like to know ^ " I asked. 
 
 "Good-bye," she answered, with a radiant 
 smile. 
 
 "Well, then," I said. 
 
 " Well, then ? " 
 
 " Oh," said I, " I was merely thinking that, 
 after all, I am really quite fond of you." 
 
 She gave vent to a little laugh. " Two and 
 two always did make four," said she. 
 
 T/ie Morningside. 
 
144 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 The Man from Yale^ 
 
 I ALWAYS pitied Tom, because he had such 
 hard luck with his love affairs. He was con- 
 tinually getting smitten with some girl, going 
 through the usual agonies of doubt, jealousy, 
 and all that ; and then, finally disillusioned, he 
 would settle down to sensible life till the next 
 girl came along, which was generally in about 
 six months. I hadn't laid eyes on the man for 
 two years ; and when I met him at the club, 
 one afternoon last November, — it was the day 
 before Thanksgiving, — his cheery " Hello, old 
 man ! By Jove ! but I'm glad to see you ! " 
 sent the old-time enthusiasm of a college friend- 
 ship like a thrill into my heart. He looked 
 robust and hearty ; no more nonsense about 
 girls for him, I opined. 
 
 Then he began : " Do you know, old man," 
 with a rather quizzical look, " I was pretty hard 
 hit last summer." 
 
 His face bore the old confidential expression, 
 and my heart sank. I knew I'd got to listen, 
 so I started a fresh pipe and leaned comfortably 
 back. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 45 
 
 " I met lots of girls last summer. There was 
 a girl at Bar Harbour, who seemed afterward 
 to be so sweet on that Harvard chap, — I've 
 forgotten his name, ~ but she didn't count. 
 Neither did that blonde at Marblehead, who 
 used to go saiHng with Jim Trask so much. 
 You remember Jim, —big, dark-skinned fellow, 
 who played on the 'Varsity when Thomas was 
 captain. The girl I mean was the one at Isles- 
 boro, — lovely soft brown hair, and great deep 
 eyes that looked you right through ; you know 
 the kind. 
 
 « We seemed to get along well from the very 
 first. I remember I danced with her four times 
 the first night I met her, and got myself dis- 
 liked for it by all the other men. Jealous, you 
 see. That didn't bother me any, nor her, for 
 that matter, for we used to have most of the 
 dances together at every hop. We went to 
 walk a lot, too, and — well, hang it, you know 
 how a fellow gets to feeling when he is thrown 
 much with a nice girl. I cared for her a great 
 deal. I had been soft on girls before," — charm- 
 ing frankness, I thought, — ^' but this was so 
 different," — like all the rest, I contradicted 
 mentally. 
 
146 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 " Of course everybody made a pile of talk, 
 but I was the happiest man in all Maine, till 
 along came a man from — " 
 
 " Let me finish your yarn for you. Along 
 came a man from Yale." 
 
 " Yes ; I'believe he was a Yale man, but — " 
 
 " No buts, please. This Yale man was good- 
 looking ? " 
 
 *^Yes." 
 
 "Athletic?" 
 
 " Rather." 
 
 " Got quickly into her good graces — " 
 
 "Wait, I tell you. He — " 
 
 " No, I'll go on. They were together a great 
 deal .? " 
 
 " Now, see here, you're the biggest — " 
 
 "And I dare say he used to take her hand 
 now and then ? " 
 
 " You're a perfect ch — " 
 
 " Even kissed her ? " 
 
 Tom looked as though he would have liked to 
 eat me. I was simply taking the wind out of 
 his sails, and he didn't like it. 
 
 "And was always the last one to say good 
 night to her, — in short, cut you out entirely, 
 and was safe at last in calling her his own. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE I47 
 
 Honestly, old man, I'm dead sorry for you. 
 I've been used that way myself." 
 
 I smiled good-naturedly. I dearly love to 
 spoil a man's story, though it's mean, I admit. 
 
 Tom looked hard at me for a minute. 
 
 " You're a born fool ! " he said, deliberately. 
 " If you'll let me, I'll finish my story myself, 
 and finish it straight ; and if you'll take dinner 
 with me to-morrow I'll prove it." 
 
 " Delighted, I'm sure ! " 
 
 *^Now," said he, "I married that girl last 
 October. That Yale man was her father, Class 
 of '69." 
 
 And I didn't say a thing. 
 
 The Tech. 
 
 The Hazing of Sammy* 
 
 The first Monday in September came at last. 
 Sammy Mosely had looked forward to it with 
 great eagerness ; for it was to be an important 
 day in his life. It was to be his fifth birthday ; 
 he was to graduate from petticoats into trousers, 
 and he was to begin his career at the district 
 school. 
 
 It seemed to Sammy that half -past eight would 
 
148 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 never come. He tramped impatiently about the 
 sitting-room, every now and then casting a shy 
 glance of approval at himself in the glass. He 
 certainly did look attractive. His new suit fitted 
 him well, his new necktie was a beautiful shade 
 of red, and his round, freckled face shone with 
 soap and satisfaction. 
 
 At last his mother told him he might start 
 for school. She stood in the door and watched 
 him proudly as he went down the path. He 
 had a red apple clutched tightly in one hand. 
 Under his arm he carried a new slate, with a 
 sponge and a slate-pencil tied to its frame by 
 a long pink string. He marched bravely along 
 undaunted by fears of anything that the new 
 experience might bring him. His mother had 
 offered to go with him, since this was his first 
 morning, but her offer had been a blow to his 
 pride and he had refused indignantly. There had 
 been signs of a tempest of tears, so she had hastily 
 withdrawn her offer, but her assurance for his 
 well-being was by no means so great as his own. 
 
 " Sammy," she had said, impressively, as he 
 was about to start, " I want you to let the big 
 boys alone. Just so sure as you don't you'll 
 come to trouble." 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 49 
 
 With a beaming face, Sammy had promised. 
 His mother watched him out of sight, then 
 she returned to the kitchen to her Monday's 
 washing. 
 
 Some time later, as she was putting up her 
 clothes-Une in the yard, her attention was at- 
 tracted by loud, heart-broken sobs. She recog- 
 nised the voice and hurried to the gate. Her son 
 was coming up the path ; all his manhood gone. 
 His collar was half off. The shine had disap- 
 peared from his face, and the apple from his 
 hand. The slate he still carried, but the 
 sponge and a broken slate-pencil dangled de- 
 jectedly from the string. 
 
 " Sammy," said his mother, in sorrowful, 
 sympathetic reproof, "why couldn't you keep 
 away from the big boys ? " 
 
 " O — O — " sobbed Sammy, in a louder 
 burst of grief and rage, " I d-d-did ! b-but the 
 b-big girls k-kissed me." 
 
 Harriet Goodrich Martin. 
 
 Smith College Monthly. 
 
150 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 A Dangerous Room-mate^ 
 
 A CREW man, when delirious, makes an un- 
 pleasant room-mate. Last spring, during a bad 
 case of grippe, Tom went off his head ; after 
 tearing our rooms to pieces generally, he threw 
 me violently against the door and got into bed. 
 Then he tucked his feet under the lower bar 
 of the foot of his bed and began rowing "to 
 beat the band." Shouts, water, light could not 
 stop him, and as for physical effort — I weigh a 
 hundred and twenty-three ! He worked away 
 for five minutes, and would have kept it up still 
 longer had I not thought of reducing him sud- 
 denly to a state of collapse by a sharp " Let 'er 
 run ! 
 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
 A Scene on a Kansas Ranch. 
 
 I COULD see nothing but a field of alfalfa 
 which stretched away and away into a wooded 
 ravine somewhere off on the horizon. All 
 around were low wooden triangles, for what, 
 I did not know. Before I had time to ask I 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE I5I 
 
 saw several men coming with five wagons loaded 
 with ground corn, which the men unloaded and 
 put in the triangles. Then they began a loud, 
 penetrating call which sounded like " Houpee, 
 houp-ee, h-o-u-p-e-e ! " In a twinkling there 
 formed on the woody horizon a big black cloud 
 which came toward us with marvellous rapidity, 
 and quickly resolved itself into a large drove of 
 little pigs running along on fast pattering hoofs. 
 They squealed and squealed and grunted ; they 
 fell down, rolled over, threw each other down ; 
 they piled themselves three deep in their efforts 
 to get at one trough. At last they were dis- 
 tributed, and when we drove away we left six 
 hundred and seventy-five little black noses 
 burrowing in ground corn, and six hundred and 
 seventy-five throats grunting with satisfaction. 
 
 K. M. D. 
 
 Wells College Chronicle. 
 
 Dead Broke* 
 
 Through the open transom, we could hear 
 him tramp up the stairs and knock at the first 
 door he came to. 
 
 " I wanted to see," he apologised, *' if you 
 
152 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 would help the crew out financially. We've 
 got to raise — " 
 
 " Oh, I'm dead broke ! " 
 
 " That's the common cry, but the fellows 
 ought to support athletics." 
 
 " Well, come in. I can't do much for you." 
 
 The door of the unlucky room shut with a 
 thud, and we could hear the distant confusion 
 of voices within. 
 
 Presently, all along the corridor, doors opened 
 softly, and the inmates of six rooms found busi- 
 ness which called them away for some time, for 
 they all put out their lights before they slipped 
 down the stairs. 
 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
 The New Term* 
 
 "Well," said the Soph, coming into the 
 Senior's room, *'we are really back, aren't 
 we } " 
 
 " Oh, very much so," said the Senior, grimly. 
 She was sitting on the floor by her trunk, with 
 various articles spread around her, and she looked 
 hot, and just a trifle cross. The Soph, on the 
 contrary, looked cool and sweet-tempered. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 53 
 
 " I can hardly realise that the new college 
 year has really begun," she said, cheerfully. 
 
 "Well, really — have you unpacked? That 
 brings it home to me. And if you want to 
 make it still more real, go and wrangle with 
 the authorities about your schedule, and then 
 go down-town and pay eight dollars for your 
 books, merely as a starter." 
 
 " I have a bill, thank goodness," said the Soph, 
 fanning languidly with a note-book. "And I 
 like getting my books. I always feel as if I 
 were going to do such a lot of work." 
 
 " I know," assented the Senior, rising with 
 an armful of clothes. " Oh, bother ! pick up 
 that pile of handkerchiefs, Mary. Yes, one 
 does feel that way. I always like to fix my 
 schedule." 
 
 " If only the feeling would last ; but it's gen- 
 erally pretty well gone by December." 
 
 " Yes," said the Senior, again. " Unfortu- 
 nately, enthusiasm does turn into stupid grind- 
 ing, doesn't it .-^ " 
 
 "One doesn't keep on seeing the good of it 
 all," said the Soph, regretfully. 
 
 "Lest we forget, lest we forget," quoted the 
 Senior, sitting down on the edge of the trunk. 
 
154 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 " But I suppose the enthusiasm of the beginning 
 ought to give one impetus enough to get over 
 the dull parts." 
 
 "After coasting down one hill, one oughtn't 
 to mind pushing up the next." 
 
 "And, after all, there do come nice, level 
 places, where there's just work enough to be 
 pleasant," said the Senior, carrying on the fig- 
 ure. " You just have to take it as it comes. Of 
 course, the sandy places, and the muddy ones, 
 and the stony ones, are disagreeable, but I've 
 found it's best to keep pedalling on. You see, 
 you've either got to go on, or fall off, and the 
 former is generally safer and pleasanter, and 
 saves time." 
 
 " Don't you think there's some way of spread- 
 ing the freshness of the beginning out thin, to 
 last over the session ? " asked the Soph, after a 
 few moments' silence. 
 
 " No ; I don't believe there is. The novelty 
 is bound to wear off." 
 
 " But one misses so much." 
 
 "Yes, the only thing I know is to try and 
 think of the ultimate object when things seem 
 tiresome, and freshen up one's ardour by realis- 
 mg It. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 55 
 
 "And it is — ?" 
 
 " My dear, if you have heard commencement 
 addresses and baccalaureate sermons, and have 
 read numberless essays on the * College Girl,' 
 without discovering that, I pity your obtuse- 
 ness. Can't you recall that much-used phrase, 
 an all-round girl, or to put it more elegantly, a 
 symmetrically developed woman ? " 
 
 "I seem to have heard it," admitted the 
 Sophomore. ** Oh, dear ! if one could only 
 keep up to the point one gets to occasionally, 
 when it is impossible to aim at anything lower 
 than a star ! " 
 
 " One could hit higher things than trees, 
 then," said the Senior, fishing the last articles 
 out of her trunk. " But, after all, it's the daily 
 round that makes up the aggregate, and though 
 that's bound to be humdrum in the very nature 
 of things, it can be turned to good account, if 
 the light from one's star is only strong and 
 steady." 
 
 '' And to keep it so t " 
 
 "Why, choose the right sort of star, and 
 make yourself keep on caring for it. Here's 
 my cap. Don't I make a nice Senior } " 
 
 "You'll be cross-eyed before Christmas," 
 
156 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 laughed the Soph. " Let me show you how / 
 look. Oh, dear, there's the dressing bell ! " 
 
 "That old familiar sound ought to make you 
 feel at home," said the Senior, as she closed her 
 trunk with a bang. 
 
 " Just what it doesnt do," answered the 
 other, and she ran off, whistling " Home, 
 Sweet Home." 
 
 Louisa B. Gambrall. 
 
 The Kalends. 
 
 Inklings* 
 
 "Mirror," said the beauty, "teach me the 
 secret of unconsciousness." 
 
 " Never look me in the face again," reflected 
 the mirror. 
 
 One day Pride stumbled over Happiness. 
 "What is this in my way .'* " she asked. 
 
 " If you would look down you could see me," 
 was the answer. 
 
 " There is the light of immortal beauty glow- 
 ing from your eyes," sighed the bankrupt suitor 
 to the ugly heiress. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 57 
 
 " Are you sure it doesn't come from my dia- 
 mond earrings ? " she asked, innocently. 
 
 Fear gazed into the fierce waves where Joy 
 was tossing. " I dare not go," he cried. 
 
 Suddenly Love stood by his side and touched 
 him. It was Courage that leaped into the wave. 
 
 " Emerson says, ' Hitch your wagon to a star ; ' 
 but what if the star falls 1 " asked a man of the 
 philosopher. 
 
 " There are fixed stars. Go study your as- 
 tronomy and try another," answered the philos- 
 opher. 
 
 Said the chicken to the little girl, " I am an 
 angel, for I have wings." 
 
 " But I'm far nearer heaven than you," and 
 the child stretched out her arms to the sky. 
 
 Then the chicken found it could fly only as 
 high as the hem of the child's dress. 
 
 p. R. c. 
 The Mount Holyoke. 
 
158 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 The Cat the Queen Stroked* 
 
 Terence O'Shay of the Cork Fusileers was 
 on board the first transport of convalescents 
 sent home from the Crimea after the fall of 
 Sebastopol in '55. Though no treaty of peace 
 had as yet been signed, the war was practically 
 over and the Allies victorious ; and so this first 
 boat-load of invalids was welcomed back to 
 England with all the prestige of conquerors. 
 An immense crowd collected on the wharf at 
 Woolwich, and the queen herself reviewed the 
 troops in the square. They were from all the 
 regiments in the service, and presented a rather 
 forlorn appearance as they drew up in a long 
 double line and saluted the royal party ; but 
 the onlookers gave them cheer after cheer, 
 which they returned lustily. Then the queen 
 made a pretty little speech and presented them 
 with medals. 
 
 Corporal O'Shay was one of the fortunate 
 fifty whose insignia were pinned on by Her 
 Majesty's own hand. He still relates the occur- 
 rence periodically for the benefit of contemporary 
 historians. " * Oi's proud av yez,' sez the quane. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 59 
 
 as Oi halted afore the shtand an' puffed up me 
 chist. * Bedad an' Oi'm a bit proud av meself,' 
 sez Oi, wid a wink at the Djuke av York, an' 
 they hot' begins to laff ; and thin " — and Ter- 
 ence's story goes on like Tennyson's brook. 
 
 Near O'Shay in line was a little drummer- 
 boy with a big gray cat hugged close in his 
 arms. He had brought it all the way from the 
 Crimea, and the pair naturally attracted a good 
 deal of attention ; the queen took the cat out 
 of the child's arms and petted it for a moment 
 and asked the boy some kindly questions. Such 
 marked notice caused considerable surprise, and 
 the papers the next morning spoke of the in- 
 cident at some length. As O'Shay sat smoking 
 a pipe after breakfast and idly considering the 
 above fact, a sudden thought occurred to him 
 which necessitated calling together his two old 
 cronies, O'Rourke and Sullivan, in hurried 
 council. 
 
 An hour later a respected citizen of Green- 
 wich encountered an Irish soldier sauntering 
 along one of the main streets of the town with 
 a pipe in his mouth and an unhappy tom-cat 
 under his arm. It was the respected citizen 
 who made the first advances. 
 
l6o CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 " That's a fine cat you've got there, my man." 
 
 "Yis, your honour, 'tis a foine animal," an- 
 swered Terence. 
 
 " What's its name ? " 
 
 " Balaklava, sorr." 
 
 " What ! you didn't bring it all the way from 
 the Crimea, did you ? " 
 
 " Oi did, sorr. Oi was shot in the shoulder 
 a-laiding the Loight Bregade in their noble 
 chairge, sorr, an' whin Oi cam to me senses in 
 the hospitol, sorr, this cat was purring on me 
 cot, sorr. We've bane inseeperable iver since, 
 sorr." 
 
 " I don't suppose this is the cat Her Majesty 
 made so much of yesterday, is it .-^ " 
 
 "The viry wan, sorr." 
 
 "Why, is it really.?" 
 
 " Yis, sorr ; ye see, sorr, me an' Jimmy — he's 
 the drummer-bye, ye know — we is ould pals, 
 sorr, an' Oi lave him carry Balaklava in the 
 parade yisterday, sorr." 
 
 "You wouldn't care to part with it, would 
 you, my man .? " 
 
 " Mony couldn't bouy it, sorr. Puir Jimmy, 
 'is 'eart 'le brake, the little darlin'." 
 
 And so the conversation progressed by easy 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE l6l 
 
 stages until Terence departed with his fingers 
 twined lovingly about a crinkly pound note and 
 his eye scanning the back-yard fences in search 
 of other available Balaklavas. 
 
 " An' how monny cats did yez sell the day, 
 Jimmy ? " asked O'Shay that evening when the 
 three cronies gathered together in the barracks. 
 
 *^ Power." 
 
 " Ye puir inexpeerienced phule," grunted 
 Terence, " Oi bagged noin meself." 
 
 H. D. G. 
 
 Yale Literary Magazine. 
 Progress of the Crews* 
 
 {A la Daily Sin.) 
 
 The crew room presents a busy scene these 
 days. Our reporter made his usual trip to the 
 gymnasium yesterday, took a bath, and inter- 
 viewed Mr. Courtney on the progress of the 
 crews. The latter very cordially placed the 
 coxswain's seat at the disposal of his visitor, 
 and, note -book in hand, our representative 
 recorded the following : 
 
 No. I. Showed weakness in conversational 
 
1 62 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 powers. His hair was parted on one side, caus- 
 ing him to swing far to the left with every 
 stroke. 
 
 No. 2. Had a very inexpressive face. His 
 clothing was not nearly new, and at times he 
 perspired in a disgraceful manner. He is by no 
 means sure of his seat. 
 
 No. 3. Extremely discourteous. When No. 
 4 dropped a stroke he refused to return it to 
 him, although he saw the loss plainly. 
 
 No. 4. Drops strokes noisily and carelessly. 
 Eats tobacco surreptitiously and looks deceitful. 
 
 No. 5. One arm is much longer than the 
 other. Mr. Courtney says that a knot can be 
 easily tied which will make both arms the same 
 length. 
 
 No. 6. Pulls very strongly. At times he 
 makes a swishing noise. It is presumed that 
 his lungs are full of water. 
 
 No. 7. Has a hungry, heavy, ghoulish stare. 
 A good oarsman, but he watches the nude cervix 
 of No. 8 intently. Mr. Courtney fears he is a 
 man-eater. 
 
 No. 8. Has a noticeable lack of variety in 
 his rowing. Wears a Wittenberg College pin. 
 When asked to point out the weak points of the 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 63 
 
 men behind him, he absolutely declined to be 
 interviewed. 
 
 All these faults Mr. Courtney expects to 
 correct before the crews get on the water. He 
 said that he wished to congratulate the Sin on 
 its articles on athletics. He also inquired about 
 the subscription rates. The Sin has determined 
 to cooperate with Mr. Courtney in developing a 
 good crew, and to this end it asks the support of 
 the entire student body. 
 
 The Cornell Widow. 
 
 The World's End. 
 
 The clear, cold air made our blood bound 
 deliciously as we set off, with high hope, to 
 seek the World's End. The brown road, fringed 
 with rusty grasses, curved away indefinitely. 
 The earth was all our own, with no house or 
 human being to dispute our claim. We thrilled 
 with the sense of possession. Over a pond dull 
 brown with autumn shadows and thick grown 
 with rustling reeds the road led ; then past a 
 meadow where the grass was still bright green. 
 Across its rolling surface came the softened 
 clang of a cow-bell. And what exquisite be- 
 
164 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 wilderment and indecision seized us at the 
 cross-roads ! For three would lead back to 
 the peopled world we had left, and only one 
 to the World's End. Such momentous choice 
 could not be made unaided. We murmured a 
 childish formula, and turned to the left. Ah, 
 yes ! surely this was the road we sought ; for 
 there, far above us, up a steep hill and through 
 a gateway of dark pines, it vanished into the 
 blue sky. Longingly we gazed at the goal of 
 our desire, soft and filmy in the blue-gray haze 
 of distance, and then turned back. We dared 
 not go to the World's End after all. 
 
 L. V. N. M. 
 
 Wellesley Magazine. 
 
 The Smoker* 
 
 The sun fought its way through the dust- 
 laden windows, pouring down on the heads of 
 the few passengers, and lighting up the faded 
 plush on the seats, while the shadows of the 
 pine-trees flitted along over the tobacco-stained 
 floor. 
 
 The big man in the corner looked down at 
 his neighbour and laughed. ^' Ye're dead right," 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 65 
 
 he said. "I ain't been back fer nigh three 
 years." 
 
 The other smiled sleepily. "Glad to git 
 back, ain't ye .? " he asked, indifferently, twist- 
 ing his finger around in a blackened pipe-bowl. 
 
 " I jist be ! Dad oughter be waitin' fer me 
 a'ready down't the platform. On'y one more 
 stop ? Ye do feel good when ye git hum, don't 
 ye .-* I tell ye, daddy'll give half his old heart 
 to git sight o' me. He's jes' that fond o' me." 
 
 His neighbour smiled again, and went on 
 twisting the pipe-bowl around. The big man 
 turned to the window and gazed out at the end- 
 less succession of pine-trees. The afternoon 
 dragged along. The train creaked and jolted ; 
 the cinders sifted through the roof and settled 
 down on everything below. The sunlight was 
 gone from the floor, and only now and then it 
 struck in at the windows through a clearing in 
 the pines, while the train slowed up. It stopped, 
 with a long-drawn hissing of steam. Some one 
 came through from the forward car and slammed 
 the door behind him. The big man by the door 
 glanced up and then jumped to his feet, trem- 
 bling. His neighbour looked sleepily from one 
 to the other. The newcomer spoke : 
 
1 66 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 " Ye'd better come quiet-like, Bob." 
 
 The big man looked at him appealingly and 
 sobbed a little and then swore, but he picked 
 up his hat and got out into the aisle. 
 
 " Ye'd ought 'a knowed better' n to make fer 
 home," the man spoke, reproachfully, " any fool'd 
 do that." 
 
 Bob stopped his swearing suddenly, and his face 
 twitched. "Yes," he said, "any fool'd do that." 
 David de F. Burrell. 
 
 Yale Literary Magazine. 
 
 Sweet Is True Love* 
 
 Phil was puzzled. He tilted his chair back, 
 and blew the smoke of his cigar into the air, as 
 if hoping to find in the blue clouds an answer 
 to his problem. Was ever man so situated .'* 
 Last night, when he started in such spirits for 
 Mrs. Seymour's reception, he did not dream of 
 the fate hanging over him. And all because 
 of those two girls. Oh, why had he been such 
 a fool } He remembered seeing Edith soon 
 after he entered the rooms that were dazzling 
 in their festal array, and a fit setting for such 
 a jewel of a girl. Well, she did look handsome 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 67 
 
 and no mistake, and after the dance what won- 
 der that he asked her to go to the conservatory. 
 And then — and then, well, the first thing he 
 knew he was telhng her how much he loved 
 her, and asking her to be his wife. And she ? 
 She, with her beautiful eyes cast down, prom- 
 ised to send him an answer on the morrow. 
 Then another partner claimed her, and (here 
 Phil groaned) who should come up but Madge, 
 saucy, pretty Madge, looking as piquant and 
 bewitching as any little fairy that ever beguiled 
 a man ! And couldnt Madge dance to perfec- 
 tion ? In the conservatory again, among the 
 roses, he forgot Edith, forgot everything except 
 that Madge was the prettiest girl he ever saw, 
 and — and he proposed to her, too! But just 
 as the words passed his lips, some one came in 
 to claim Madge for the next dance, and with a 
 whispered " to-morrow " she left him, giving one 
 look backward as she did so. 
 
 So there it was ! Engaged to two girls at 
 once. For, of course, both would accept, dear 
 little things ; he had long known they both liked 
 him a little too well. Now, which should he 
 take t They were both such nice girls. Edith 
 was a queen, and would grace the head of any 
 
1 68 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 man's table. Yes, Edith was the one to choose. 
 But then there was Madge, brilUant, provoking 
 Madge, just the kind of girl he liked. A fellow 
 never could get tired of a girl like that. And 
 besides, it would hurt Madge more than Edith 
 to be given up, for, with all her saucy ways, she 
 was a sensitive little thing. Yes, he would take 
 her, and Edith would have to go. And here 
 Phil drew a long breath that was nearly akin to 
 a sigh. But he thought, *' It is a comfort for a 
 fellow to have his mind fully made up." Just 
 then a dainty note was handed him, brought by 
 special messenger. He opened it : 
 
 " Dear Boy : — After talking the matter 
 over, we have both decided to say no. Yours, 
 
 "Edith and Madge." 
 
 Lillian S. Throop. 
 
 The Stanford Sequoia. 
 
 A Fortunate Foursome. 
 
 We were playing in a mixed foursome that 
 afternoon. One of those unscientific and alto- 
 gether delightful games, where the mixed means 
 much more than the foursome. By some chance, 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 69 
 
 for which the caddy and a dollar were responsi- 
 ble, we had gotten far behind the other couple, 
 and I could see them resting under the trees by 
 the last hole on the hillside, as we came to the tee. 
 
 '* Now make a long drive, a record breaker," 
 said Molly, "and we may win yet." 
 
 Those eyes again ! They would have spoiled 
 the form of an angular Scotchman with forty years 
 on St. Andrew's behind him, and I was just out 
 of college, and a lover of human nature. 
 
 " You've hit the bunker ! " said Molly, pathet- 
 ically, when I finished, "and the caddy has 
 gone ; the wretch has forgotten all about us." 
 
 " But not about my dollar," thought I, and 
 winked at the daisies. 
 
 " Oh, Jack ! Oh, Molly ! " came faintly from 
 over the hill-top, as we walked through the 
 meadow. 
 
 I lied unblushingly, "Rather late to hear a 
 robin sing, isn't it ? " 
 
 "Yes, rather," said Molly, and turned to 
 loose a briar from her skirt. 
 
 We were down in the valley by this time, 
 with no living thing about but a meditative 
 cow and a hidden chorus of bullfrogs. Then 
 and there I decided that the crowning perfec- 
 
170 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 tion of human costume had been reached in a 
 golf dress, and speculated how long it would be 
 safe to pretend I did not know where the ball 
 was. At last she found it, half hidden in the 
 cup some hoof had made. 
 
 " Let me hit it," I suggested. 
 
 " No, that would not be fair," answered 
 Molly, thoughtfully, "but you may help me, 
 if you will. You know how ; catch hold of 
 the stick, just as the golf teacher does when 
 he shows you the proper swing." 
 
 I believe I groaned. I am quite sure I made 
 some inappropriate remark ; but to come very 
 near to holding her in my arms, to fairly clasp 
 her hands in mine, without giving myself away, 
 and losing her for good and all, was a tempta- 
 tion I shuddered to think of. 
 
 It was not so bad after all. Arms over her 
 shoulder, just like the golf teacher, bless him ! 
 My hands on hers, and then the swing. If only 
 she had kept those eyes on the ball. She didn't ; 
 she was looking at me ! I wavered ; I looked 
 at her ! Thunder ! I'd kissed her ! 
 
 There was a stump close at hand, and I sat 
 down on it, with my back toward her. I knew 
 that she had gone to tell the others how she 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE I7I 
 
 had been insulted, and that I had abused her 
 confidence, and was no gentleman, and I knew 
 my game was up. I should have done some- 
 thing desperate if there had been anything 
 handy, but just then I heard a shy little cough, 
 and turned my head. 
 
 Molly was standing beside me, all rosy with 
 confusion. "Jack," she said, ''that isn't the 
 way the golf teacher lofts." I jumped up im- 
 petuously, scarcely daring to credit my ears. 
 
 " You musn't ! " I had not done a thing. 
 "Go hunt the ball; I hear a robin." 
 
 " Hello, Jack ! Hello, Molly ! " In an instant 
 they were beside us, and, " Lost your ball. 
 Jack ? " asked the man, and, " What is the 
 matter with your hair, dear ? " said the girl. 
 
 "Nothing at all is the matter," said Molly, 
 just glancing at me. "Jack has been showing 
 me how to loft, and I like his way much, much 
 better than the teacher's. Will you help me 
 more to-morrow. Jack ? " 
 
 I believe I didn't groan. I'm quite sure my 
 remark was appropriate. Molly says I blushed, 
 but I know I thought, " Well, rather ! " 
 
 Henry Seidel Canby. 
 
 Yale Courant. 
 
172 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 Golf and a Bracelets 
 
 Green No. 6 had a tree and a spring near it, 
 which no one ever thought of passing by, and 
 on this particular morning a very pretty Gib- 
 son's " Golf is a Game for Two," could be seen 
 there. 
 
 "Marjorie, have you read the account of the 
 fall of Santiago, in the morning papers ? " asked 
 Ted. 
 
 " No. We came out so early that I only had 
 time to read the headlines." She looked at him 
 anxiously. Her thoughts were with the Rough 
 Riders. 
 
 Ted read the account aloud, and then stuck 
 the paper into the pocket of his golf coat. 
 
 " Why didn't you go to war, Ted ? I surely 
 thought you would." 
 
 Ted muttered something indefinite about 
 "business " — " stocks " — " aged father." 
 
 "All of which means that you didn't — 
 exactly — want to .-* " with a saucy look in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Why didn't you go as a Red Cross nurse ? " 
 Ted asked, evasively. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 73 
 
 " I suspect I didn't exactly — want to. Come, 
 own up." 
 
 But Ted said nothing. 
 
 " Have you seen my patriotic bracelet ? " 
 Marjorie went on, holding out her arm, on 
 which shone a round gold band set with three 
 stones : a ruby, a diamond, and a sapphire. 
 *' My cousin, who lives out West, gave it to 
 me the day he started for the war. You never 
 met, I think." 
 
 "No. What is he like.?" 
 
 *' Well, he is big and blond, and — oh, every- 
 thing," with a very faint sigh. 
 
 " Marjorie, the ' big, blond ' fellows (Ted was 
 very dark) seem to be the only ones who win 
 any favour from you." 
 
 Silence. 
 
 " Marjorie, answer me." 
 
 Marjorie was digging the ground very hard 
 with her putter. 
 
 " Surely you must know," continued Ted, 
 "must have seen how I love — " 
 
 Marjorie laughed. She was apt to be irrever- 
 ent on such occasions. " I really do not see what 
 you want an answer to," she said. "Ted, you 
 certainly have an awkward way of putting things." 
 
174 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 She jumped up and ran toward the next tee. 
 She knew she had been rude and exasperating, 
 but she was not sure of herself. Should it 
 be Ted or — she looked at the bracelet. Ted's 
 chances were rising. 
 
 Marjorie teed her ball. Then she felt of her 
 Ascot, pushed up the cuffs of her shirt-waist 
 a trifle, and raised her club for the drive. Her 
 eyes fell on Ted, who, looking very much put 
 out, stood reading his paper. 
 
 *'Mr. Field," she asked, sarcastically, "what 
 do you find so extremely interesting ? Since 
 you would insist on bringing no caddies, you 
 might at least have the goodness to notice 
 where I drive this ball." 
 
 " Miss Morton, I was simply wishing that I was 
 this fellow," and he read, " ' Harry Barnard, son 
 of Hon. Charles Barnard, of Chicago, was among 
 the Rough Riders killed before Santiago.' " 
 
 The sun grew dim to Marjorie. She raised 
 her club and sent her ball but a few feet. 
 
 "Try again, if you like." 
 
 The second was no better. 
 
 " I think I would rather not play any more 
 to-day. Let us go back to the club-house," 
 said Marjorie, gently. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 75 
 
 " Oh, my dear," cried Ted, thinking he under- 
 stood why his remark had disturbed her, *' I 
 knew it ! I felt it ! You do love me, then, 
 Marjorie?" 
 
 "Don't jump at conclusions, Ted. I'm going 
 back because — because" — the sun hit on 
 the diamond ; before the girl's eyes rose a 
 vision of a wounded, dying Rough Rider, but 
 with a little forced laugh she went on — 
 "because I feel sure I shall go on making 
 bad drives." 
 
 L. C. G. 
 
 Brunonian. 
 
 University 5» 
 
 A LITTLE U. 5 notice caused all my despair. 
 I had been indulging in a somewhat technical 
 crime, which is punished severely by the fac- 
 ulty, and my meditations, as I crossed the yard 
 in obedience to the summons, were hardly of the 
 happy order. When I reached the big stone 
 steps of University I stopped, seeking in vain for 
 courage to go farther, and stood staring at the 
 worn granite slabs. I thought of the hundreds 
 of quaking feet that had already ascended those 
 
176 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 ancient steps, and the many broken ambitions 
 and hopeless hearts which had left those stairs 
 to carry with them through life the keen stigma 
 of a disgraceful college career. A comparison 
 with the Bridge of Sighs was no doubt irrele- 
 vant, but at that moment it struck me with 
 terrible force. 
 
 After hesitating a few moments, I ascended 
 slowly and with leaden feet the fateful flight, 
 pushed open timidly the big, bare, forbidding 
 door to the outer sanctum, and stepped to the 
 rail as unobtrusively as possible. Just then the 
 dean passed through the room and bestowed on 
 me one of his comprehensive " glad to see you, 
 my dear old friend" smiles, and my last gleam 
 of hope left me. I knew those smiles were not 
 distributed in vain, — I must now expect expul- 
 sion ; my hopes for suspension were scattered 
 to the winds. 
 
 As the recorder turned to me, I mumbled 
 out a word of explanation, and he replied, quickly, 
 " Oh, yes ; are you taking Chemistry B ? " 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " Well, you have been cutting a good deal in 
 Fine Arts 3 .? " 
 
 " I am not taking the course, sir." 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 77 
 
 " Is that so ? Well, there is some mistake 
 here; that is all I wanted to know." And he 
 turned and began to discourse on the subject in 
 stentorian tones to a hole in the wall, while I 
 fairly danced out of the room with resolutions 
 of reform engraven on my conscience. 
 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
 Philosophy at Twenty-one. 
 
 The dignity of a Senior became her well, and 
 the little air of authority that she assumed was 
 very pretty. She felt, this miss of twenty- 
 one, that she knew herself thoroughly, and that 
 she had had all the experience of a lifetime 
 crowded into three years or more of college ; 
 she had analysed herself and her ambitions, had 
 examined them under a microscope, and com- 
 pletely classified them. 
 
 It was my happy lot, not long ago, to sit 
 beside her at a football game, and, as the play 
 progressed, to hear her comments. "All this 
 enthusiasm," she said, " is purely false excite- 
 ment ; there is no need for it. People can get 
 just as much enjoyment out of the game without 
 jumping about and yelling." Just at this moment 
 
178 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 there was an outburst of wilder cheering, and, to 
 my astonishment, I saw the Senior beside me 
 standing up on the seat, waving both hands 
 toward the field, her face ablaze with excite- 
 ment. The right end, her "very best friend," 
 had the ball, and had run eighty yards down the 
 field for a touchdown. 
 
 University of Chicago Weekly. 
 
 In June. 
 
 The little cabin was the last that remained of 
 the old slave quarters. The unhewn logs had 
 turned gray with age ; time and the weather 
 had nibbled off the ends of the moss-covered 
 clapboards. The roof had sagged down in the 
 middle, the crazy old chimney had settled to one 
 side, and the mud that chinked the space between 
 the logs had fallen out in great handfuls ; but the 
 monster pecan-tree that towered above, and the 
 vines that covered the front, imparted a refresh- 
 ing coolness to the place. From the interior of 
 the quaint little house came the voice of a woman, 
 singing, " Clim'in' to Zion," in a high key, and 
 the monotonous thump ! thump ! of the flatiron 
 on the ironing board. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 79 
 
 Out across the fields the heat-waves danced 
 giddily above the green cotton plants ; the songs 
 of the hoe-hands, borne along by the scorching 
 south wind, sounded indistinct and dreamy. 
 
 On the piazza of the cabin, half hidden by the 
 morning-glory vines, sat a grizzled old giant of 
 a darky. His chair was tipped back against the 
 wall, his head had sunk to his breast ; the old 
 man was asleep. In his arms lay a tiny little 
 black baby. Its head fell across the giant's left 
 arm ; its mouth was wide open, and the proces- 
 sion of flies that crawled lazily over its face 
 paused in turn, and reconnoitred the mysterious 
 opening. Both the bare little feet were swal- 
 lowed up in the old man's great paw. 
 
 From the tower of the barn the plantation 
 bell clanged harshly. The workers in the field 
 set up a joyous shout ; the old man stirred un- 
 easily, then awoke; the baby began to cry for 
 its mother ; noon had come. 
 
 C. W. Clark. 
 
 Brunonia7i, 
 
l8o CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 The Clever Miss Vandeveer. 
 
 " Of all the clever girls," said Percy, breaking 
 the silence, " I met the cleverest last summer. 
 That girl has taken considerable conceit out of 
 me." 
 
 *' How was that.-^" asked Jack, rising from 
 his reclining position, and puffing vigorously on 
 his pipe. 
 
 " It happened this way : I was spending part 
 of August at Atlantic City. While there, I 
 made the acquaintance of a Miss Vandeveer, 
 a Junior at Wellesley. She was one of those 
 artless girls, who at the same time possess 
 their share of tact. I had taken quite a fancy 
 to her, and we spent most of the time in one 
 another's company. It was a few days before 
 my departure, as we sat together at the end of 
 the pier, gazing at the water which a full moon 
 was tinting. In front of the pier, some feet 
 below, lay a large float which, as it swayed to 
 and fro, suggested to my mind a test for Miss 
 Vandeveer' s much-talked-of daring. 
 
 "'You seem,' I said, *to be quite adroit with 
 your wheel, but I'll wager a college flag against 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE l8l 
 
 a sofa pillow that you are afraid to ride off this 
 pier on to the float.' " 
 
 " Of course she didn't take you up," said Jack, 
 incredulously. 
 
 " But she did, and now I wish she hadn't. 
 * I'm not,' she said, with a pert toss of her head, 
 'but you must let me name the hour.' 'All 
 right, suit yourself,' said I, laughingly. 'Well, 
 let us say five o'clock to-morrow morning. Now 
 you be on hand, and you'll see whether I'm 
 afraid. ' 
 
 " At five the next morning, I reluctantly arose 
 and started for the pier, with a suspicion lurking 
 in my mind that she was joking, and wished to 
 see if it were possible for a college man to arise 
 at that hour. But sure enough, there she was 
 awaiting my arrival." 
 
 " And she didn't hurt herself ? " asked Jack. 
 
 " Not in the least. You see the tide in the 
 meantime had risen so that the float was on a 
 level with the pier, and all she had to do was 
 to cross from one to the other." 
 
 "Well," said Jack, rising to go, "Miss Vande- 
 vecr l/eaij any giil I ran across last summer." 
 
 "Mem. 'oo." 
 Hamilton Literary Magazine. 
 
1 82 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 Un Chant D^Amour^ 
 
 I SUPPOSE it was because he was such a dash- 
 ing young fellow ; his cuffs and collars were so 
 red and ruffled ; his Shetland reared so gaily at 
 the little horse-cars that used to run on North 
 State, and his legs were so much fatter than his 
 trousers. Or perhaps it was because the Sacred 
 Heart was a lonely gray place. At any rate, I 
 caught the kisses he tossed to my window. 
 
 He climbed into the convent lawn one day. 
 For some time we were very still. Then — 
 
 *'My name's A — An — Anna." I did not 
 usually stutter. 
 
 Neither did he, but — " Mine's H — Ha — 
 Harry." 
 
 The conventionalities thus appeased, he 
 showed me a wee mud-turtle. 
 
 " I'll give you one if you come here again," he 
 said. He experienced a change of heart. " No, 
 I won't." 
 
 At this, I ran back to the kitchen, and heard 
 him remorsefully bawling, " Oh, yes, I will ! " 
 
 Mother Mary gave me a box a few days later. 
 Behold a turtle of dimensions even more infini- 
 
 / 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 83 
 
 tesimal than that of the one I saw before ! 
 There was also a compassionate note : 
 
 *' You won't see me any more. You can have 
 it, anyway. Going home." 
 
 "What clumsiness ! " broke in Mother Supe- 
 rior, sharply. *• 
 
 But in the light of past experience I guess 
 that it was tears. 
 
 A. A. 
 
 University of Chicago Weekly. 
 
 Contentment. 
 
 The day was very sunny and hot, and the roads 
 were thick with dust ; farmers going into town 
 with their heavy wagons raised up clouds of it, 
 in which they jogged along surrounded as with 
 a fog. The dust settled on the horses' backs, 
 on the grass along the ditches by the side of the 
 road, and covered everything with a uniform dull 
 grayish yellow, out of which only the black-eyed 
 Susans emerged triumphant, on account of their 
 more dominant orange colour. Along the road 
 came two quaint little figures, boy and girl, both 
 barefoot ; she clad in a checkered pinafore, and 
 wearing a sunbonnet of the same material, of 
 
184 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 the Shaker pattern, and a world too large for 
 her ; he in turned-up overalls — presumably the 
 cast-off property of his father — and a brimless 
 straw farmer's hat. Both little faces were 
 freckled and burned, and both surrounded by 
 little wet curls of red hair. The travellers pad- 
 dled along undaunted by the almost unbearable 
 heat ; they squeezed up the dust between their 
 little bare toes, and stopped often to pat it into 
 mounds of different shapes and sizes. 
 
 I approached them slowly, reaching them just 
 as they stopped to exclaim over the beauty of a 
 butterfly, swaying on a wild-turnip stock ; they 
 were so manifestly content and happy in their 
 lot, that I, who had been anathematising the 
 day, the heat, and the necessary journey I was 
 making, felt a sense of jealousy. After I had 
 passed them, I turned in the carriage and looked 
 back; but the inevitable dust had swallowed 
 them up. 
 
 H. T. p. 
 Wells College Chronicle. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 85 
 
 My Old Room. 
 
 I HAD come back to Cambridge to try for an 
 A. M., for I knew it would please the " Gov- 
 ernor," and I was not averse to another eight 
 months' leisure in the place I liked to call home. 
 But there was one drawback to my fifth year here, 
 and that was the fact that I had given up my 
 room in the Yard, and, coming back unexpect- 
 edly, was forced to put up with a severely plain 
 suite in a frame house on Holyoke Street. I 
 often compared this new apartment, with its 
 dingy outlook on the church and its many funerals, 
 to my old abode, with the sun pouring into the 
 windows, casting two bright spots on the yellow 
 carpet, darkened by the unsteady shadows of 
 the waving elms without. How uninviting was 
 this ugly, smoky stove compared to that little 
 old-fashioned grate, and how cheerless these 
 new-fangled windows with the big panes were, 
 in comparison with those sixteen little squares 
 of glass in each of my old windows ! With every- 
 thing else in the room it was the same. I was 
 not satisfied, and began to grow restless and 
 look forward to any chance that would give me 
 
1 86 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 an excuse to get out of my room, if for only a 
 night. And then, too, I missed the fellows, — 
 "the gang," — for I tell you it made me fairly 
 homesick to go into Jake's, and know that none 
 of our crowd would be there, or at the Adams 
 House after the theatre. Then to go into 
 Leavitt's, to see all younger fellows, and not be 
 able to join in their conversations with the same 
 sympathy that exists between classmates, made 
 me lonesome. 
 
 So you see I was an unhappy sort of a post- 
 grad., and my work in philosophy made me more 
 and more so. It must have been some time in 
 December that I was walking through the Yard, 
 deep in thoughts of the coming vacation, and of 
 how I was going to spend it. I was so wrapt 
 up in myself that I paid no attention to what I 
 was doing, but, on coming to my old hall, turned 
 in and stumped up the two short flights of stairs, 
 and let myself in with my old key, a memento 
 of four happy years, which I had a sneaking 
 desire to keep. As soon as I stepped inside, I 
 came to my senses. There, in the window-seat, 
 just as I had often lolled, lay one of the new 
 Freshman occupants, with his feet high up on 
 the window-casing, and his lips blowing delicate 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 87 
 
 smoke-rings at the curtain-tassel. In the corner 
 was his ''wife/' sitting in his shirt-sleeves at the 
 desk, scratching away at Freshman English, or 
 some other equally precious stuff. They both 
 looked at me with surprise and some misgivings, 
 and I felt that an explanation was due them for 
 my unceremonious entrance. 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon," I began ; ''you see, 
 I used to have this room — last year — and I 
 thought you fellows might want this key," and, 
 as I felt the weakness of my remark, I threw 
 down the little piece of metal that was the last 
 reminder I had of my old room, and turning 
 abruptly, I whistled my way down-stairs, just 
 to fool myself into believing that I didn't 
 care. 
 
 H. M. Adams. 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
 Two Dear Old Ladies* 
 
 " She's dead ! " . 
 "No.?" 
 
 " Yes, dead a week ago, and they say she 
 suffered horribly." 
 
 " No .? " 
 
l88 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 " Yes, and do you believe it ? " 
 
 ^' What ? " 
 
 ''Why, he's married again ! " 
 
 ''No?" 
 
 "Yes, and he was sick in bed at the time, 
 too ! " 
 
 « No ? " 
 
 " Yes, and she, the new one, came all the way 
 from New York ? " 
 
 " No ? " 
 
 " Yes, and they say she's rich as Crokus ! " 
 
 "No?" 
 
 " Yes, and when, she got here, poor Viny 
 could hardly have been cold in her grave ! " 
 
 " No ? " 
 
 " Yes, and do you believe ! he — and I don't 
 care if he is my minister, and if he does preach 
 beautiful — he had her come straight to his 
 house ! " 
 
 " No ? " 
 
 " Yes, and he had two ministers, one on each 
 side of his bed, to marry him, sick as he was, and 
 Viny, dead as she was, and this New Yorker, rich 
 as she was, had 'em marry him then and there ! " 
 
 " No ? " 
 
 " Yes, and when they came to the place where 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 89 
 
 they asked her if she'd take him for better or 
 for worse, she said the doctor said he was better, 
 and the minister needn't try to scare her out of 
 havin' him ! " 
 
 '^ No ? " 
 
 "Yes, and he laughed outright, sick as he 
 was, and dead as Viny was, and it seems to me 
 the most scandalous thing ! " 
 
 " Mercy ! he laughed ? " 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 "And you say Viny's dead ? " 
 
 " Yes ! " 
 
 " And that he's married again ? " 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 " And that all this happened before Viny was 
 buried ? " 
 
 " Yes ! " 
 
 " And that this new one is rich ? " 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 '* And that her name is Crokus ? " 
 
 " Yes ! " 
 
 " And that two ministers married him, one on 
 each side of his bed ? " 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 "And that when they told him Viny was 
 dead he laughed outright ? " 
 
IQO CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 And sent to New York for this Miss Crokus 
 before Viny was cold ? " 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 " And Miss Crokus, that was, will be president 
 o' the sewin' circle ? " 
 
 " Of course ! " 
 
 " Good Lord ! " 
 
 " Good mornin'." 
 
 " Good mornin'." 
 
 Charles Otis Judkins. 
 
 Wesley an Literary Monthly. 
 
 A Sentinel and a Substitute. 
 
 The sentinel had not moved a muscle, but he 
 had heard a sound in the bushes back of him, 
 and he realised what that sound meant. A man 
 whose movements were thus concealed could 
 only be an enemy. Still the sentinel leaned on 
 the muzzle of his gun ; still he seemed absorbed 
 in the deepest contemplation of the sleeping 
 camp of the enemy. The crickets chirped 
 their symphony of summer all around as gaily 
 as before, but a cicada that had been making 
 the air resonant with its strumming on a large 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE I9I 
 
 bush in the rear had suddenly stopped. The 
 sentinel's mind was busy ; his ears were 
 strained to bursting ; every nerve seemed tense ; 
 his head throbbed and great waves of sound 
 battered on his skull. A thousand plans of de- 
 fence rushed before him. Still he had not 
 stirred an inch. 
 
 Then when his whole being seemed to shriek 
 with the agony of suspense, he heard a click, 
 leaped suddenly to one side, there was a sharp 
 flash and report, and he sprang unharmed into 
 the bush. Sounds of agony followed, and the 
 short, desperate pant that spoke of deadly com- 
 bat as the men forced one another back and 
 forth, then a dull thud as the fall of a body was 
 slightly stayed by its impact with the bushes, 
 and the sentinel, too, sank fainting to the ground, 
 his life blood slowly ebbing from a great gash in 
 his side. 
 
 When he regained consciousness it seemed as 
 if hours had passed. He had done so much in a 
 minute. He had been home, he remembered 
 how he had said good-bye to his mother, how — 
 Then he gazed at the wound, and he remembered 
 something else, his duty. 
 
192 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 He was growing constantly weaker, the flow 
 of blood had stopped slightly, but he knew that 
 the end was not far. He looked a moment at 
 the bushes, then he crawled toward the largest, 
 leaving a ghastly trail of red behind. No time 
 could be spared. He drew a knife from his 
 pocket and cut off a stout branch about five 
 feet in height, crotched at the top. Then 
 he crawled back to the open space. His gun 
 lay on the ground where it had fallen. He 
 sharpened the large end of the sapling and 
 drove it into the ground with all his remain- 
 ing strength. Then he stopped, his little stock 
 of energy spent. But he dared not delay, — ■ 
 too much remained to be done in the short time 
 alloted him. 
 
 He forced his trembling hands to place the 
 gun securely against the notch in the support- 
 ing branch ; then painfully he rose to his knees, 
 dragged off his army cloak, carefully draped it 
 over this support, thrust his hat over the top, 
 drew the crimson scarf from his neck and wound 
 it just below ; with stiffening fingers buttoned 
 the cloak slowly from the top, reached the last 
 button, gave a great gasp, half relief, half agony, 
 and sank back — dead. But an immovable sen- 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 93 
 
 tinel, that appeared to guard a restful camp, still 
 stood on the mountain top. 
 
 Oscar Loeb. 
 The Red and Blue. 
 
 A Class Day Convert* 
 
 I LIVED next door to Jason a whole year 
 before I knew him. It seemed that I never 
 saw the man before one night when I ran into 
 him in the hallway, thus calling forth apologies 
 on both sides, an invitation to his room, and 
 talk. He had often seen me before, he told me, 
 but had been restrained from speaking by bash- 
 fulness. 
 
 After this I often dropped in on him. He 
 was always in his room, studying or digging at 
 a yellow piano. Music was his one amusement. 
 He would sit for hours merely making combi- 
 nations of the different chords, never speaking 
 to me, but bent over the keyboard in nervous 
 preoccupation. He was a good scholar, received 
 excellent marks, and had read many books, 
 about which he talked intelligently. All in 
 all, he was a pretty good sort of fellow. 
 
 Jason and I agreed in almost everything. On 
 
194 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 one point, however, we fought. The Univer- 
 sity, he claimed, was not run in the right way. 
 A man here did not get a just show unless he 
 came in with a crowd of men from one of the 
 preparatory schools that annually furnish Har- 
 vard's athletes, musical, literary, and social 
 satellites. The whole place was run by a 
 Boston clique, the professors, the president, 
 the governors, everybody and everything. No 
 wonder (he would shout now) there was no 
 spirit to the place. Personally, he had none ; 
 never would have. He looked on the institu- 
 tion merely as a necessity for giving his mind 
 an education and nothing more, just as water 
 and soap were necessary for cleanliness. 
 
 On the other side, I would argue until I was 
 gasping for breath and ready to choke him. It 
 would end by my getting up and leaving, with 
 a bang to the door, and with Jason's satirical, 
 smiling countenance turned on me like an item 
 of a nightmare. Then I would hear him playing 
 chords on the yellow piano, and I would swear. 
 
 Class day came around, and I was so occupied 
 with spreads, mammas, and pretty girls, that I 
 could think of almost nothing else. When 
 evening came, and the festivities, with the 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 95 
 
 paper lamps in the yard, died a flickering 
 death, I went to my room utterly exhausted, 
 and threw myself heavily on the divan. I 
 heard a noise in the next room, and thought 
 for the first time of Jason. What could he have 
 done with himself all day ? He had no club to 
 go to, no relatives that I knew of to bother 
 him ; nothing of any kind, outside of the regular 
 college exercises, to interest him. Wondering 
 thus, the sound of the piano reached me. Jason 
 was playing. I knew his touch, and sat up to 
 hear more distinctly. The tune was ''Fair 
 Harvard." I rose and went to his room. As 
 I opened the door, there was a crash of conflict- 
 ing notes. Leaning on the keyboard was Jason, 
 his body shaking with sobs. 
 
 C. H. L. Johnston. 
 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
 A Corn-cob Pipe^ 
 
 Half a dozen of us were sitting around the 
 other night, talking over the various happenings 
 of the week and pulling vigorously at half a 
 dozen pipes. 
 
 Soon another man dropped in, and the host 
 
196 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 got up to take a pipe from the string of fifteen 
 or twenty that were stretched along the wall 
 between a couple of tennis-rackets. 
 
 "No meerschaum for me, Charlie," said the 
 newcomer. " I'm common. Give me that 
 ' corn-cob ' in the middle with the ribbon on 
 it. Cardinal ribbon, too. I'll be patriotic." 
 
 "That pipe.?" Charlie exclaimed. "Not by 
 a jug full ; not that one." 
 
 We all shouted. 
 
 " Sacred .? " said I. " Girl .? tell us about it." 
 
 "Well, it is sacred, and is about a girl, and 
 I'll tell you if you will promise not to 'josh' 
 me." We promised. 
 
 " It happened up in Wyoming. My father 
 has a ranch up there, fifty miles north of Raw- 
 lins. He goes out occasionally to look it over, 
 so took me along last time. 
 
 " The tenant is an old Spaniard who manages 
 things. His daughter keeps house for him. 
 This story is about the daughter. She was a 
 beauty, with dark, lustrous, dreamy eyes and 
 shiny, jet-black hair." 
 
 "'S death," undertoned somebody. 
 
 "That's all right, fellows, it was just as I tell 
 it. Well, of course I fell in love with her in no 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 97 
 
 time, and when father started out for a couple 
 of weeks' inspection over the range, I told him 
 I was afraid to go up any higher, but thought it 
 would be better for my lungs if I stayed at the 
 ranch-house. I look like a consumptive, don't I, 
 in the last stages ? Whether the governor sus- 
 pected anything or not, I can't say, but he told 
 me to suit myself, and — I stayed. 
 
 " That was a great two weeks. The girl was 
 a wonder. She taught me to ride ; she taught 
 me to throw a rope ; she taught me to shoot a 
 rifle, — that is, to hit something, I mean, — and 
 I taught her — to smoke. You may think me 
 wicked, but she wanted to try it — Spanish 
 blood, you know — and those eyes brought me 
 around in no time. She would not smoke my 
 meerschaum, so I fished that ' corn-cob ' out of 
 my things and gave it to her. The ribbon is 
 from her hair. 
 
 " She soon became accomplished, and I — 
 Well, we rode the range together and I managed 
 to keep at her side ; and when we stalked an 
 antelope he usually had two bullets in him 
 when he fell. 
 
 " I believe she found me interesting, though I 
 didn't try to impress her with college ways. It 
 
198 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 was probably new to her to have a college man 
 following her closely wherever she went. 
 
 '* And so the days slipped by, I, ' lost in the 
 light of her wonderful eyes/ and she, a jolly 
 companion and guide, friendly, and no more. 
 
 "Then the governor came back from the 
 hills and we got ready to leave. I made 
 the most of my time then, I tell you, and she 
 seemed a little disturbed at the thought of my 
 going. 
 
 " On the day we left I asked her for the 
 corn-cob pipe. ' Then let me have the yellow 
 one to keep,' she said. She took it carefully 
 and looked at the delicate carving. ' It's pretty,' 
 she remarked at last, ' but I rather think I like 
 the corn-cob best.' 
 
 "That's why the * corn-cob ' hangs in the 
 middle there, fellows, and no one smokes- it 
 but myself. When I look at it, it takes me 
 back to the ranch-house in the mountains and a 
 pair of black eyes beneath a big sombrero." 
 
 F. M. Van Horn. 
 T/ie Wisconsin j^gis. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 99 
 
 The Chronicle of the Exam^ 
 
 Now in those days a course was given, and 
 all the people came to take the course, for it 
 was a snap. 
 
 Some of them were wise and some were 
 foolish. 
 
 They that were foolish took the course, but 
 took no notes of it. And while the quarter 
 tarried they all whispered and slept. 
 
 But the wise took notes and hearkened unto 
 the Prof. 
 
 Then at last there was a great cry made. 
 Behold, the Exam cometh. 
 
 Then all the people arose and began to cram 
 their notes. 
 
 And the foolish said unto the wise : Lend us 
 of your notes, for ours are lost. But the wise 
 answered : We know it is not so. 
 
 Then great fear arose in the hearts of the 
 foolish, and they got themselves together with 
 a great cry, saying : Woe, woe, to us, lest we 
 flunk and be a sport of the campus. 
 
 Then arose one who was foxier than all the 
 rest, and said in a loud voice : Go to, oh, ye fear- 
 
200 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 f ul ! I, even I, will save you, and we shall still be 
 the people. We will give a great feast, and lo, 
 no man shall come save the Professor. And 
 him we will make drunk with frappe and with 
 feasting. And on the evening when the Exams 
 come his heart will be full of thanks to us, and 
 none shall flunk. Selah. 
 
 And it was so even as it was said. 
 
 E. H. B. 
 
 University of Chicago Weekly. 
 
 The Augury of the Birds* 
 
 It was the day before the Country Club held 
 its gun shoot. Forker and Miss Laurence were 
 shooting for practice, — at least Miss Laurence 
 was. Forker was shooting because she was. 
 
 "That was my last shot," she said, regret- 
 fully, as she threw away the shell and blew the 
 smoke out of the gun-barrel. 
 
 *^ But your bag is nearly full of shells ! " he 
 protested. 
 
 She took out one, cut it open, and showed it 
 to him. 
 
 *' You see there are four wads, but no shot in 
 these shells." 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 20I 
 
 He looked puzzled. 
 
 "It was an idea of father's," she explained; 
 " he was afraid I would shoot somebody while I 
 was learning, so he contrived these shells, and 
 put in the four wads so they would kick as 
 much as if they contained shot." 
 
 " Very ingenious ! " he said, admiringly. 
 "Won't you try some of mine.'*" 
 
 "My shoulder is beginning to get sore," she 
 pleaded ; " besides, I would rather watch you 
 shoot." 
 
 He acknowledged the compliment by bring- 
 ing down the next six birds handsomely. 
 
 " It is rather awkward for you to mark score, 
 and load, too ; won't you let me load for you .-* " 
 she requested. 
 
 He handed over his gun and cartridge-belt. 
 She loaded deftly, and he always found his gun 
 ready when he turned around after marking the 
 scores. 
 
 "Do you believe in the * Auguries of the 
 Birds .<* '" she inquired, as she blew the smoke 
 out of the gun. 
 
 " Auguries .? " he echoed. 
 
 "Do you mean to say you never heard of 
 auguries.'*" she asked. "Romulus and Remus 
 
202 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 consulted them about founding Rome, you 
 know. Besides, it is the only sure way to 
 find out when you are going to marry." 
 
 " But I don't need any ' auguries ' to tell me 
 whom I want to marry," he protested. 
 
 " One doesn't always marry the person one 
 wants to," she remarked, provokingly. 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 " It is very simple," she urged ; " I name a 
 girl and you shoot at a pigeon. If you kill the 
 pigeon the girl is to be your wife." 
 
 " Suppose I miss them all V 
 
 " Then you will be a bachelor." 
 
 He agreed to try it. 
 
 "The first will be Annie Lawton ! " she 
 announced. 
 
 He groaned. 
 
 The pigeon flew away unscathed. 
 
 " Next is Fanny Ames ! " 
 
 "She squints," he objected; "besides — " 
 
 Another pigeon flew across the fields. 
 
 " This is Laura Falkney ; now be care- 
 ful ! " she admonished, as she handed him the 
 gun. 
 
 "But," he protested, "that was before I 
 met — " 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 203 
 
 He heaved a sigh of reUef as the third pigeon 
 flew off. 
 
 "This is the last pigeon, Mr. Forker ! " the 
 boy called out, as he put it in the trap. 
 
 *' Can't this one be you .? " he requested. 
 
 " I would rather not," she said, demurely, 
 dropping her eyes. 
 
 " But you proposed it ! " he urged, reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 " Oh ! very well, then, since it was my idea," 
 she said, blushing as she loaded the gun. 
 
 The pigeon arose from the trap. He shot. 
 The dog brought the pigeon and laid it at 
 Forker' s feet. 
 
 It was on their wedding trip that he told her 
 that he deliberately missed all but the last bird. 
 
 " Do you remember my shells ? " she asked. 
 
 "With the four wads and no shot.?" he 
 inquired, laughingly. 
 
 "And do you also remember that I loaded 
 your gun ? " 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 " Well, Jack, the last shell was the only one 
 that contained shot." 
 
 Thomas Watson. 
 
 Va/e Courant. 
 
204 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 In the Car. 
 
 She had just hurt her ankle playing basket- 
 ball, and waited impatiently for a car. As she 
 climbed aboard, she saw that not a seat was un- 
 occupied. Several men were standing in the 
 aisle, and two still had seats. One of these was 
 manifestly intoxicated, and she pulled her dress 
 aside with an expression of intense disgust. But 
 the hurt ankle throbbed cruelly, and she turned 
 in despair to the other man. He was an elderly 
 gentleman of beneficent expression, and she 
 steadied herself to ask, timidly : 
 
 " Might I have your seat, please ? My 
 ankle — " 
 
 He looked up from his paper a moment, then 
 turned back with a gruff " No." She flushed 
 angrily, and stepped forward. But the other 
 male passenger had taken in the scene, and ris- 
 ing unsteadily, offered her his seat with a heavy 
 bow. Then lurching forward on a strap, and 
 emphasising his remarks with the heavy gravity 
 given only to great sages and those who have 
 imbibed too freely, he addressed the gentleman 
 with the paper : 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 205 
 
 " See 'ere," he said, wagging heavily his index 
 finger, " I'm drunk, but I'll get over it. You're 
 a hog. Never get over it." 
 
 University of Chicago Weekly. 
 
 As It Was in the Beginning* 
 
 Graham strolled leisurely into his eight o'clock 
 synchronously with the quarter-after strokes of 
 the bell in the tower, unmindful of the reprov- 
 ing and somewhat threatening pause in the 
 voice of the long-suffering instructor ; or of 
 the mild stare of the students more prompt 
 in attendance, who knew the signs, and scented 
 trouble in the air ; or of the fellows whose 
 quick smile of welcome greeted him here, as 
 everywhere. 
 
 He was idolised as only a man can be who 
 has won and kept a high place for his college 
 in the intercollegiate ; and to whom the glory 
 of many a crew victory is willingly accorded. 
 The fellows on the seat in the extreme rear of 
 the room, sufficiently removed from the platform 
 to be undisturbed by the fund of information 
 emanating therefrom, laid aside their newspapers 
 and novels, even the books whose lessons for the 
 
2o6 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 next hour they were eagerly conning, and made 
 room for Graham. 
 
 The instructor, exasperated by Graham's fre- 
 quent non-appearance many mornings back ; not 
 recognising in the big fellow's deliberate move- 
 ments his cherished and laudable ambition to 
 move with dignity like Herr Professor, whom 
 the fellows secretly dubbed " Zeus ; " and for- 
 getting, in the short eight minutes he had been 
 at his post, the long, hot walk up the hill, gazed 
 fixedly, almost sneeringly, at the unconscious 
 Graham, as the latter hurriedly whispered some 
 final directions to the fellow next him about 
 the game that afternoon. 
 
 The pause began to impress the newcomer, 
 for he flushed, broke off, and then looked un- 
 flinchingly at his instructor, waiting results. 
 Mr. Demetson wavered an instant under that 
 cool, respectful glance. Personally he liked 
 Graham — dependent though he was upon the 
 tender mercies of "the powers that be" for 
 enough hours to graduate in the spring. But 
 this tardiness must be stopped, and he was the 
 man to stop it. The unobtrusive entrance of a 
 girl at that instant, who came regularly at 8 : 20, 
 in spite of, perhaps because of, many a would-be 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 207 
 
 persuasive tete-a-tete with her handsome young 
 instructor after hours, decided him. 
 
 "Mr. Graham," he said, with appalhng dis- 
 tinctness, " the next time you come to class at 
 this hour, you needn't come." 
 
 Some girls tittered. Graham bit his lip ; but 
 work at Percy had not spoiled him, so his " Not 
 prepared," in response to an unreasonable re- 
 quest to " continue the translation " immediately 
 after, was somewhat awestruck and humbled. 
 
 Realising that he was free from responsibility 
 for that morning, he gave loose rein to his 
 thoughts, and during the remainder of the hour 
 remained oblivious to all desultory claims upon 
 his attention. 
 
 He thought of the old farm, with its nerve- 
 destroying monotony, from which he had broken 
 away under protest. He recalled his father, 
 bent with age, who had refused to aid his son in 
 "getting an education." His mind reverted to 
 his entrance into Ithaca life, — the queer little 
 hair trunk, the first dreary, lonesome night at 
 the Ithaca Hotel, — later his puzzled surprise 
 at the popularity which greeted his big frame ; 
 his own athletic renown — and he gazed proudly 
 down on the winged foot on his sweater ; then 
 
2o8 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 thoughts of the coming graduation filled him 
 with delight, and also uncertainty. Fervently 
 he hoped his name would have an "O.K." after 
 it ! when the clock sounded the hour, and there 
 was a general shuffle of departing feet. 
 
 A hand upon his shoulder roused him. 
 ** Graham," said his instructor, kindly, "a. little 
 more diligence is worth the price of an extra 
 medal or two, my boy ! " 
 
 With a smile, Graham grasped the extended 
 hand. " I've been thinking it over, and if the 
 end isn't too near .? " he stopped ; but the in- 
 structor gave him an encouraging grin, as he 
 said, "Go in and win." 
 
 On Class day, Graham answered to his name 
 at roll-call, more or less to the surprise of some 
 members of good old '98. Still, such things 
 have happened from time immemorial. 
 
 w. 
 Cornell Magazine. 
 
 A Cambridge Episode* 
 
 When the North Avenue car had jolted into 
 the Square, four men, apparently college fel- 
 lows, filed in. Tall and broad-shouldered as 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 2O9 
 
 football players, they moved with the precision 
 which our tandem interference strives for and 
 the slowness to which it attains. Looking up 
 and down the almost empty car, the leader 
 seemed to be choosing a seat with unnecessary 
 care. Finally he sat down and his three com- 
 panions close by him. As they sat there in a 
 row of four, these fellows had nothing unusual 
 about them. They were, however, a bit too 
 serious for students ; and their long faces 
 seemed to impress a young lady in a black 
 dress who, as it happened, sat opposite. But 
 although out of the corner of her eye this young 
 lady watched them with the interest which girls 
 appear not to take in the opposite sex, they paid 
 no attention at all to her. 
 
 When the car had gone a few blocks beyond 
 Porter's Station, the young lady in black sig- 
 nalled the conductor to stop ; then picking up 
 a roll of music, she got out by the rear plat- 
 form. Before she had reached the curbing, 
 some one else had left the car and was walking 
 rapidly behind her. This person soon overtook 
 her and said, ** Dear madam, may I carry your 
 music } " Turning her head instinctively, she 
 saw that it was one of the four men who had 
 
2IO CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 sat opposite her. She looked at him rather 
 sharply, and crossed to the edge of the side- 
 walk. She could not escape, however, for the 
 stranger persisted, " Why do you not answer 
 me .? " 
 
 Realising that it was no use to pretend not 
 to have heard, she said, with a certain degree of 
 dignity, "You have no right to speak to me. 
 Leave me at once. You do not even pretend 
 to know me." 
 
 "Ah, madam," said he, "but I should like 
 to know you." 
 
 "Leave me," she cried, "or I will call — " 
 
 Just at that moment she noticed that two 
 ladies on the other side of the street were 
 watching her rather intently. Turning, she 
 said sweetly to her admirer, "Yes, you may 
 walk home with me if it isn't too much 
 trouble." 
 
 As they walked up a side street she said, 
 half to herself, " I didn't want those ladies to 
 see that a stranger dared speak to me. I know 
 them. Now they will think it was an acquaint- 
 ance. I didn't want them to tell mean stories 
 to all my friends." 
 
 "I thank those ladies, then," said her com- 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 211 
 
 panion, "for the sweetest moments of my life." 
 Fie waited an instant for a reply, which was not 
 granted him ; then he went on, ** The pleasure 
 of being in your presence, of looking at your 
 face — I know I am rude. I can't help it. You 
 have fascinated me so." 
 
 By this time they had stopped before a red 
 brick house set in a narrow lawn. The girl 
 lifted the latch of the gate ; but he held it 
 closed. "Won't you give me a kiss.'*" he said. 
 "Then I'll steal it ! " 
 
 The girl was too quick for him. Darting 
 from his arms, she ran across the lawn and up 
 the steps of the house. Pale with anger, she 
 turned as if to speak. Then she opened the 
 door and banged it after her. 
 
 The disappointed man stood looking toward 
 the house. Then crossing the street, he met the 
 three men who had been with him in the car, 
 and who must have left it at about the same 
 time. 
 
 ''You saw," he said to the foremost of them, 
 "that I tried to kiss her." 
 
 The leader shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Members of the honourable Fraternity of 
 A. Z.," he said, "you see how woefully the neo- 
 
2 12 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 phyte has failed in his duty. Bear this in mind 
 against the day of judgment." 
 
 J. Leonard. 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
 Scene: Dinner at one of the Women^s 
 
 Halls. 
 
 [Characters : Immunes to Nervous Prostration.] 
 
 Chatter — chatter — buz-buz — chatter. 
 
 " A man told me the other day that he knew 
 why girls were so glad there was a war. When 
 I asked — " 
 
 " Pshaw, we aren't, and his reason couldn't 
 have been any good. But what I was wonder- 
 ing was whether Harschberger really makes his 
 crackest shirt-waists on the bias. You see — ." 
 
 " Have a pickle .'* Remember how the French- 
 man said ' the Lord pickle you ' because he 
 didn't know the difference between pickles 
 and preserves t " 
 
 " Now Usten — " 
 
 Chatter — chatter — buz-z-z. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! That's a good one. What 
 did the little boy do ? " 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 213 
 
 " He shouted, ' Rubber/ and — " 
 
 '^ After all, Plato lived a long time ago. Don't 
 you think so, too ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but Doctor Shorey can make — " 
 
 " Why, they are bottled up at that San some- 
 thing place, aren't they ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I have the greatest thing to tell 
 you." 
 
 *' Don't mention it." 
 
 " You say the hero's name is Evrard } Is he 
 any relation to the piano manufacturer } " 
 
 ** Can't be, for he's neither grand, square, nor 
 upright." 
 
 *' Elegant ! " 
 
 Chatter — buz. 
 
 " The thing that makes me feel worse about 
 it is — " 
 
 "What's the mucilage bottle got to do with 
 it .? " 
 
 " He always has us give the principal parts of 
 the verbs." 
 
 " Why, that's the sticker ! " 
 
 " Oh ! you fraud. Ha ! ha ! " 
 
 " He's adorable, I know ; but still I don't 
 care so much for a man that's so popular with 
 the girls." 
 
214 C^P ^ND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 " I know it ; but a man needn't be a stick. 
 Now, in a professor you want — " 
 
 " I know you do, and I'm sure we'll both 
 agree that this one isn't a — " 
 
 " Oh ! There are the Beecher girls getting 
 their tennis nets. Let's leave our pie and 
 skip ! " 
 
 University of Chicago Weekly. 
 
 After Sunday Comes Monday. 
 
 The nine-thirty bell had just clanged when 
 some one accidentally made mention of Monday. 
 Now the only drawback to a college Sunday is 
 that it is followed by a college Monday. So, 
 though harmless in itself, the remark had much 
 the effect of a bomb dropped into the midst of 
 a ball. The girl at the door stopped short with 
 her pencil poised in the air, in the act of sketch- 
 ing her portrait for her hostess's memorabil. 
 The girl with the fudge-pan paused in pensive 
 reflection with a spoonful of crumbs half-way 
 to her mouth ; the girl that had been reading 
 aloud all evening stopped "reading ahead." 
 Subjectively speaking, dreary Monday had al- 
 ready begun to dawn. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 215 
 
 " What time are you going to get up ? You 
 will call me, of course." 
 
 "Yes, at six." 
 
 "■ Six ! Dear child ! I must be up by four 
 at least." 
 
 The special-topic course girl looked sympa- 
 thetic; the lecture course girl disdainful, for- 
 getting exam, week crams ; the scientific math- 
 ematician, who never procrastinated, scolded 
 till the French and Greek shorter course girls 
 compromised at five. 
 
 The latter of these, contrary to all Monday 
 morning precedent, awoke of her own accord to 
 find that some one had closed the window and 
 turned on the heat. The sun was already up 
 and shining brightly, but the evident lateness 
 of the hour did not worry her. In that care- 
 free mood that sometimes comes with sleepi- 
 ness, she turned over and took another doze. 
 The entrance of the maid with a meal-order 
 awakened her. She was a little astonished that 
 the girls should have known she wanted it, but 
 that did not interfere with the enjoyment of 
 some really tender steak and clear, hot coffee. 
 Just as the last bit of brown toast was disap- 
 
2l6 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 pearing some one dropped in to say there was a 
 cut in Greek and no new preparation. So there 
 was plenty of time to dress for economics. This 
 class went off well, since the professor had 
 decided a lecture would serve as well for review 
 as the expected written lesson. She wasn't 
 called on in Latin, which was fortunate, for she 
 was not good at " sight." After lunch she 
 really did mean to do two hours of hard history 
 reading, but it was a glorious day and golf is so 
 fascinating. After all it didn't matter, for she 
 shone at the seventh hour on a point of biblio- 
 graphical knowledge gained from a personal 
 acquaintance with the author in question. At 
 dinner they had ice-cream as on Wednesdays, 
 and while they were still lingering around the 
 table, the messenger girl left word that Mrs. 
 Kendricks had changed her mind ; the Juniors 
 might go to the theatre that night, even though 
 they had been three days before, and ''rush 
 tickets" would be allowed. A crowd for the 
 " peanut gallery " was quickly formed and the 
 novelty and unexpectedness of the entertain- 
 ment made it all the more enjoyable. Coming 
 out on the car it was very jolly till they got on 
 the switch waiting for the down car. Then the 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 21 7 
 
 lights went out suddenly, the people all disap- 
 peared, leaving the doors open and her alone in 
 the dark. Ugh ! It was cold ! She shivered 
 and rubbed her eyes. 
 
 " I thought you never would wake up. I 
 nearly roused the house by pounding on your 
 ceiling, and had to come down in the cold after 
 all. Where are your matches .'* It is ten min- 
 utes past five and a dreary drizzle to greet you. 
 There ! I upset all your Greek papers. Oh, 
 dear ! Why doesn't some one eliminate Monday 
 from the calendar } " 
 
 I. L. v. 
 Vassar Miscellany. 
 
 A Conversation^ 
 
 The room was empty, drearily so, but there 
 was an unmistakable sound of whispering in 
 the air. 
 
 " Where are they all .'' " came in a stuffy 
 voice from the direction of the window-seat. A 
 long-drawn sigh was the only answer, and it 
 was unmistakably from the clock. 
 
 "The Plugger," said the stuffy voice, "where 
 
2l8 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 is he ? " " He's around," sighed the clock ; " he 
 that used to be the paragon of virtues came in 
 an hour ago, smoking a cigarette, and cussing 
 himself for having taken three cuts already in 
 Physics, — he was dressed for Hamp." 
 
 " I must have been taking a nap," said the 
 window-seat. " Where's the Cynic ? " 
 
 " Married, and left college, — got a good posi- 
 tion, I hear." 
 
 " And the Sport ?'* in a faint voice. " I 
 haven't heard," said the clock. 
 
 There was a sob that seemed to come from 
 the leather lounging-chair. ^' He graduated last 
 June," said the chair; "and I hear" — with 
 another sob — " that he's studying theology 
 down in Andover." There was a long silence. 
 
 "I liked him," sighed the clock, "though he 
 used to sling boots at me in the morning for 
 ringing the alarm just when he set it. He used 
 to say I was like his overcoat, — always on 
 tick." 
 
 There was another solemn silence, broken by 
 the clock, which continued in a brighter voice : 
 " But they're not all gone. The Individual was 
 in here this morning, with the Plugger. He 
 was looking for a Horace trot. Said he'd 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 219 
 
 almost educated himself to the point where he 
 could read Horace without the aid of the Latin 
 text. Hasn't changed any, either. He worried 
 around quite a while trying to decide whether he 
 ought to write to a girl that he knew for three 
 days last summer. Said she asked him to, but 
 he says he has the feeling that a fellow oughtn't 
 to take advantage of things a girl says in the 
 summer — any more than hold people to prom- 
 ises made in their sleep. He thinks it's a sort 
 of malady with 'em." 
 
 "That's what the Sport always said," sighed 
 the chair. " He never wrote letters, anyway. 
 All the time he was with me he only wrote 
 one, and that was in answer to a dun from 
 Utterly. I remember it, because he sat on my 
 arm and wrote it on a pad. It read : 
 
 " H. A. Utterly, 
 
 " ^Dear Sir : — Yours at hand ; I am in the 
 habit of settling my acc'ts alphabetically, and 
 will give yours attention when I get to U. 
 
 " * Sincerely yours.' 
 
 Wasn't bad, was it .? " 
 
 " Ah, just like the Sport," said the window- 
 seat ; " awfully sorry he's gone. When he was 
 
2 20 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 here those scrub ladies never dared to fill me 
 up with rubbish every Friday." 
 
 " Well," murmured the clock, " I guess there's 
 more like him, — Amherst don't change for 
 the worse, and if good men have gone, better 
 ones'll come." 
 
 *' What we need is a little more fair weather," 
 muttered the chair. 
 
 "Shut up," said the clock, "the Sport was 
 too much for you — besides, here comes Prof. 
 Charley for the waste paper basket." 
 
 And silence reigned once more. 
 
 Amherst Literary Monthly. 
 
 His Last AppeaL 
 
 "You have ruined my life," he wrote, and 
 then stopped, for he was a thoughtful youth 
 and generally considered what he said. He 
 glanced back over the page and read it again. 
 " Heartle-ss-ly you led me on, knowing all the 
 time that you would one day break my heart, and 
 glorying in the fact. Would we had never met. 
 I felt your power over me from the first, but 
 did not struggle against it. Why should I .? I 
 thought you were pure, innocent, true, all 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 22 1 
 
 that you seemed. Well do I remember that 
 first night. We walked hand in hand in the 
 moonlight by the long stretching beach. You 
 were a revelation to me. An orphan, having 
 neither mother nor sister in my childhood, it 
 was not strange that you awakened in me all 
 the delicate sensitiveness so long dormant. 
 Since that hour every minute of my being has 
 been a sacrifice to your presence. How I have 
 striven to be to you what I hoped you would 
 always be to me ! Last night all was a beauti- 
 ful dream. To-night I stand overwhelmed with 
 my loneliness. Once I had had no inspiration, 
 now I have had it and lost it. Who is to blame ? 
 Need I ask you } Let your false heart answer, 
 if there be still one true voice left in it ; you 
 have ruined me." 
 
 He stretched out his arms upon the table 
 and laid his aching head heavily upon them. 
 Manly tears, long pent up, burst from his eyes 
 as he murmured, '' No, no, not even the Boston 
 Globe would accept that, and my board bill is 
 due to-morrow." 
 
 H. 
 
 Dartmouth Literary Monthly. 
 
222 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 The Postmaster^s Story^ 
 
 The ** Liars' Club " was holding its regular 
 monthly meeting in the little old "grocery " at 
 the Centre, and was now about to adjourn. 
 There had been an unusually large attendance 
 and the stories had been unusually good. The 
 plug of tobacco, which was always the prize on 
 such an occasion, had been won by Aaron Stod- 
 dard for the third consecutive time. It was 
 growing late ; in fact, the clock had already 
 struck nine, when somebody suggested that the 
 postmaster should bring the meeting to a close 
 with a story. Now, it was not customary for 
 the old man to join in the competition ; in fact, 
 his position bordered on that of president, al- 
 though there were no regularly appointed offi- 
 cers. But on this occasion his smile indicated 
 that he considered the suggestion with approval. 
 So, after taking a light lunch of fresh Virginia 
 leaf, he began : 
 
 " Wall, boys, this hain't much of a story, but 
 you all know ol' Sim Rexwood over Sherbu'n 
 way — died 'bout ten, mebbe twelve years ago — 
 used to stammer powerfully. It 'ud bin a good 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 2 23 
 
 year for corn, and they'd bin bothered some by 
 the squirrels. One day, as Sim was comin' up 
 from the barn, where he'd been milkin', he saw 
 one on the ridge-pole of the granary makin' a 
 good deal of noise. " Ch-ch-chit-chitter away," 
 said Sim, <'but I'll fix ye." So he went into 
 the house and brought out one of them old-fash- 
 ioned muskets, — the kind with three brass rings 
 down the barrel, flint-lock, and hold about a 
 handful of powder ; bin loaded three, mebbe 
 six months. Sim took good aim, poked the 
 muzzle up at the squirrel, fired, and the gun 
 knocked him flat on his back. He was dazed 
 for a moment, then he opened his eyes and saw 
 the squirrel still on the ridge-pole, and it made 
 him mad. "Ch-ch-chit-chitter away, cuss ye," 
 he hollered, " but if ye'd b-b-bin at the other end 
 of that g-gun, ye'd quit ch-ch-chit-chitterin'." 
 And the meeting adjourned. 
 
 John A. Thompson. 
 Wesley an Literary Monthly. 
 
224 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 Bane and Antidote. 
 
 This is the story of the sadness of a Fresh- 
 man, and how his sadness was soothed. 
 
 Dicky's ankle had been strained, some said 
 by running up a hill in the early morning, some 
 said by chasing a pig in the dusk of evening. 
 And Dicky sat at his table on this night when 
 the sorrow came on him, with his game leg 
 propped in a cushioned chair. He was looking 
 at a French grammar, thinking he was studying 
 it, and all was going w^ell. Then a door, the 
 front hall door down-stairs, opened and shut 
 heavily, and Dicky, listening, could hear the 
 sound of girls' voices. Now this is a strange 
 thing in a Frat house, and only happens on 
 Party Nights. This was Party Night. It was 
 therefore that Dicky was sad. 
 
 " Up here with this-sleg " — through clenched 
 teeth, ''bucking Fre-hench " — this with a stifled 
 — well — suspiration, '' while " — the rest of the 
 sentence was drowned. A French grammar fell 
 heavily in the opposite corner. 
 
 Dicky grew bitter. " Oh, yes. This is sworn 
 friendship for you, friendship and — brother- 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 225 
 
 hood," sardonic on this last word, " nice brother- 
 hood. Not a fellow has stuck his head in here 
 the whole evening — every last mucker grinning 
 and capering down-stairs — and me a crip." Oh, 
 well, these people were not of his sort, anyway. 
 Say, the whole town was a lonesome hole. It 
 wouldn't last always, though. Then Dicky 
 studied the calendar. . . . Finally he sighed, 
 and took up a pen. 
 
 " Dear Mother : — The wind is whistling 
 through the bare trees. The rain is beating 
 upon the windows. I am alone in my room, 
 and am so lonesome for all of you." Here Dick 
 turned around. The bright moonlight smiled 
 into the room, and the breeze from the open 
 window scarcely stirred the curtain. He grinned 
 sheepishly, and tore the letter into strips. Then 
 he chewed one of the strips in deeper dejection 
 than before. 
 
 Dick could hear an occasional mug clinking 
 the sides of the punch-bowl. The music struck 
 up a familiar waltz. Merry feet were scraping 
 to its measures. The boy's melancholy grew 
 positively abysmal. He did not remember ever 
 to have felt so bad. He wished he could think 
 of something poetical and tragic to say. And 
 
2 26 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 finally recollecting having read about a fellow 
 that wanted his flesh to melt, Dick sought and 
 found comfort in " How weary, stale, fiat, and 
 unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this 
 world." Having read this speech through, with 
 cramping throat and moistened eye Dick hob- 
 bled to bed, with his nose feeling as if he had 
 been drinking untold pop. 
 
 A little later there came a tap at the door. 
 Dick was drowsing. '' What you want .? " he 
 grunted. Something metallic bumped slightly 
 against the door, and Dick recognised the voice 
 of the other Freshman : '' Open it, will you .? I've 
 got my hands busy." Dick extended himself 
 across a chair and turned the knob. The door 
 was pushed in by a foot from the outside. The 
 other Freshman entered. He was carrying a 
 tray. " Oh, you're abed, old man. Weren't 
 asleep, were you .? Thought you might like 
 some of this stuff, you know. Shall I set it 
 on the chair .? All right. Yes, swell time. 
 Rotten shame you can't -be down. How's the 
 limb .? " 
 
 But Dick was looking at the tray — and melt- 
 ing. There was cake with nuts in it. Punch, 
 too. And ice-cream, a slice, with white, pink, 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 227 
 
 and green sections. As Dick's mouth filled, his 
 heart kept it company ; clearly the fellows were 
 not so bad. The world was not so dark a place 
 after all. 
 
 It was a half-hour after this that the Senior 
 opened the door of Dick's room — without 
 knocking. He had come up to tell Dick that 
 Elsie had been inquiring after him. But the 
 Senior only looked in, lit a match, and withdrew. 
 The Freshman was slumbering nasally in pro- 
 found and plethoric content. 
 
 Edwin Snow. 
 Wisconsin ^gis. 
 
 The Conversion of Fredericks. 
 
 The night of the mass-meeting Fredericks 
 mused gloomily in his room. " It can't do any 
 good, that's sure ; there'll be a lot of cheering 
 and rot about Harvard spirit, and that'll be the 
 end of it. Come in," he shouted, answering a 
 feeble rap at the door. 
 
 *^ Oh, it's you, is it. Brag } " he asked. 
 
 "Yes," answered his tutor; "I thought I'd 
 find you in to-night, so — " 
 
2 28 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 "What made you think you'd find me in 
 to-night ? " demanded Fredericks, savagely. 
 
 " Why shouldn't I ? " queried the other, rais- 
 ing his eyebrows. 
 
 " Why, man ? Because we both ought to be 
 at the mass-meeting. You know that as well 
 as I do." 
 
 " No, I don't. I hadn't thought of it. And 
 since we're not there, let's get to work on this 
 Phil ; that's what I came for." 
 
 " It won't do any good. What's the use ? " 
 muttered Fredericks, absently. 
 
 " Well, you'd better try, — old Potter always 
 gives a stiff exam." 
 
 " Great heavens, man, can't you ever think 
 of anything but marks and exams ? There's 
 something going on to-night that vitally con- 
 cerns us all ; that's going to effect a big change 
 for the better. My — what are you grinning 
 at } " 
 
 Brag rose to go. " I'm grinning, as you're 
 pleased to call it, because you're so hopelessly 
 illogical to-night, that to try logic would be a 
 waste of time. You'd better go over to the 
 mass-meeting ; that's what you're thinking 
 about." 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 229 
 
 '' No, I'm not. It can't do any good, as I said 
 before. Sit down, old man ; fire away." 
 
 The tutor opened his well-fingered book, and 
 began to read straightway in a monotonous, nasal 
 drone, which he varied occasionally by a quick 
 explanation. 
 
 "It would be fine, though, wouldn't it," 
 
 broke in Fredericks, abruptly, "to meet all 
 
 sorts of fellows, to find out what they're like, 
 
 what they think, to make them think well of 
 
 you .? " 
 
 " I wish you would pay attention, please," 
 said Brag, testily. Then he went on to explain 
 with infinite patience the mysteries of Barbara, 
 Celarent. But Fredericks heard only sounds. 
 Suddenly there floated up from without a faint 
 " Rah, Rah, Rah, Rah, Rah, Rah, Ha— ! " 
 
 "That's the end of it," sighed Fredericks. 
 
 " Not of this, though," answered his tutor, 
 flushing, "You see, the first figure is easily 
 the most important. You remember the dia- 
 gram he gave in the lecture. Oh, that's so, you 
 missed that one. Well, it's like this — " 
 
 " Sh ! there's the band," interrupted Fred- 
 ericks, eagerly. The faint, discordant sounds 
 of " Up the Street " annoyed Brag exceedingly. 
 
230 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 He glanced impatiently at the clock. "Til 
 come some other time," he said, stiffly. 
 
 " Oh, sit down, there's a good fellow. You 
 don't want me to flunk." 
 
 Brag, the much enduring, sat down and began 
 anew his interrupted explanation. But his pupil 
 was not listening : the band, the noise was com- 
 ing nearer, and, flunk or no flunk, he leaped to 
 the window. Thence he saw, way down by Hol- 
 worthy, a great black snake, twisting and wrig- 
 gling, and lighting up strangely in different parts 
 with transiently gleaming eyes. The serpent 
 glided around Stoughton, toward him. At length 
 the noisy animal reached University, and became 
 a silent, amorphous mass of black. 
 
 Brag continued to read and Fredericks lis- 
 tened, quivering with excitement and scorn. 
 The first barking cheer brought him with a 
 bound to the window. But the tutor, deter- 
 mined to finish the chapter, read loudly : *' Di- 
 lemmatic arguments are, however, more often 
 fallacious than not, because it is seldom pos- 
 sible to find instances where two alternatives 
 exhaust — " 
 
 " Shut up, you cad," hissed Fredericks, almost 
 crying. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 23 I 
 
 From the depths of the darkness rose " Fair 
 Harvard," a great, swelling paean of common 
 joy and hope. Into the yard there rushed a 
 hatless, coatless figure, singing like mad. 
 
 Murray Seasongood. 
 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
 The Freshman^s IdeaL 
 
 Some of us have ideals. Some of us have 
 ideals which we have supplied with costumes, so 
 that however questionable a proceeding we may 
 have entered upon, we feel that our ideals are 
 still with us, garbed as becomes the occasion. 
 And there are others who try to bring them- 
 selves into harmony with their ideals, and not 
 vice versa. Such a one is the hero of this little 
 tale, which serves to show how we may uncon- 
 sciously wreck the happiness of another. 
 
 A certain Freshman had formed an attach- 
 ment for a Senior. The attachment was not 
 reciprocated, it is hardly necessary to state, 
 since the Senior did not know of its existence. 
 The Freshman had worshipped from afar. He 
 had observed the authority the Senior's words 
 had among his fellows ; he had seen the look 
 
232 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 of deference members of the faculty exhibited 
 when they met him ; and most of all, he envied 
 the high stand which he took in the good graces 
 of the town maidens. All these points were 
 carefully noted by the Freshman, and he said 
 to himself, " Some day I will be a great and 
 good Senior." But alas ! 
 
 He had wandered one night, after an evening's 
 grind, far into the country. The harvest moon 
 brightened his path, and his active fancy was 
 throwing a bridge over three years of his future, 
 when he was startled by sounds of revelry. He 
 looked into the adjoining field and beheld a 
 barn, through the cracks of which he could see 
 that the building was lighted up. How well he 
 could picture the interior ! How often he had 
 participated in similar scenes ! The piles of 
 corn, the gallant youths, the jugs of cider, .and 
 the pretty maidens, — in fancy he saw them all. 
 Although he could not participate in their joy, 
 he would at least view it. And in an instant 
 he is over the fence and stumbling through the 
 ploughed field which reaches to the side of the 
 barn. He stoops and applies his eye to a con- 
 venient knot-hole. He sees within a crowd of 
 men, their coarse features intensified by the 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 233 
 
 excitement they are experiencing. Every eye 
 is focussed upon the two combatants in their 
 midst. On the other side from him, his features 
 clearly shown by the light of an overhanging 
 lantern, his hair dishevelled, his scholarly brow 
 wrinkled by the interest he feels, watch in hand, 
 is the exemplary Senior. He is timing a dog 
 fight ! 
 
 An insuppressible lump rose in the Fresh- 
 man's throat, and with tears in his eyes he with- 
 drew his gaze from a scene which had blotted 
 the light out of his life. 
 
 John A. Thompson. 
 Wesley an Literary Monthly. 
 
 A College Revery^ 
 
 Will that bell never ring } Time must be 
 up. I am ashamed to look at my watch again. 
 He saw me last time and I haven't done any- 
 thing but gape for the last twenty minutes. I 
 am positively the sleepiest man that ever dozed 
 in a college class-room. Any one but a fool 
 would have cut — except myself, with twenty- 
 nine already after my name. By Jove ! I must 
 pay attention. He is apt to call on me any 
 
234 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 time. Look at those girls in the front row. 
 Girls? Well, perhaps! Anyhow, they write 
 away as though they were taking down every 
 word. Great Scott ! That was a narrow escape. 
 He looked at me twice before he asked — I'm 
 next. What was that question? "What was 
 the next act of Peter the Great?" His — 
 what was it? Ask me? Hang Peter the 
 Great ! What is my next act ? That is much 
 more to the point. That bell must be broken 
 again. Just my luck. I've got to say some- 
 thing — flunked yesterday. Bluff ? Yes, I will 
 bluff a lot when I haven't caught a word for 
 the last half hour. What's that he said about 
 Poland ? What can I say about Poland ? Well, 
 I will ! Hear that " Grad " apologise because 
 he looked the fact up in only three authorities^ 
 Ha! ha! Help! He's looking at me again. See 
 that twinkle in his eye ! Knows he's got me. 
 Confound these courses that are neither recita- 
 tions nor lectures — don't give me any more 
 of this half and half. My name ! Well, here's 
 for a bluff or a flunk — Ah ! There goes the 
 bell 1 Saved again ! 
 
 T. 
 
 University of Chicago Weekly. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 235 
 
 Uncle Bill^s Opinions* 
 
 I. ON INTEMPERANCE. 
 
 Yes, children, drink is a bad thing ; indirectly 
 it was the cause of Uncle Jake's death. I'll 
 tell ye how it happened. 
 
 On his fortieth birthday he gave one of them 
 there swell birthday parties, and he had a big 
 cake with forty candles a-burnin' on it, — one 
 candle fur each year of his life. Wal, yer uncle 
 got to drinkin' and drinkin', till finally he drank 
 so gol durn much that he got to seein' double, 
 and the next time he looked at that birthday 
 cake he counted eighty candles instead of forty, 
 and he died of old age, — all due to likker, 
 children, all due to likker. 
 
 II. ON ATHLETICS. 
 
 What ! let you children go an' see them 
 thar college students play football } Never ! 
 Why, that game is the most brutal and dan- 
 gerous game, by gosh, that was ever invented. 
 I'd sooner let you walk under a ladder on 
 
236 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 Friday with thirteen black cats a-folleren be- 
 hind you. 
 
 Why, jest to show you how all-fired danger- 
 ous football is, take the case of yer cousin Silas, 
 who died before you was born. He was down 
 in the big city a-walkin' peaceably along, when 
 a wagon come a-thunderin' down the road like 
 hellbentfurelection, an' jest as Silas was crossin', 
 the gol ding thing swooped down on him an' 
 busted his leg fur life, by gosh ! We found out 
 afterwards that that wagon was comin' from a 
 football game, and that goes to show how all-fired 
 dangerous the game is. That was back in '52. 
 
 They didn't play football then, you say .-* 
 Wal, if they had, that wagon would probably 
 have been comin' from the game jest the same, 
 'cause the driver always was fond of sports. 
 Anyhow, it proves that it ain't no fit game fur 
 you children to see. 
 
 Princeton Tiger. 
 
 On a High StooL 
 
 If your train stopped long enough, and you 
 knew the customs of the place, you hurried 
 down behind the station to the little German's, 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 237 
 
 where they sold rye bread and "delicatessen." 
 There you sat on a high stool, with your eye on 
 the clock, and ate the most delicious sausages, 
 all hot and spicy, and drank the mustiest of ale, 
 with your rye bread in among the swallows ; 
 until the blue-eyed waiter looked out of the 
 window and said : " Dot engin' is boggin' oop." 
 Then you took one last, big mouthful, grabbed 
 your change, and ran. 
 
 Harvard Advocate, 
 
 Little Tommy Atkins* 
 
 It was his very, very dirty face which first 
 attracted me ; that, and his brass buttons. He 
 was devouring a large and greasy sandwich. 
 After he had pitched the crust over the raiUng 
 into the water, he came over and sat down near 
 me. 
 
 "Are you all alone.?" I said, pleasantly. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am. I am on my way home from 
 school." 
 
 It was then the last week in August. I 
 started, and gazed at him in amazement. 
 
 " School ! What school .? " I gasped. Vague 
 visions of reformatories passed through my mind. 
 
238 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 "The Cadet School of San Francisco," he 
 answered, in a matter-of-fact tone, 
 
 " Oh ! " I said. " A long vacation ? " 
 
 "A month, and I'm home only two weeks of 
 that, for it takes me a week to come and a week 
 to go." 
 
 I looked at the dirt on his face and believed 
 him. 
 
 " I'm going to be a sailor," he continued, see- 
 ing that I was interested. " My father is second 
 lieutenant on the Texas. He gets thirty-two 
 dollars a month." 
 
 He paused a moment to see how that would 
 impress me, and then continued : " My oldest 
 brother is in the navy, too. I've got a brother 
 in the army, and I've got a sister who is a Red 
 Cross nurse. She's in Cuba. My mother and 
 the kids stay home." 
 
 I felt like asking how, in that case, he hap- 
 pened to be in San Francisco at school, but 
 wisely refrained. Instead I asked him quite 
 as foolish a question, — if he ever got sea- 
 sick. 
 
 " I ain't a girl," he said, calmly, but not 
 impertinently. I never felt so keenly the 
 inferiority of my sex as at that moment. So 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 239 
 
 I changed the subject by asking him why he 
 wished to be a sailor. 
 
 His httle homely, freckled face lighted up. 
 *'The United States needs sailors," he said, 
 " so I am going to be a sailor." 
 
 Could there be a stronger oath of allegiance 
 to country than that .-* 
 
 When the boat reached the dock in New 
 York, "I'm almost home," he said. **We live 
 in Hoboken. I wish vacation was longer. I 
 see my mother only two weeks during a year, 
 you know." 
 
 The crowd was pushing toward the gang-plank. 
 
 "Good-bye, Tommy Atkins," I said. 
 
 " My name's Nelson Farrigan," he started to 
 say, when a big man stepped behind him, and I 
 saw him no more. But I call him Tommy 
 Atkins all the same. 
 
 Mary H. Fisher. 
 
 Wellesley Magazine. 
 
 Three O'clock, A. M. 
 
 The theatre was just out and I was standing 
 on Harrington corner waiting for a West Side 
 car. The city hall clock was striking eleven. 
 
240 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 As the crowd surged by me I felt something 
 pushed into my palm ; my first impulse was to 
 close my hand, the next to see what my prize 
 was. It proved to be a crumpled piece of 
 paper, and in the half light from a drug store I 
 made out the following : 
 
 *' Meet me here at three to-morrow morning." 
 
 There was no signature. 
 
 The problem of standing in a foot of floor 
 space and balancing in a swinging car by a 
 strap, kept me so busy that I forgot my queer 
 letter till I was comfortably settled before the 
 cheerful fire in my room. Feeling through my 
 pockets for a match, I came across the crumpled 
 missive. I examined it closely and saw that it 
 was written in a strong hand on good paper. 
 Although not an expert, I felt convinced that 
 it was a man's writing. Now, who in the world 
 could want me at three in the morning ! No 
 one that I could think of ; and being of an 
 imaginative nature I had soon made up a beau- 
 tiful story. The clock striking twelve aroused 
 me. " Come," said I, " I must get a little 
 sleep if I am going to keep my appointment." 
 I had determined to see it through. I did not 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 24 1 
 
 go to bed, but set my alarm clock at 2.30, and 
 wrapping myself in a blanket, was soon sleeping 
 on the couch. 
 
 The discordant jangle of the alarm seemed 
 out of place in my dream of a summer sailing 
 party, but I jumped up, and by quarter of three 
 I was ready to start. I had put on a pair of 
 old knickerbockers, a heavy sweater to guard 
 against the chill of the fall morning, and a small 
 cap. I had debated whether to take a re- 
 volver or no, but decided in favour of a stout 
 hickory stick which I had cut years ago in 
 the mountains. 
 
 I could not suppress a low laugh as I care- 
 fully let myself into the quiet street. The 
 electric lights went out just as I turned into 
 Pleasant Street, and over Newton Hill I could 
 see the rim of the moon disappearing. Not a 
 living being was in sight, and the night seemed 
 to grow darker every minute. I crossed Main 
 Street and took my place on the corner just as 
 the clock began to strike three. The last 
 stroke was dying away when some one touched 
 my arm. I jumped, for I had heard no one 
 come up. It was Tom Finegan, the night 
 policeman, who had disturbed me, and who said, 
 
242 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 in a gruff voice, " Well, you came, did you ? " 
 " Yes, I've come. What do you want me for ? " 
 Tom was six feet four, a lean, lank Irishman 
 with a bulldog jaw, and twinkling blue eyes, 
 the kind that sometimes turn hard and glitter 
 like steel ; when they do, wise and understand- 
 ing men stand from under. At the present 
 moment, as near as~ I could see, an almost 
 infantile smile shone over his face as, in answer 
 to my question, he said, " I've got something to 
 show you." I looked at him carefully, but 
 could get no clue from his face. ** Well, hurry 
 up," I said. We started down Main Street at a 
 good pace and turned up Foster. 
 
 The old rink loomed up large and dark, and 
 in the deep shadow I saw a team. In a 
 moment we had reached it. It was the " Hurry- 
 up " wagon. " Get in, sir," said big Tom, and, 
 being too surprised to resist, I was helped up 
 the steps by a powerful shove. " What in the 
 name of thundering blazes is this for ? " I 
 thought, as we rattled over the rough street. I 
 looked at Tom, but his face was fixed as a 
 sphinx. I had just made up my mind to ask him, 
 when we stopped about a hundred yards from 
 the Union Depot. A familiar voice sounded 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 243 
 
 out of the darkness, " How do you like riding 
 in the patrol wagon ? " It was my friend Billy 
 Williams, the detective. I began to expostu- 
 late, but couldn't well continue angry at Billy 
 when he went on : '' You know last week you 
 said you wondered how people felt when they 
 rode in the ' Hurry-up,' so I gave you a chance ; 
 and you wanted to see how a man acted when 
 he was trying to get away from the law and was 
 arrested suddenly. Tom Southard, the New 
 York forger, is going through on the 3.40 
 express, and we are going to nab him. Come 
 on. I knew you would want to come, and it 
 was too good a chance to give the go-by." 
 
 Billy is a good fellow, but I can't say that I 
 think he has a very delicate sense of humour. 
 
 John Gregson, Jr. 
 
 Bowdoin Quill. 
 
 Poor Little Reginald* 
 
 I hadn't seen Mrs. Peter, young Mrs. Peter, 
 I mean, since Easter. That was nearly six 
 months before, and in six months, I protest, one 
 may be forgiven for forgetting a great many 
 things. 
 
244 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 We conversed for some little time about 
 commonplaces not worth the repeating. 
 
 " You remember little Reginald ? " inquired 
 Mrs. Van Holt at last, with a plaintive droop 
 of the voice. 
 
 I hesitated long enough to review mentally a 
 squadron of yellow-haired and leather-beleg- 
 ginged Little Lord Fauntleroys who belonged, 
 severally, to the young married ladies of my 
 acquaintance. Was there a Reginald among 
 them .? I thought so. Still — ^' You cannot 
 have forgotten Reginald, I am sure," she added, 
 a little reproachfully, with emphasis on the 
 " sure." 
 
 " Certainly not," I answered, quickly ; " who 
 could forget the dear little fellow ? " 
 
 "We lost him last summer," said she, sadly. 
 
 " I cannot express how your words grieve and 
 surprise me," I hastened to say. " It is very 
 strange that I did not hear of it. Was he ill 
 long .? " 
 
 " He wasn't ill exactly, — I shouldn't say," 
 she replied, pensively. "He died of internal 
 injuries, the doctor said." 
 
 " An accident ?" I suggested, sympathetic- 
 ally. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 245 
 
 " Yes, he was run over by a cab in front of 
 the house, and died a few hours later." 
 
 " How dreadful ! " I exclaimed. " What a 
 shock it must have given you, Mrs. Van Holt." 
 
 " I am sure it did. Indeed, Peter said it was 
 wrong for me to take it so much to heart as I 
 did. He said it was a sin ; but I don't think 
 it was, do you .? " 
 
 ^'The duty of restraining one's grief at the 
 losses of those one loves, is a duty more hon- 
 oured in the breach than in the observance, I 
 fancy," said I. I felt quite proud of that 
 remark. For a man not given to making moral 
 reflections, it seemed to me rather good. 
 
 '' Now you are laughing at me," cried Mrs. 
 Van Holt, pettishly. " You men have no feel- 
 ing, any of you." 
 
 '* You wrong me, I assure you," I protested, 
 vehemently. Peter Van Holt might be a brute, 
 but I was not. *' You wrong me deeply," I con- 
 tinued, "in believing for a moment I would 
 scoff at maternal affection, that purest — " 
 
 I stopped. There was something like a smile 
 lurking in Mrs. Van Holt's features. Then I 
 realised my blunder. I was furious. How, in 
 Heaven's name, could a man be expected to 
 
246 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 remember all the miserable little curs that fool- 
 ish women might choose to lavish their affec- 
 tions upon ? 
 
 " We have been having beautiful weather for 
 the last few days, have we not ? " said Mrs. Van 
 Holt, sweetly. 
 
 Percival Henry Truman. 
 
 Williams Literary Monthly, 
 
 Lunches^ 
 
 It is amusing to watch the different charac- 
 teristics of the girls in one class as shown by 
 their lunches. One girl, who is very particular 
 in her manners and conversation, has a small, 
 neat lunch-box with each article wrapped up sepa- 
 rately in white tissue-paper. Her bread sand- 
 wiches, about half the size of ordinary ones,. are 
 nearly as thin as chips. A hearty, whole-souled 
 girl usually sits beside her, and their lunches 
 are as different as the girls themselves. The 
 latter has a large leather box filled with good 
 substantial sandwiches, fat pickles, and usually a 
 generous piece of pie, the size of which fairly 
 makes one hungry. These are packed neatly in 
 a big, snowy napkin. There is another lunch 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 247 
 
 that is particularly characteristic of its owner, 
 who is one of these restless, high-spirited girls, 
 always rushing from one thing to another. Her 
 grapes and cake are usually mashed together in 
 a confused state at the bottom of the box, while 
 a large heavy apple stands boldly on top of the 
 wreck, regardless of consequences. 
 
 E. M. T. 
 
 The College Folio. 
 
 Her Key* 
 
 "Are you sure this is the right key .'*" The 
 girl on the steps stopped humming the Babbie 
 Waltz long enough to answer : 
 
 *' Of course ; I got it of Miss R and 
 
 signed my name all regular and proper." 
 
 " Sure you didn't make a mistake and bring 
 your gym. key ? Smallest door-key I ever saw," 
 he growled, as he lit another match and with 
 wonderful self-control silently bent his knees 
 again and tried once more to fit the key into 
 the gloomy lock. Ten minutes more ; and 
 then : 
 
 " Really, Mr. Van Wycke, haven't you got 
 that door open yet ! Is this the first time 
 
248 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 you've ever been to St. Nancy's Hall ? " This 
 was superfluous, considering the extremely few- 
 nights that he had been anywhere else. 
 
 "Let me try it," confidently. He silently 
 handed it over. 
 
 After a few minutes she said, " Why, what 
 do you suppose is the matter } " 
 
 " Where did you get the key 1 " asked Mr. 
 Van Wycke, calmly. 
 
 " I asked Miss R for a night key ; told 
 
 her where I was going, with whom, what I was 
 going to wear, and all the topics of conversation, 
 — she was writing a speech and just gave me 
 this, and I hurried out without looking at it. I 
 had kept you waiting so long, you know." 
 
 " That's nothing very unusual ! I'm getting 
 
 used to that. Where does Miss R keep 
 
 the latch-keys .? " 
 
 <* In a cunning little box just — " 
 
 « Locked } " 
 
 "Yes, with a little padlock." 
 
 " Then she gave you the key to the box and 
 thought you were clever enough to unlock the 
 cunning little box yourself to get your key, and 
 you — " 
 
 "And I just took the padlock key and 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 249 
 
 thought it was the door-key ! Isn't that a 
 joke ? " and she laughed as if it really was. 
 
 *'And now, my dear young friend, how are 
 you going to get in ? " 
 
 " Mercy ! How am I ? " 
 
 '' Shall I ring ? " 
 
 *' Who would answer it ? Do you suppose 
 the maids are up at one o'clock at night ! " 
 
 " Won't some of the girls hear you and come 
 down?" 
 
 " They'd think it was the rising bell and sleep 
 right on." How warm and light the beautiful 
 old hall looked between the maroon curtains 
 across the square plate of glass in the big 
 door. 
 
 " Well, we might sit down on the steps 
 awhile," said Mr. Van Wycke, cheerfully. 
 " Perhaps some one will come. Besides, this is 
 a good time for you to answer that question." 
 
 She was gazing interestedly over at Haskell, 
 looming dark against the windy sky. " Did you 
 ever notice the crosses on the tops of all these 
 buildings "^ " she asked, innocently. 
 
 "Now, Florence, what's the use of wJting 
 till you're graduated } July is three ■" .onths 
 off. You can answer me now just as vvell as 
 
250 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 then. We'll play this is July, if you insist on 
 July." 
 
 " Oh, no, we can't ! It's against the Univer- 
 sity rules, and besides, I — I think I'm taking 
 cold.'^ 
 
 " You are ! We've got to get into this house ! 
 Would it scare the St. Nancy maidens to death 
 if I should throw pebbles against their win- 
 dows ? " 
 
 " No, because there isn't any one on the 
 second floor this vacation, except Barbara, and 
 she's afraid to stay alone on the second." 
 
 " We must find some way. You can't stay 
 here on the door-step all night," energetically. 
 
 "No, Miss R wouldn't approve." 
 
 " I can't take you to the Del Prado this time 
 of night — really, my dear girl, this is serious." 
 
 "We might put a ladder against the fire 
 escape," she offered. 
 
 " I forgot to bring a ladder to-night. Are you 
 cold ? Let me have your hands." 
 
 "Or wake up Kelly," she continued. "Oh, 
 I know ! " suddenly. " The night watch ! He 
 has a key ; go find him — no I'm not cold." 
 
 " Well, I'll go ; but, Florence, you'll tell me 
 before July, won't you .-* " 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 25 1 
 
 '' Let's see ; you're a graduate student, and it 
 isn't against the rules unless they are under- 
 graduates." He made a sudden motion. " No, 
 no. Go find the watchman ! It's nearly two 
 o'clock ! " 
 
 Fanny Crawford Burling. 
 University of Chicago Weekly. 
 
 In the Reading-room. 
 
 Now and then, in the noise of scraping feet 
 and squeaking chairs, there came a momentary 
 silence which filled the whole reading-room ; a 
 silence as if each reader were looking up from 
 his book and wondering at the stillness of every 
 one else. Then the feet of some late-comer 
 pattered on the iron steps, and the readers 
 buried their heads again under the green 
 lamps. 
 
 Men shifted their feet on the cross-beam 
 underneath the desks. Near me a nervous 
 student, writhing with the weariness of sitting 
 still, dealt a shrewd kick to the shins of his 
 invisible opposite ; above the yellow, wooden 
 partition rose two heads at once, — one aggres- 
 sive, one apologetic. 
 
252 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 Books began to be shut noisily ; the gaps in 
 the bright red rows on the shelves began to be 
 filled up ; down the stairs men went plunging, 
 two steps at a time ; and soon the attendant, 
 who went about snapping with metallic clicks 
 the screws of the electric lights, stopped short, 
 and in a high, sing-song voice called out, " Li- 
 brary closed ! " 
 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
 Seen from the Road* 
 
 The weather-beaten cabin stood ten or twelve 
 feet from the driveway. The space between 
 was an arid desert on a small scale, and was 
 peopled by a little black boy of about three 
 years, who was playing at "parlour car con- 
 ductor," I imagined, for as he trotted his tiny 
 black feet about, he would call out : " Par car 
 dis way ! Par car dis way ! " Presently a large 
 negress appeared in the doorway with her arms 
 akimbo and great beads of perspiration upon her 
 forehead. Her hair was bound tightly back 
 with a red bandanna, knotted on the top of her 
 head, while round gold rings glittered in her 
 ears. She watched the boy a moment, and 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 253 
 
 then said, slowly : " Look yere, Ebennizer, ef 
 yo' don' wan' to sunstruck yo'se'f, yo' better 
 come in de house ! " 
 
 Charles Otis Judkins. 
 
 Wesley an Literary Monthly. 
 
 The Love of Lop-Ear* 
 
 ToMAS and Sesena had lost a burro. For a 
 week the swarthy Chollos had followed burro 
 tracks through the dense brush, but without 
 finding the missing Lop-Ear. 
 
 Every one within ten miles of the Juarez 
 tienda knew that the travellers were looking 
 for ''one burra vieja^ very thin, very sore- 
 backed, one ear lopping over, very close 
 hobbled." 
 
 At last word came that a vaquero had seen 
 their burro fourteen miles to the south. " Pen- 
 dejo animal!'' exclaimed Tomas, "all times 
 does that wife of the devil walk, walk, walk, 
 back for Santa Rosalia." 
 
 Before sun-up the next morning the travellers 
 were on their way down the valley, and dusk 
 was falling when they returned, this time driv- 
 ing the miserable little animal before them. 
 
254 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 Poor, wretched Lop-Ear ! Of all the victims of 
 Mexican cruelty your lot is the hardest. But 
 the greasy loungers hanging around the tienda 
 had nothing but laughter and jokes for the 
 misery of the little beast that shambled by, 
 never even wincing when Tomas prodded her 
 bleeding flanks or when Sesena's club fell on 
 her protruding hip-bones. 
 
 Tomas, who presently came back for some 
 panoche, said to the storekeeper in jerky, excita- 
 ble Spanish : 
 
 " We come from Santa Rosalia, nine hundred 
 miles to the south. That child of evil had one 
 colt too young to travel, so we left him behind. 
 Now all the time she wants to go back. We 
 hobble her when we stop to make coffee, and 
 she starts back for Santa Rosalia. We tie her 
 up, and she eats nothing, but stands at the end 
 of her riata and looks with her one ear, back 
 toward Santa Rosalia. Her hobbles wear her 
 ankles to the blood, but when we camp at the 
 day's end, she walk, walk, walk all night for 
 Santa Rosalia," and without waiting for the 
 polite condolence of the tiendero, he took his 
 package and hurried on after Sesena. 
 
 In the morning they were up betimes, and 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 255 
 
 making ready to continue their journey. Lop- 
 Ear cringed nearly to the ground when they 
 placed the heavy carga on her festering back, 
 and then, with pitiful apathy, stood limply while 
 her masters threw all their strength into tighten- 
 ing the lash-ropes. With short, weak steps, 
 she followed the jack along the trail that crossed 
 the narrow, pine-clad ridge and zigzagged down 
 the abrupt mountainside to the level of the 
 cactus desert that spread out below. 
 
 Every burro is a marvel of vitality, but even 
 burro-vitality has a limit, and the jump-offs, 
 cat-steps, and sliding places of that precipitous 
 trail tried the failing powers of the worn-out 
 animal to their utmost. Lop-Ear was barely 
 able to stagger along when at last she made her 
 way through the iron-woods to the water-hole 
 at the edge of the desert. 
 
 Tomas looked up at the rugged mountain as 
 he loosened her pack-ropes, and said with a 
 satisfied grin : 
 
 " I guess this night Lop-Ear won't start back 
 for Santa Rosalia." 
 
 " Quien sabe ? " replied his companion. 
 "You'd better hobble her, anyway." 
 
 Night soon fell, and the Mexicans, too tired 
 
256 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 to enjoy their after-supper cigarettes, spread 
 their blankets on the warm sand and fell 
 asleep. 
 
 The sun was high over the desert when Sesena 
 awoke, and it was not till he had made a fire 
 and mixed the flour for the tortillas that Tomas 
 arose and went out after the burros. 
 
 In a short time he returned driving the jack, — 
 Lop-Ear was not to be found. 
 
 After considerable talking and shoulder-shrug- 
 ging, the exasperated men ate a hasty breakfast 
 and started out to search for the missing animal. 
 Presently Tomas found her tracks. 
 
 " Aah-00-oo-aah," he yodled. 
 
 ** Aah-00-oo-aah," answered Sesena, and was 
 soon at his companion's side. There on the 
 smooth, white sand he saw where Lop-Ear, with 
 her little two-inch steps, had started back for 
 Santa Rosalia. 
 
 "She can't be up there," he said, staring 
 blankly at the rugged mountainside. 
 
 " There are her tracks," replied Tomas. 
 
 Yes ; there were her tracks, and a few yards 
 up the hill lay the rawhide thong they had tied 
 around her ankles. Clotted hair on the jagged 
 rocks showed where she had fallen and had 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 257 
 
 struggled out of her hobbles. Well, there was 
 nothing to do but to follow her. 
 
 Up, up they clambered. Half-way to the top 
 they found blood-soaked hairs on the loose stones 
 at the bottom of a slide. 
 
 " Wife of the devil ! " muttered Tomas. 
 " Look where she fell." 
 
 The shadows of the mountain were stretching 
 far out across the desert, and the Mexicans had 
 worked their way nearly to the top of the 
 range. They were hurrying now, for they 
 were afraid that Lop-Ear would gain the dense 
 underbrush of the plateau. Suddenly they 
 heard a clatter among some jagged ledges a 
 half-mile above. 
 
 " Hurry, or we lose her," panted Sesena, and 
 the men redoubled their efforts. At last the 
 beetling crags were gained. Then at a sudden 
 turn in the trail they came upon Lop-Ear. 
 There, where she had fallen back from a sharp 
 flight of cat-steps, lay the little mother ; her 
 head sunk between the poor maimed legs that 
 were still gathered as though about to rise and 
 struggle on toward the foal at Santa Rosalia. 
 
 H. F. COOLIDGE. 
 
 Stanford Sequoia. 
 
258 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 How I Recovered^ 
 
 Monday morning I caught a cold. Tuesday 
 morning I went to a homoeopath. He looked at 
 my tongue and gave me some Purity Kisses. 
 Wednesday morning I went to a surgeon. He 
 tapped my chest, examined my bowels by means 
 of the X-ray, gave me a drink made of checker- 
 berry and assafoetida, and told me to boil my 
 feet in hot water. Thursday I went to an allo- 
 path. He felt of my pulse and said, " My son, 
 you have got whooping-cough ; don't go near 
 any babies." But I got no better. Friday I 
 left off smoking. Now I am all right. 
 
 Harvard Advocate. 
 
 A Filibustering Father^ 
 
 " No," said the captain, in his slow " down- 
 east" drawl, "sence mother died, father don't 
 care for nothing but filibustering. There's a 
 pile of money in it, too." 
 
 We were beating down the lower bay aboard 
 a small cutter. The rest of the party were 
 sitting forward, but I had stayed aft to talk to 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 259 
 
 the captain, a long acquaintance with him having 
 taught me that he never failed to be a delightful 
 companion, 
 
 " Seems a kinder pity," he went on, pres- 
 ently ; " father'd be a rich man now, if he didn't 
 drink up every cent he made." 
 
 I admitted that this was to be regretted. 
 
 ** He most got ketched last winter," the cap- 
 tain continued, a faint smile illuminating his 
 usually expressionless countenance. *' They 
 fitted out a vessel up to Brooklyn. Guess I 
 know the firm that done it, too. Folks got 
 kinder suspicious when they see father waiting 
 round, and began to ask where she was a-going, 
 so father, he jest made up his mind that he'd 
 meet her down to Baltimore, where they was 
 a-going to take the ammunition aboard. That 
 was all right enough. Father he went down 
 there and waited until she come into the har- 
 bour one evening ; then he was a-going to get 
 the stuff on her quick, and get away before 
 morning. Well, one way or another, the Span- 
 ish consul got wind of it, and when father went 
 down to the dock about twelve o'clock one 
 night, he found two men there, with orders not 
 to let any one lay a finger to the ammunition, 
 
26o CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 and to arrest any one who tried it. They was 
 a-going to hold her till they found out more 
 about her. That didn't suit father. There's 
 some men would have gone back to New York. 
 Filibustering, you get half your money when 
 you undertake the job, and half when you 
 deliver your cargo. Some men would have 
 been content with the half of the money, but 
 father ain't that sort. He sat and talked with 
 them two for awhile, then he jest hired a row- 
 boat, and rowed out to the vessel, and brought 
 back four of the crew. They was all big men, 
 and father he told them on the way how to gag 
 a man before he gets a chance to holler, though 
 I reckon they knew it before he told them. He 
 brought them up to the men who was on the 
 dock, and they all sat around on them barr'ls as 
 sociable as you please. After awhile father he 
 feels in his pockets and brings out a couple of 
 ten-dollar bills. 
 
 " * Say,' says he, 'there's a dock about a mile 
 away from here, and if you two was to go and 
 watch there you'd have less work and make 
 more money.' 
 
 "They said they guessed they'd stay where 
 they was, and they began to get ugly, so father 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 26 1 
 
 jest passed the word to his four men, and I 
 don't rightly know how they done it, but the 
 next morning that boat and that ammunition 
 and them two men, they was all on their way to 
 Cuba. Anyway, that's what father says, but I 
 wouldn't be surprised if the men never got 
 much farther than the bottom of the harbour. 
 Father's real self-willed when you cross him." 
 
 Alice Duer. 
 Columbia Literary Monthly. 
 
 Duets* 
 
 Two met on a highway. " Go no farther ! " 
 said one. 
 
 " Know you not who I am 1 " said the other. 
 "I go where I list; I am Love." 
 
 *' You can go no farther," said the first. " I 
 am Death." 
 
 "I will grant you two desires," said Life to 
 the youth. " What would you t " 
 
 " I am blind," said the youth. " Open my 
 eyes." And Life did so. 
 
 " Now what is the other wish } " asked Life. 
 
 " Make me blind again," answered the youth. 
 
262 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 " I have found the secret of the universe," 
 said one. 
 
 " And I, too," said the other. 
 '' But you are only a lover," said the first. 
 '' And you are only a scientist," answered the 
 second. 
 
 Arthur Lawson Goodwillie. 
 
 Williams Literary Monthly. 
 
 ChapeL 
 
 The great bell clangs out through the morning 
 air, sending its summons over the white-crusted 
 campus. The slippery walks are crowded with 
 black figures moving toward Taylor Hall, single, 
 in groups of twos and threes, wrapped close with 
 shawls and hoods, half of them umbrellaless. 
 Voices fall as they enter, and amid friendly jost- 
 ling around the bulletin-board and in the cloak- 
 room, whispered greetings are exchanged. Then 
 up-stairs to the silent chapel, with its white 
 windows made whiter by the frost. The black 
 mortar-boards nod their tassels in cheery greet- 
 ing ; subdued talk between neighbours fills the 
 room with a low hum. A sudden hush ; the 
 talk stops ; the heads are still ; a moment's 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 263 
 
 pause, and the service has begun. All are to- 
 gether for once in the day, with no distinction 
 of class or grade. All are alike children, and 
 children of Bryn Mawr. At the close of the 
 prayer another moment's silence. Then a sud- 
 den movement. The bell clangs out again. A 
 general rush to classes, to the office, to one's 
 room. The day has begun. 
 
 L. s. B. 
 The Bryn Mawr Lantern. 
 
 A Bargain* 
 
 The painter's wife had come all the way up 
 to the studio ; her soft hair and quiet unobtru- 
 sive little face looked pale and monotonous in 
 the gray north light from above. The painter 
 softened his brushes in a tin of turpentine, and 
 laid them away. He glanced across the big 
 bare room at the slender figure and raised his 
 eyebrows. 
 
 " I came up to get you, Jim — if — if you are 
 coming home to supper," she said. 
 
 ^' I'm sorry you took that trouble," he an- 
 swered, *' I'm dining out. I thought I told 
 you." 
 
264 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 '* I know, Jim, but I was so lonesome. I read 
 till I was tired, — I was reading ' Tess,' you know, 
 
 — and I got nervous and fidgety, and I went to 
 see Mrs. Taylor on the floor below, and — and 
 
 — I wondered whether you wouldn't have sup- 
 per home to-night. You haven't for four days. 
 Why, Jimmy, your model sees more of you 
 than I." 
 
 '* You have given yourself rather a needless 
 journey, then, because I am promised for this 
 evening. I'm glad you satisfied your suspicions, 
 though. I sent her home an hour ago — if you 
 care to take my word, that is." 
 
 ** Oh, oh ! How can you say such nasty 
 things ! I only wanted to have you home this 
 one evening. You aren't very good to me now, 
 Jim, I think. And I have such a nice hot sup- 
 per, and that salad you like. You used to 
 say — '* 
 
 " Spare us the description, please, Nellie. I 
 am really very sorry." He took off his working 
 blouse. '* There's nothing else, is there.-* If 
 you'll excuse me, I will clean up." 
 
 ^' I'm going in a minute, Jim. I didn't mean 
 to interrupt you. I am afraid I spoiled a sitting 
 yesterday, coming in. No, don't bother to come 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 265 
 
 with me. I know the stairs. Good-bye." She 
 closed her Hps firmly, and went carefully down 
 the flight of narrow stairs into the street 
 crowded with home-going shop people. 
 
 Three months later she went away with 
 another man, who said he cared for her. He 
 died, it seems, and no one has heard of her 
 since. However, such pictures as Jimmy's 
 cannot be had for nothing. For my part, since 
 I have seen "The Harvesters," and that study 
 of a " Girl in Gray," and " The Greatest of These 
 is Charity," — the last and finest of all (I saw 
 that at the Metropolitan with its salon number 
 fresh in the corner), — I can only think the world 
 had all the best of the bargain. 
 
 John Saunders Oakman. 
 
 Williams Literary Monthly. 
 
 A Comedy^ 
 
 It was near the end of the evening, and in 
 the big ballroom was to be observed that semi- 
 demoralisation that comes with the small hours, 
 when one's cotillon partner is off somewhere 
 talking to some one else and some other person 
 is talking to you. A rollicking polka was being 
 
266 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 played and flushed faces and merry tongues 
 told plainly that hearts were light as well as 
 feet. A dark-eyed girl with a bewitching 
 knot of red velvet in her hair, and a big 
 bunch of violets at her waist, was talking 
 earnestly to a rather tall young man, irre- 
 proachably dressed and remarkably depressed 
 in appearance. His white-gloved hands toyed 
 nervously with his watch charm, and his lips 
 were compressed in anything but an amiable 
 manner. 
 
 " And so our pretty day-dream topples over," 
 said the girl, trying to laugh a little as she 
 spoke. Her smile found no answer in her com- 
 panion's face. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, " like all that is worth 
 having in life, it topples over when you are 
 almost sure of it. What a dog's existence it is, 
 to be sure." 
 
 "Ah, no," said the girl, leaning forward, "do 
 not say that. She is a charming girl. You 
 will be happy — " 
 
 ''Happy.?" he echoed, bitterly; "I might 
 have been happy with you, but not with her. 
 I thought I loved her, but I found it was like 
 all thought, — fleeting. Oh," he added, more 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 267 
 
 vehemently, "it cannot be. There must be 
 some way out of it. I love you — " 
 
 " Hush ! " she exclaimed, softly. A girl in 
 white was passing ; a girl with great hazel eyes 
 and a superb figure. 
 
 "I love you," he went on, "and you alone. 
 Can't we do something ? " 
 
 "No," she replied, "we can't. You would 
 not want to throw her over, and you know it. 
 It is unworthy of you. Your engagement — " 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes," he broke in, fretfully, " I 
 know, I know. You are right, as you always 
 are. I must keep my word. There are too 
 many broken engagements nowadays." 
 
 "When is the marriage ? " she asked, softly. 
 
 " Easter Monday," said the man. " You 
 must come, you know." 
 
 " Like a lamb at the altar," she answered. 
 
 A moment afterward she was whirled away 
 by a pale young man with eye-glasses and a 
 chronic smile. 
 
 " If I had known you loved me," said the girl 
 with hazel eyes to her companion, " I don't 
 think I would ever have contracted this engage- 
 ment." 
 
268 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 " Break it, then, break it," replied he, eagerly. 
 " Must all our lives be ruined because you think 
 you must keep your word and marry this man ? 
 Perhaps he does not love you. Who knows ? " 
 
 " Why do you tempt me in this way } " she 
 answered, half angrily. " Don't you suppose I 
 know that he loves me, and knowing it, ^ould 
 you have me break the engagement and his 
 heart at the same time.-* I tell you I must 
 marry him, and you must be content to know 
 that you have my love and that I would marry 
 you if I could." 
 
 It was a superb wedding, an irreproachable 
 display of palms, a wedding-march by a famous 
 organist, and a bishop to marry them. The 
 bridegroom was not in the least embarrassed, 
 and the bride's gown was perfection. What 
 more would you have .-* As the happy couple 
 turned to come down the aisle the groom felt 
 almost contented. Had he not sacrificed him- 
 self for another ; given up his own best longings 
 to keep his faith with the girl at his side.? 
 There was a dark-eyed girl in the tenth pew 
 who looked at him very curiously, and for the 
 first time he seemed a trifle disconcerted. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 269 
 
 However, that is transitory. He has accom- 
 plished the sacrifice of his hfe. Could anything 
 be more satisfactory ? 
 
 As for the bride, she is very pale. Women 
 unfortunately cannot wholly conceal their feel- 
 ings. But she smiles, and deep down in her 
 heart is a feeling of pride at her own unselfish- 
 ness. Of course it's hard, but at the same time 
 it's heroic, and that little spark of self -adoration 
 which is inherent in the feminine breast blazed 
 up and sparkled merrily. Alas, he — neither of 
 the hesy in fact — would ever know what she had 
 done for him. There he was, half-way down the 
 aisle. The bride trembled a little and looked 
 down. 
 
 And so the church door closed behind them, 
 
 and the two martyrs had taken the first step in 
 
 married life. The world said it was a love 
 
 match, and very successful, and the conclusion 
 
 is that there is nothing like self-sacrifice, 
 
 after all. 
 
 Guy Wetmore Carryl. 
 
 Columbia Literary Monthly, 
 
270 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 From the Heights. 
 
 They were sitting side by side upon the 
 Heights, where the spring sunsliine, sifting 
 through the leaves, lay in golden spots on the 
 grass. The air was full of spring sounds, a 
 soft, indefinite harmony, — the singing of hylas 
 in the ponds, the twittering of birds, and the 
 faint snapping sound that the pine-boughs make 
 when the- tiny needles burst through the 
 winter sheath. The grass was powdered with 
 spring-beauties. Far below them lay the city, 
 with here and there a broad banner of smoke 
 rising and stretching away over the intense blue 
 of the sky. Beyond, a line of deeper blue 
 revealed the lake. 
 
 They had not spoken for a long time. The 
 girl's eyes rested on the distant horizon, and 
 there was a look in their gray depths of intens- 
 est happiness, — happiness so intense as to be 
 almost pain. His eyes were on her face. He 
 was thinking how beautiful she was with the 
 Madonna look in her eyes and the soft tendrils 
 of her brown hair lightly touching her forehead. 
 She seemed a long way from him, and he won- 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 27 1 
 
 dered whether he loved her. And she, with her 
 eyes on the far horizon, where now and then a 
 sail shone white in the sunshine, she was think- 
 ing of him. She heard the birds around her ; 
 she smelled the fragrance of springing grass 
 and bursting buds ; she felt the wonder of it all, 
 but all the sensations of her soul were blended 
 into one feeling of ineffable joy. 
 
 A woodpecker began to drum loudly on a 
 tree near by, and half startled, the girl turned 
 and met the man's eyes. It was only an instant 
 that they looked at each other, but it seemed a 
 long time to him before she dropped her eyes 
 from his face. He was almost certain now 
 that he loved her, and she — was realising that 
 he did not. 
 
 The breeze, catching a fold of lace, blew it 
 across her throat. The man leaned over her 
 and laid his hand on hers, very gently. She 
 shivered a little. " Come, let us go home," she 
 said. And rising, they went down from the 
 Heights together. 
 
 Marian Warner Wildman. 
 
 College Folio. 
 
272 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 The Ways of Woman* 
 
 " Why is it always so hot when we want to 
 play tennis ? " I asked. 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know," answered Patty, 
 "but it is, isn't it?" 
 
 I assented. Patty leaned back in the wicker 
 chair and fanned herself with her sailor-hat. 
 Her cheeks were pink with exertion, and the 
 saucy curls about her forehead were damp and 
 bedraggled. We had just been partners in a 
 set of doubles and had been badly beaten. 
 Patty makes up in grace and a pretty appear- 
 ance what she lacks in efficiency as a player. 
 
 ''There's a dance to-night," I resumed; 
 "shall I take you to it.?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," said Patty, with a great 
 show of indifference. "I half promised to go 
 with Tom, and I really ought, you know." She 
 watched me with a malicious smile. 
 
 I don't think I ever hated Tom quite as much 
 as I did then. 
 
 "Why, you said awhile ago that you would 
 never go to another with him, because he dances 
 so poorly," I remonstrated. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 273 
 
 "Really," said Patty, "I don't see that it 
 matters if I don't go everywhere with you. I 
 have concluded to go with Tom to-night," she 
 added, decidedly. 
 
 I looked across the court, then an idea struck 
 me. 
 
 " I'm very sorry," I said, "but I must leave 
 you for a few moments. I must speak with 
 Miss Henry," and I started to go. 
 
 Patty looked up in a startled way. 
 
 " You're not going to ask her, are you ? " she 
 queried. 
 
 " Why, yes," I said, " she's such a fine dancer, 
 and so nice, you know." 
 
 "But she's got red hair," said Patty, as if 
 that possession were a crime. 
 
 " Not red, auburn," I corrected, "and it's very 
 pretty, too." I looked attentively across at the 
 young lady in question. 
 
 "And she talks so loud. You're surely not 
 going to ask her .? " Patty seemed to be taking 
 it quite to heart. " Why don't you let Tom 
 take her ? He usually does." 
 
 " But Tom's going to take you," the game 
 was going my way, "and what would I 
 do ? " 
 
2 74 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 Patty looked confused. ''Why, you could 
 take me." 
 
 " You're very good," said I, " but Miss 
 Henry — " 
 
 " I'll tell Tom about it," rejoined Patty. 
 " Don't you want to walk to the house with 
 me ? " 
 
 We rose and went slowly across the lawn to 
 the piazza. Patty paused at the door. "And 
 I'll be ready at eight," she said. 
 
 "Very well," I answered, "but since I have 
 been so good, don't you think I deserve a 
 reward ?'' I looked at her meaningly. 
 
 "Don't be silly," said Patty, and closed the 
 door in my face. 
 
 Sherman Roberts Moulton. 
 
 Dartmouth Literary Monthly. 
 
 A Stray Sympathy* 
 
 A THRONG of busy shoppers pushed and 
 jostled one another good-naturedly, as they 
 passed and repassed on Boylston Street. It 
 was near Christmas time, as any one might 
 know from the shop windows and the bundles 
 and the good nature which pervaded the air. 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 275 
 
 On the sidewalk stood a small newsboy, his 
 face distorted by the ridiculously pathetic weep- 
 ing of childhood, his cheeks streaked with dirt 
 and tears, the little hands which vainly offered 
 the papers to each passer-by, blue with cold. 
 An impostor, of course, as every one accosted 
 by the tearful voice saw at a glance. But the 
 face of the little lad crying, on the Boston 
 streets, haunted one shopper for days. An 
 impostor ? Probably, but — it was Christmas 
 time. M. B. M. 
 
 Wellesley Magazine. 
 
 My Freshman* 
 
 To give up the joys of a quiet evening in 
 company with a few kindred spirits, a box of 
 Huyler's, and a big, delicious cake, and at the 
 decree of a despotic Sophomore to invite a Fresh- 
 man to the Sophomore reception, the night be- 
 fore the event was to take place ; the thought 
 was maddening ! Poor thing ! She had proba- 
 bly decided long before that she was not to be 
 invited, and was doubtless quite reconciled to the 
 fact. How disgusted she would be to find that 
 she had been allotted to an unsympathetic Junior ! 
 
276 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 Number ten was dark, but I knocked and 
 waited a moment ; a match was scratched, then 
 the door opened. 
 
 A large girl with red hair, and eyes red, too, 
 from homesick tears, I imagined, confronted 
 me. " Is this Miss St. Clair ? " I asked. " Yes, 
 ma'am," she answered. I had expected to wait 
 so many years before being called ''ma'am," 
 that I forgot what I had planned to say next, 
 and asked, abruptly : " Would you like to go to 
 the Sophomore reception with me.'"' "Yes, 
 ma'am," came the answer again. This was 
 very embarrassing, and if the Freshman had 
 not broken the spell by asking me into her 
 room, I think that I should have risked the 
 wrath of the Sophomore, and added, "Well, I 
 am very sorry, but I am afraid I cannot ask 
 you to go with me." 
 
 But after I had gone into her room, and told 
 her all I knew about the reception, explaining 
 when I would call for her, what my name was, 
 and a few other necessary things, I felt very 
 well acquainted. Yet when I was walking home, 
 I could not think of a word she had said, except- 
 ing, "No, ma'am" and "Yes, ma'am." Oh, 
 yes ! Just as I was saying good night, she 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 277 
 
 looked up in a most pathetic way and said, 
 " You are the very first Sophomore to call on 
 me." And to tell the truth, I was too new a 
 Junior not to have that a blow to my pride. 
 
 My touching tales of the homesick Freshman 
 filled her programme very easily, and I reserved 
 only the last two dances for myself. When the 
 time for those came, I asked, '' Shall we dance } " 
 " Oh, yes," was the answer, and then she added, 
 in a burst of confidence, " This is the first time 
 I ever tried to dance in my life, and I can dance 
 real well now, it is so easy." My adventures 
 during- that dance I am too kind-hearted to 
 relate. While pinning up my skirt and attempt- 
 ing to soothe my ruffled feelings, I suggested 
 that we sit out the next dance and talk. 
 
 It must have been near the end of the dance, 
 when it suddenly dawned upon me that I had 
 been doing all the talking, and it seemed only 
 fair for her to begin, so I asked her about her 
 plans for Mountain Day. 
 
 " You are anticipating a perfectly delightful 
 time to-morrow, I suppose V I asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 *' Are you going far } " 
 
 *' Oh, no." 
 
278 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 " Are you going with a large party ? '* 
 
 "Oh, no." 
 
 " Where have you planned to go ? " 
 
 " Nowhere." 
 
 This was discouraging. A Freshman who 
 could neither dance nor talk. I wondered what 
 she could do. It was not until yesterday that I 
 discovered. Walking home from chapel behind 
 two Freshmen, I overheard the following con- 
 versation : 
 
 " Isn't Jessemine St. Clair a prod .'* " 
 
 <' Well, I should say so ! She's the best 
 basket-ball player in the Freshman Class, and 
 you ought to see her vault the horse." 
 
 " Who took her to the reception } " 
 
 " Oh, some muff from the Junior Class, so 
 Jessemine said." 
 
 " Isn't she droll ? " 
 
 E. s. s. 
 Smith College Monthly. 
 
 Founded on Fact* 
 
 The Woman of the World sat at the piano. 
 The Boy stood beside her, bending down to her. 
 The Woman of the World was playing Schu- 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 279 
 
 mann. Her throat and arms gleamed like 
 warm marble in the soft candlelight, and the 
 effect against the shadow was very lovely. Pos- 
 sibly the Woman of the World knew this. At 
 any rate, she oughtn't to have allowed the Boy 
 to stand there. Being a woman, she continued 
 to allow him, but for a similar reason she com- 
 promised with her conscience and changed 
 abruptly from the Schumann to a passionless, 
 jingling two-step. The sacrifice was heroic. 
 
 " Why do you play that thing ? " asked the 
 Boy. 
 
 The Woman of the World made some answer. 
 She wished she had no conscience and did not 
 really like the Boy. He was big and muscular, 
 with a face suggestive of all the cardinal virtues 
 and Pear's soap. Lately there had come into 
 his eyes a look that made her a little sorry. 
 For she liked him, as has been said previously. 
 The blow came before she had a chance to 
 avert it. 
 
 " Claudia," the Boy said, — it was the first time 
 he had ever called her by her Christian name, 
 and he said it with a bashful tenderness, — "I 
 love you ; will you marry me ? " the Boy bent 
 very low, almost touching her hair with his lips. 
 
280 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 There is always one subject that a man may 
 be sure will interest a woman. There is always 
 one statement that will not grow commonplace 
 through frequent repetition. The love scenes 
 are really the only ones in the comedy of life that 
 most women enjoy acting for their own sake. 
 
 But Claudia liked the Boy ; in fact, she liked 
 him so well that she would have preferred put- 
 ting her face on the cold white keys and crying ; 
 women are nothing if not illogical. Instead of 
 such a bit of melodramatic bad taste, she laughed 
 softly without looking up. " How absurd ! " she 
 said, as if he had made quite a clever remark — 
 for a boy. 
 
 " My dear child," her tone was motherly, " I 
 am ages older than you, — quite five years. You 
 would never cease regretting that you had mar- 
 ried me. I should be old and worn before you 
 were in your prime. No, you must find some 
 one else, who will adore you and make you per- 
 fectly happy, and I will come to see you to lend 
 the dignity of age to your marriage." 
 
 "You are heartless," said the Boy between 
 his teeth. 
 
 " Am I ? Well, I don't agree with you, and 
 in a year you and she will thank me." 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 28 1 
 
 " I can never love any one else." 
 
 " Quite the conventional remark under the 
 circumstances. I should have felt quite hurt 
 had you not said it. But it's nonsense all the 
 same. Besides, I care for — some one else." 
 
 She told the lie with no apparent struggle. 
 
 He left her there in the shadow, still playing 
 the noisy, blatantly cheerful two-step. He went 
 too quickly to hear the music stop, with a sud- 
 den crash, and to see her turn with wide-stretched 
 arms, with her eyes like dewy stars shining 
 through her tears. And perhaps it was well 
 for him that he did not. 
 
 Arthur Ketchum. 
 Williams Literary Monthly. 
 
 The Decision of a Moment. 
 
 He had the reputation of being fickle. Per- 
 haps he deserved it. There were those who 
 said so. They had returned his ring. And 
 there were those who did not say so. They 
 hoped to wear his ring, for he was rich, hand- 
 some, and popular. He had been engaged three 
 times, and twice it had been broken off. True, 
 it was the girl each time, but then "no girl 
 
282 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 could be expected to keep her engagement with 
 such a — " and then the gossiping mothers 
 would elevate their eyebrows, as much as to 
 say, " Well, he would never have my daughter," 
 just as if there were the ghost of a chance of 
 his asking for her. 
 
 He was spending the summer at Bar Harbour, 
 and had just run over to the Waumbek in Jef- 
 ferson to meet an old friend and get a little 
 change of air for a fortnight or so. There, as 
 everywhere, he became a leader, organised the 
 coaching party for the Bethlehem parade, led 
 the cotillon, and was the moving spirit of the 
 place, until one unlucky day, toward the close of 
 the fortnight, she appeared. 
 
 Things changed. He who before had been 
 so delightfully general in his attentions, now 
 became pointedly specific. He was seen no 
 more in his favourite haunts and company. He 
 was her slave. She was rather tall, with a fine 
 figure and a face remarkable not so much for 
 beauty, which it had, as for expression, which 
 it had perhaps to excess, and a pair of jet 
 black eyes. Her eyes simply captured him 
 and made him completely forget a little girl 
 over in London, except when every other 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 283 
 
 day he began " My darling," and ended " Your 
 own ." 
 
 But she knew nothing of this. And he — he 
 could not or would not tell her. In the morn- 
 ing they played tennis, in the afternoon they 
 would stroll up Mt. Jefferson^ and see the sun 
 set beneath the Franconian hills, away across 
 the valley, and in the evening they would chat 
 on the pretty colonial piazza and watch the 
 moon rise over the Presidential Range. 
 
 His two weeks lengthened into three, then 
 into four, and four into six, and still he stayed. 
 His chum, on leaving, warned him. 
 
 " Pshaw," he answered, " not the slightest 
 danger ; merely a Platonic friendship. Why, 
 my dear fellow, you don't suppose that it could 
 go any further ? " 
 
 He said much more ; and his chum went 
 away convinced that he would meet her on the 
 Majestic as true as ever. But his words 
 were stronger than his sense of duty, and his 
 last night they had been later than ever before. 
 The next morning he left, and she wore a new 
 ring. 
 
 At first he wrote every day, and then every 
 other day. His foreign correspondence suffered. 
 
284 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 His letters followed her from Jefferson to Phila- 
 delphia. She " was to be in New York soon on 
 her way to Boston," she wrote. 
 
 " Is that so ? She of course will not, no, she 
 must not, cannot think that I — " He stopped 
 and thought hard for some minutes. She had 
 every right to think almost anything. 
 
 As the time came nearer for the Majestic 
 to sail, his letters across the water became more 
 frequent, and his others less. He was getting 
 worried. 
 
 At last she landed. She had cabled him to 
 meet her. He had seen the ship reported, and 
 he had not gone. 
 
 "There fnust have been a mistake," she said, 
 and wired him, " Start for Rochester ten-thirty ; 
 come." 
 
 He received it in his den in the ''Granada." 
 He had hardly read it when the maid brought 
 another. 
 
 << Why have you not written 1 Leave for 
 Boston ten-thirty-five. Meet me." 
 
 It was now half-past nine. Plenty of time to 
 catch either train. Which should it be.? He 
 leaned over to his desk and took out two photo- 
 graphs. They could not have been less alike; 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 285 
 
 the first, a stunning girl, evidently very dark 
 with a striking face, and eyes a bit too auda- 
 cious ; the second small, evidently a blonde, with 
 a calm, sweet face, and large, appealing eyes. 
 He looked long at both and then at his watch. 
 Still time. Which, which, which, went whirling 
 through his brain. As he looked at one, he saw 
 the whole past summer in a flash, at the other, 
 a year's close intimacy and a summer's corre- 
 spondence. Once again he thought, long and 
 
 hard, and determined to take the train for 
 
 Just time. Throwing one picture into the fire, 
 he piled his traps into a valise, seized a hat, and 
 ran. 
 
 Philip Bissell. 
 
 The Morningside. 
 
 Girl Correspondents^ 
 
 There was a kick on the door, and without 
 further regard for conventionality my friend 
 Philebrown entered. Philly should have lived 
 in Bluebeard days, when the manly costume was 
 a succession of bath-robe effects, his favourite 
 apparel being of that nature. He trailed in a 
 yard or two of that style of garment, settled 
 
286 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 himself before the fire, and having arranged his 
 two sweaters, pensively smoked a cigarette. 
 
 I kept silence. Philly is ductile, but he pre- 
 fers to draw out himself, as it were. Questions 
 at best are vulgar things, unless tactfully 
 managed. 
 
 " I've been looking over my letters," he 
 burst out ; then with an air of philosophic 
 research added, in a perfectly illogical way, 
 " Girls are mighty queer, aren't they } " 
 
 "They have been thought so by some men 
 rather well up in that sort of thing, I believe, 
 — there was Virgil and Shakespeare and — " 
 
 "Oh, that's all right," broke in Philly, "but 
 you know they didn't know the girls I know." 
 This was such an overwhelming argument that 
 I forebore to resume the discussion. I merely 
 drew up my chair near to Philly and the fire, 
 lighted my pipe and assumed a blandly solicit- 
 ous air, which I flatter myself I do rather well. 
 
 " Why is it that girls like to write to a fellow 
 all the time } " he continued. " You do some- 
 thing for them, they write back a note that 
 seems to want an answer, and the first thing 
 you know you are deep in a regular correspond- 
 ence. I don't like it, — that is, not all the time." 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 287 
 
 "There's that girl I met in the mountains 
 last summer," he said, meditatively gazing into 
 the coals ; " terribly nice girl, — the one that 
 wears my Glee Club pin, you know. Got a letter 
 from her to-night ; want to hear some of it ? " 
 
 "Charmed, Philly," I answered. 
 
 " Well, I guess there isn't much in it to read, 
 — something here about a * sensitive conscience 
 and a strong body' that I can't understand. 
 What are you laughing at .? Then she talks 
 about * heart-sickness,' and ends up in the usual 
 way : * I am still remembering where I received 
 a certain pin, wearing it more than semi-occasion- 
 ally, and often — well, not trying to forget a 
 certain Amherst student.' Funny, isn't it ? 
 
 " Here's one from another girl I know, — 
 says, ' Harold, your letters are such a comfort 
 to me and help me, so be sure and write regu- 
 larly' — never saw her but once. I answered 
 and told her that father kept me busy mowing 
 the lawn and I couldn't find time for much cor- 
 respondence. That's the only thing to do with 
 such girls. 
 
 " Here's this — from a college girl I know. 
 
 " ' Dear Harold : — Do write me one of 
 your jolly, lovely letters ; they are so funny. 
 
288 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 I showed the last one to my roommate, who 
 said, " Isn't that perfectly dear ! " So you see ' 
 — Oh, Jove, I didn't mean to read that — " 
 
 " Quite proper, Philly, my boy. It is fasci- 
 nating ; pray continue." 
 
 "Then there's the girl who insists on put- 
 ting in questions that fuss a fellow awfully, you 
 know, — says, ' Do you think me a very queer 
 girl ? ' * I am a strange friend, am I not ? ' 
 'We all say some things we ought not, what 
 say you ? ' 
 
 " Now, what is a fellow going to say to such 
 things ? It is a mighty hard thing to answer, 
 I tell you. The best thing you can do is to 
 let those questions go, and tell her how sick 
 your dog is, or how badly your golf stick is 
 broken ; they don't really want answers, it's 
 their nature to keep their pens full of interro- 
 gation points." 
 
 " Philly," said I, "you're a philosopher, there's 
 no doubt of it." 
 
 "Well," said Philly, as he languidly arose 
 and flipped his cigarette into the fire, "it is 
 hard to get along with the girls who want you 
 to be a brother, and the girls who tell all the 
 family secrets, and the girls who are heart- 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 289 
 
 sick, and the girls who are regular sweethearts 
 
 — sometimes I wish — " 
 
 " No, no, Philly. No, you don't — the per- 
 sonal equation, Philly, you know — " 
 
 *' Hum ! " said Philly, as he slammed the 
 door. 
 
 Emery B. Pottle. 
 Amherst Literary Monthly. 
 
 Glimpses. 
 
 From my window I watch men making bon- 
 fires of the autumn leaves. They are burning 
 my summer. A pile of red leaves kindle, and a 
 day in the woods is gone. A relentless shower 
 of yellow, a smouldering flame, a puff of smoke 
 
 — that means a close day of mist-hidden sun 
 and silver fog. A crackle of crisp brown boughs, 
 and a bicycle trip flares away in an instant. So 
 they vanish as the blue smoke rises and circles. 
 Only a pile of sodden gray leaves left, too wet 
 to burn, — the rainy days are mine to keep. 
 
 M. E. c. 
 
 The desk was very large, and the boy perched 
 up beside it very small. His head was bent 
 
290 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 over the sheet of paper, and the pencil moved 
 slowly and with great difficulty over its surface. 
 I watched the brave efforts for some time from 
 my seat by the window, then walked across the 
 room and leaned over the tiny student. One 
 chubby hand seized mine, and pressed it against 
 a soft cheek, a pair of bright eyes looked con- 
 fidingly up at me, an unconscious sigh came 
 from the parted lips, and a baby voice said, 
 sweetly, " Dear cousin Em'ly, this is the darned- 
 est pencil I ever struck." 
 
 E. B. c. 
 
 Every morning, as I pass on my way to col- 
 lege, she stands in the sunny window watering 
 her flowers. I have never seen more than her 
 head and arms, because the bank of foliage, 
 green of all shades, rises about to her shoulders. 
 The morning sun touches the soft gray hair, 
 and brings into clear prominence, against the 
 darkness of the room behind, the sweet grave- 
 ness, almost solemnity, of the thin, old face. 
 There is a calm preciseness about the way she 
 raises the little red watering-pot that makes 
 me feel as if the flowers were not living things 
 to her, but a part of the day's duty. One day 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 29 1 
 
 she went to smell a big geranium, and the sun 
 reflecting in the brilliant colour, threw a sudden 
 glow over her pale cheeks, and I saw when she 
 raised her head that her face wore a tremulous 
 smile. 
 
 A. L. J. 
 
 Radcliffe Magazine. 
 
 A Christmas Dream* 
 
 It was such an impossible dream. She knew 
 perfectly well that it must be a dream, but there 
 was something about it that made it so real. 
 At first she thought she was really awake, and 
 that there was some one standing among the 
 curtains at the window. She had never been 
 afraid in her life and she reached over — or rather 
 dreamed she did — and pressed the electric but- 
 ton. As the light sprang up, she saw that the 
 figure at the window was Jack's, and Jack was 
 really away off in Africa, so it was quite impos- 
 sible. It was very plainly a dream. 
 
 Jack was standing quite still, tugging at his 
 riding-gloves. It was remarkable how natural 
 it seemed, except that people don't wear khaki 
 uniforms and pith helmets in London at Christ- 
 
29: 
 
 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 mas time. Finally he said : " I suppose I 
 shouldn't be here, you know." He was as much 
 confused as if it were all real. 
 
 " I suppose you shouldn't," she said, laugh- 
 ing a little, " but it is all a dream, you see, and 
 that makes all the difference in the world." 
 
 *' Oh, yes," said Jack, "of course." 
 
 He came forward rather uncertainly and laid 
 his gloves on the footboard of the bed. 
 
 '' You see," he said, hesitatingly, <* I've got 
 something to tell you, Mildred, something rather 
 queer, I'm afraid." He gave his head a little 
 twist, as he always used to when he was nervous. 
 
 She laughed again. "Is it a story ? " she 
 asked. " I don't remember ever hearing a dream 
 story. I hope it will be entertaining." 
 
 It was very rude of him not to smile, even 
 though he was not real. He stood twisting his 
 pith helmet rather awkwardly in his hands, look- 
 ing at it so seriously. She hoped it was not 
 going to turn out to be a bad dream. 
 
 " You see," he began, " I belong over in 
 Africa by rights. By all natural courses I should 
 be there now. It's an absurd thing for a man 
 to be in Matabele-land one hour, and in London 
 the next, isn't it .? " 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 293 
 
 "Oh," she said, cheerfully, "they do all sorts 
 of queer things in dreams, you know." 
 
 " So they do," said Jack, frowning into his 
 helmet. 
 
 Through the window a faint suggestion of 
 dawn was creeping. It was almost Christmas 
 morning. 
 
 "This is the way it is," said Jack. "An 
 hour or so ago I was in the bush with half a 
 company. It was dark, and the darkness of the 
 bush is something that is full of strange things 
 you can't imagine. Some of the men were 
 sleeping behind their little thorn rampart, and 
 others were watching." He raised his eyes, 
 and looked about him for a moment. 
 
 " They are there now — sleeping and watch- 
 ing, and I am here," he said. 
 
 She was leaning forward now, listening 
 intently. 
 
 " I suppose I may as well be plain," he went 
 on. " Outside of the thorns it is all black, and 
 all around us in the blackness lie sand and bush, 
 and two regiments of Zulus. When the day 
 breaks they will wake up and begin to sing, 
 and their white shields will be a wide, low ring, 
 that will stretch north and south and east and 
 
294 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 west without a gap. That will be our Christ 
 mas morning." She shivered a little as he 
 paused. 
 
 Somewhere a clock ticked regularly. 
 
 "When it is light enough," he said, slowly, 
 " they will begin to move forward, singing still, 
 and coming faster and faster. Presently the 
 air will be humming with spears." He stopped, 
 and looked up for a moment. 
 
 <^That is all," he said, finally. 
 
 "Oh, Jack!" she cried, regretfully, "it is a 
 bad dream, after all." 
 
 " Of course it is a dream," he said. " If it 
 were anything else I would not be here to say 
 good-bye to you. Perhaps it is just my dream 
 alone, and when the men wake me at dawn, 
 I may be the only one to remember. But you 
 look so real to me, Mildred, almost as if it were 
 no dream at all, that I wonder whether you will 
 not remember, too. I don't know how I can 
 express it — it seems so strange." He paused 
 as if at a loss for words. "Awhile ago," he 
 said, "I dreamed that I was walking in Bel- 
 gravia. It was there I first saw you, wasn't it ? " 
 She nodded silently. " It seemed good to be in 
 London again," he went on, "after the dirt and 
 
 I 
 
CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 295 
 
 work out there in the hot, dangerous thickets. 
 It struck me as very pleasant." 
 
 The dawn was grayer at the windows. 
 
 ''Presently I came to your house," he said, 
 " and I knew it would be my last chance to see 
 you, even in a dream." He turned quickly, and 
 looked toward the growing light. " It's day- 
 break ! " he whispered. " Listen ! " No sound 
 but the clock ticking in the room. 
 
 "It is the singing," he said, quietly. "Do 
 you hear it } " There was no sound. " Good- 
 bye," he said, more swiftly. " In a moment 
 they will be waking me." She did not stir. 
 
 *'It is a dream," she kept whispering to her- 
 self. " It is a dream." 
 
 " I have come so far for one word," he said, 
 almost bitterly, " and now — " 
 
 She threw aside the quilted covers, and ran 
 forward. 
 
 " Jack ! Jack ! " she cried. 
 
 The room was empty. She felt now that she 
 was awake, but a strange, dull murmur, like the 
 low singing of hundreds of voices, was in her 
 ears. Then, suddenly, it was gone, and she 
 looked slowly toward the bed. What she saw 
 there turned her pale with a nameless fear, for 
 
296 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 
 
 on the footboard lay two stained and yellow 
 riding-gloves. 
 
 Outside in the morning air the Christmas 
 chimes were ringing. 
 
 Princeton Tizer. 
 
 o 
 
 THE END. 
 
CONTRIBUTORS. 
 
 Adams, H. M., 185. 
 Andrews, E. P., 2. 
 
 Barker, George Russell, 4. 
 Barker, John, 88. 
 Barr, Joseph W., 92. 
 Bennis, F. V., 26, 122. 
 Bissell, Philip, 281. 
 Burling, Fanny Crawford, 247. 
 Burrell, David de F., 164. 
 
 Camp, Samuel G., 134. 
 Canby, Henry Seidel, g4, 168. 
 Carleton, Philip Greenleaf, 97. 
 Carryl, Guy Wetmore, 265. 
 Clark, C. W., 178. 
 Coolidge, H. F., 253. 
 
 Duer, Alice, 258. 
 
 Easton, William Hastings, 44. 
 
 Fisher, Mary H., 237. 
 
 Gallaher, Grace Margaret, 123. 
 Gambrall, Louisa B., 152. 
 Goodwillie, Arthur Lawson, 261. 
 Gowdy, John, 85. 
 
 Gregson, Jr., John, 239. 
 
 Hamilton, J. R., 127. 
 Holland, Rupert S., 115. 
 Hooker, Richard, 62. 
 Hopford, J. W., 139. 
 Huntress, H. P., 78. 
 
 Johnston, C. H. L., 193. 
 Judkins, Charles Otis, 187, 252. 
 
 Ketch um, Arthur, 278. 
 
 King, Georgiana Goddard, 72. 
 
 Leonard, J., 208. 
 Loeb, Oscar, 190. 
 
 Martin, Harriet Goodrich, 147. 
 
 Mason, Roy M., 53. 
 
 Moulton, Sherman Roberts, 272. 
 
 Oakman, John Saunders, 263. 
 
 Parker, J. M., iii. 
 Pottle, Emery B., 14, 285. 
 
 Ray, Maude Louise, 50. 
 Robbins, Leonard H., 117, 
 
 297 
 
298 
 
 CONTRIBUTORS 
 
 Rogers, R. T., 58, 74. 
 
 Seasongood, Murray, 227. 
 Snow, Edwin, 224. 
 Stahlnecker, H. Wilson, 80, 
 
 Thompson, John A., 48, 222, 231, 
 Throop, Lillian S., 166. 
 Tryon, James Owen, 103. 
 
 Truman, Percival Henry, 243. 
 
 Van Horn, F. M., igs. 
 
 Wales, James Albert, 35. 
 Watson, Thomas, 200. 
 Wilder, Florence E., 65. 
 Wildman, Marian Warner, 270. 
 
 INITIALS, Etc. 
 
 A., 141. 
 A. A., 182. 
 A. L. J., 2go. 
 E. B. C, 289. 
 E. H. B., igg. 
 E. M. T., 246. 
 
 E. S. S., 27s. 
 
 F. A. L., 104. 
 H., 220. 
 
 H. D. G., 158. 
 H. T. P., 183. 
 I. L. v., 214. 
 J. M., 8. 
 K. E. H., 43. 
 K. M. D., ISO. 
 L. C. G., 172. 
 
 L. S. B., 262. 
 
 L. V. N. M., 163. 
 
 M. B. M., 274. 
 
 M. E, C, 290, 
 
 "Mem. '00," 180. 
 
 P. B., 107. 
 
 P. R. C., 156. 
 
 T., 233. 
 
 W., 205. 
 
 Unsigned, i, 7, 11, 13, 17, 20, 23, 
 29) 30, 39, 40, 41, 57, 61, 67, 
 6g, 71, 88, loi, 105, no, i2g, 
 132, 133, 137, 142, 144, 150, 
 151, 161, 17S, 177, 204, 212, 
 217, 23s, 236, 251, 258, 291. 
 
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