ON THE CAMPUS
Joe Matson gazed about him curiously as the train drew into the New
Haven station. He wondered what his first taste of Yale life was going
to be like, and he could not repress a feeling of nervousness.
He had ridden in the end car, and he was not prepared for what happened
as the train drew to a slow stop. For from the other coaches there
poured a crowd of students--many Freshmen like himself but others
evidently Sophomores, and a sprinkling of Juniors and the more lordly
Seniors. Instantly the place resounded to a din, as friends met friends,
and as old acquaintances were renewed.
"Hello, Slab!"
"Where have you been keeping yourself, Pork Chops!"
"By jinks! There's old Ham Fat!"
"Come on, now! Get in line!"
This from one tall lad to others, evidently from the same preparatory
school. "Show 'em what we can do!"
"Hi there, Freshies! Off with those hats!"
This from a crowd of Sophomores who saw the newly-arrived first-year
lads.
"Don't you do it! Keep your lids on!"
"Oh, you will!" and there was a scrimmage in which the offending
headgear of many was sent spinning. Joe began to breathe deeply and
fast. If this was a taste of Yale life he liked it. Somewhat Excelsior
Hall it was, but bigger--broader.
Gripping his valise, he climbed down the steps, stumbling in his
eagerness. On all sides men crowded around him and the others who were
alighting.
"Keb! Carriage! Hack! Take your baggage!"
Seeing others doing the same, Joe surrendered his valise to an insistent
man. As he moved out of the press, wondering how he was to get to the
house where he had secured a room, he heard someone behind him fairly
yell in his ear:
"Oh ho! Fresh.! Off with that hat!"
He turned to see two tall, well-dressed lads, in somewhat "swagger"
clothes, arms linked, walking close behind him. Remembering the fate of
the others, Joe doffed his new derby, and smiled.
"That's right," complimented the taller of the two Sophomores.
"Glad you think so," answered Joe.
"Well?" snapped the other Sophomore sharply.
"Glad you think so," repeated our hero.
"Well?" rasped out the first.
Joe looked from one to the other in some bewilderment. He knew there was
some catch, and that he had not answered categorically, but for the
moment he forgot.
"Put the handle on," he was reminded, and then it came to him.
"Sir," he added with a smile.
"Right, Freshie. Don't forget your manners next time," and the two went
swinging along, rolling out the chorus of some class song.
The confusion increased. More students poured from the train,
overwhelming the expressmen with their demands and commands. The hacks
and carriages were being rapidly filled. Orders were being shouted back
and forth. Exuberance was on every side.
"Oh ho! This way, Merton!" yelled someone, evidently a signal for the
lads from that school to assemble.
"Over here, Lisle!"
"There's Perk!"
"Yes, and who's he got with him?"
"Oh, some Fresh. Come on, you goat. I'm hungry!"
Joe felt himself exulting, after all, that he was to be a part of this
throbbing, pulsating life--part of the great college. He hung back,
friendless and alone, and it was borne on him with a rush just how
friendless and alone he was when he saw so many others greeted by
friends and mates. With all his heart Joe wished he had come up from
some preparatory school, where he would have had classmates with him.
But it was too late now.
He made up his mind that he would walk to his rooming house, not because
he wanted to save the carriage hire, but he would have to get in a hack
all alone, and he was afraid of the gibes and taunts that might be
hurled at the lone Freshman. He had engaged the room in advance, and
knew it would be in readiness. Later he intended to join one of the many
eating clubs for his meals, but for the present he expected to patronize
a restaurant, for the rooming house did not provide commons.
"I'll walk," decided Joe, and, inquiring the way from a friendly
hackman, he started off. As he did so he was aware of a tall lad
standing near him, and, at the mention of the street Joe designated,
this lad started, and seemed about to speak.
For a moment Joe, noticing that he, too, was alone, was tempted to
address him. And then, being naturally diffident, and in this case
particularly so, he held back.
"He may be some stand-offish chap," reasoned Joe, "and won't like it.
I'll go a bit slow."
He swung away from the station, glad to be out of the turmoil, but for a
time it followed him, the streets being filled with students afoot and
in vehicles. The calling back and forth went on, until, following the
directions he had received, Joe turned down a quieter thoroughfare.
"That must be the college over there," he said after he had swung across
the city common, and saw looming up in the half mist of the early
September night, the piles of brick and stone. "Yale College--and I'm
going there!"
He paused for a moment to contemplate the structures, and a wave of
sentimental feeling surged up into his heart. He saw the outlines of the
elms--the great elms of Yale.
Joe passed on, and, as he walked, wondering what lay before him, he
could not help but think of the chances--the very small chances he
had--in all that throng of young men--to make the 'varsity nine.
"There are thousands of fellows here," mused Joe, "and all of them may
be as good as I. Of course not all of them want to get on the nine--and
fewer want to pitch. But--Oh, I wonder if I can make it? I wonder----"
It was getting late. He realized that he had better go to his room, and
see about supper. Then in the morning would come reporting at college
and arranging about his lectures--and the hundred and one things that
would follow.
"I guess I've got time enough to go over and take a look at the place,"
he mused. "I can hike it a little faster to my shack after I take a
peep," he reasoned. "I just want to see what I'm going to stack up
against."
He turned and started toward the stately buildings in the midst of the
protecting elms. Other students passed him, talking and laughing, gibing
one another. All of them in groups--not one alone as was Joe.
Occasionally they called to him as they passed:
"Off with that hat, Fresh.!"
He obeyed without speaking, and all the while the loneliness in his
heart was growing, until it seemed to rise up like some hard lump and
choke him.
"But I won't! I won't!" he told himself desperately. "I won't give in.
I'll make friends soon! Oh, if only Tom were here!"
He found himself on the college campus. Pausing for a moment to look
about him, his heart welling, he heard someone coming from the rear.
Instinctively he turned, and in the growing dusk he thought he saw a
familiar figure.
"Off with that hat, Fresh.!" came the sharp command.
Joe was getting a little tired of it, but he realized that the only
thing to do was to obey.
"All right," he said, listlessly.
"All right, what?" was snapped back at him.
For a moment Joe did not answer.
"Come on, Fresh.!" cried the other, taking a step toward him.
"Quick--all right--what?"
"Sir!" ripped out Joe, as he turned away.
A moment later from a distant window there shone a single gleam of light
that fell on the face of the other lad. Joe started as he beheld the
countenance of Ford Weston--the youth who had laughed at his pitching.
"That's right," came in more mollified tones from the Sophomore. "Don't
forget your manners at Yale, Fresh.! Or you may be taught 'em in a way
you won't like," and with an easy air of assurance, and an insulting,
domineering swagger, Weston took himself off across the campus.