Walter Sherwood's Probation

“Oh, never mind! I shall get an idea of what a college supper is like.”

“So you will. If you open the transom over your door you will have the full benefit of all that goes on.”

“That will suit me very well,” thought Doctor Mack.

“If you would like to be farther away, the landlord would no doubt change your room.”

“Oh, no,” said the doctor hastily. “It will suit me very well for once to listen to college songs and get an idea of how college boys enjoy themselves.”

“A very sensible old gentleman!” thought James Holden. “Some men of his age would make a fuss.”

A little before the time when the students were expected to arrive Doctor Mack shut himself up in his room, taking care to open the transom. He had ascertained from the young man, his informant, that supper had been engaged for twelve, and that the price charged per plate was two dollars and a half, all to be paid by Walter Sherwood.

“That makes thirty dollars,” he reflected. “No wonder Walter writes for extra checks. I wonderin this thirty dollars is to figure as a contribution to the library?”

From his window he could see the students as they approached the hotel. Finally he caught sight of Walter, with a college friend on each sides with whom he was chatting gaily.

“What a change!” thought Doctor Mack. “It seems only yesterday that Walter started for college, a bashful, unformed boy, full of good resolutions, and determined to distinguish himself in scholarship. Now he has become a gay butterfly. And, what is worse, he has learned to deceive his old guardian, and his chief aim seems to be to have a good time. What can I do to change his course?”

The good doctor’s face assumed a thoughtful look.

“I can tell better after what I shall hear to-night,” he said to himself.

It was not long before the guests were all assembled and the feast was to begin.

Some one rapped for attention, and then Doctor Mack recognized the voice of his young ward.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I am glad to welcome you to this festal board. After spending ten or a dozen hours in hard study”—laughter and applause—“we find it pleasant to close our books, to relax our learned brows”—more laughter—“and show our appreciation of the good things of life. As Horace, your favorite, says”—I won’t insult you by offering to translate his well-known words—“dulce est desipere in loco. That is what has brought us here to-night We want to desipere in loco.”

“So we do! Good for you!” exclaimed one and another.

“I regret,” Walter continued, “that all the professors have declined my urgent invitation to be present on this occasion. Professor Griggs”—the professor of mathematics—“said he would not break away from his regular diet of logarithms and radicals.” Great laughter. “I have expressly requested Mr. Daniels to provide no logarithms to-night. They don’t agree with my constitution.”

“Nor with mine!” “Nor with mine!” echoed one and another.

“I shall expect you all, after the banquet, to do something for the general entertainment. I stipulate, however, that none of the company address us in Latin or Greek.”—“We won’t!” “We won’t!”—“Sufficient for the recitation-room is the evil thereof. But I have spoken long enough. There are times when silence is golden, and one of those times is at hand. Brethren, the feast awaits you! Pitch in!”

The speaker took his seat, and then there was a noise of clinking glasses, and knives and forks came to the front. The banquet had begun.

CHAPTER III

A COLLEGE BANQUET

There was a rattling of knives and forks, a clink of glasses, and a buzz of conversation. Doctor Mack was able to hear considerable of it. There were anecdotes of the professors, accounts of narrow escapes from “flunking” in the recitation-room, and remarks by no means complimentary to some of the text-books in use in college. It was evident that the collegians assembled cared more for a good time than for study. Yet these seemed to be the chosen associates of his ward, the doctor reflected.

As the feast proceeded, he grew more sober. He felt that college life, however much it was doing for the faithful students, was only fostering self-indulgence in his ward.

“Something must be done!” reflected Doctor Mack. “Desperate diseases require desperate remedies.”

Again the chairman rapped for order, and again Walter’s voice was heard.

“Brothers,” he said, “the material part of our banquet is ended. We have gratified our appetites with the savory dishes provided by our friend Daniels. We have quaffed the rare Falernian wine, of a vintage unknown to Horace; we have quickened our wits, as I trust, under those favorable conditions, and the time has now come for the feast of reason and the flow of soul. Exhausted as we are by our labors in the classroom”—great laughter—“we have sought refreshment in the way that is most agreeable. It’s a way we have at old Euclid! Sing!”

Immediately the assembled company started up the well-known college song:

“It’s a way we have at old Euclid,
It’s a way we have at old Euclid,
It’s a way we have at old Euclid,
To drive dull care away.
It’s a way we have at old Euclid,
It’s a way we have at old Euclid,
To drive dull care away.

“And we think it is no sin, sir,
To take the Freshmen in, sir,
And ease them of their tin, sir,
To drive dull care away.
It’s a way we have at old Euclid,
It’s a way we have at old Euclid,
To drive dull care away.”

There were other verses, but these will serve as specimens. All joined in the chorus, and Doctor Mack, who remembered his own college life, felt almost tempted to add his voice to those of the young men in the opposite room.

“But, pshaw!” he thought. “What would Walter and his friends think to hear an old graybeard like me taking part in the convivial songs? There is no great harm in singing college songs, if it is accompanied by good work in the recitation-room.”

“Brothers,” resumed Walter, “we will do our best to drive dull care away. Let us forget, this happy evening, that there are such things as logarithms, and sines, and tangents, and Greek tragedies. To-night our hearts shall be uplifted by sentiment and song. Brother Corbett, you will oblige us with ‘Rumsty Ho!’”

A young man with a pleasant voice sang this song, one unfamiliar to the doctor:

“A beggar man laid himself down to sleep,
Rumsty Ho! rumsty Ho!
A beggar man laid himself down to sleep
By the banks of the Mersey, so high and steep,
Rumsty Ho! rumsty Ho!

“Two thieves came walking by that way,
Rumsty Ho! rumsty Ho!
Two thieves came walking by that way,
And they came to the place where the old man lay,
Rumsty Ho! rumsty Ho!

“They stole his wallet and they stole his staff,
Rumsty Ho! rumsty Ho!
They stole his wallet and they stole his staff,
And then broke out in a great horse-laugh,
Rumsty Ho! rumsty Ho!”

There was more of this song, too. Next came “Crambambuli,” and then “Cocach-lunk” both of which were familiar to the doctor.