THE PARADE
"You're just the fellows we're looking for," said Allen, the leading
spirit of the three young men who entered the room.
"You haven't very far to look, then," replied Will laughingly, for in
his heart he felt honored by the unexpected visit of the upper classmen.
"That's right, freshman. How are you getting on?"
"They've kept us busy, to say the least."
"You mean the sophs?"
"Yes. That's the only class we have to think of, isn't it?"
"No. Your own class is first."
"It's the best class in college," interrupted Peter John quickly, and
all who were in the room laughed as the uncouth freshman's face flushed.
"That's the way to talk," responded Allen.
"But it is. I'm not joking," persisted Peter John seriously.
"No doubt. No doubt. But what we've come for is to tell you about the
parade."
"Parade? What parade?" inquired Foster.
"Why, every fall there is a parade of the freshmen. They have a band
usually, at least most of the classes have had one and as yours is the
best class that ever entered college, why you won't want to fall behind
the others I know."
"Who pays for the band?" demanded Peter John.
"You do, that is, your class does."
"I won't pay a cent," retorted Peter John.
"You don't have to," laughed Allen. "Some of the others will make it up.
I'm just telling you what the custom is and only for your own good."
"Go on with your story," interrupted Will. "Let's hear about the
parade."
"It's to come off next Saturday afternoon, and we juniors usually help
out in the scheme, you see. We try to arrange a part of it for you and
help you out in some of the details. The whole thing is 'horse play,'
just a sort of burlesque, and the more ridiculous you can make it, the
better."
"I'll not make a fool of myself for anybody," spoke up Peter John
sharply.
"You don't have to. It won't be necessary," replied Allen quietly, but
in the laugh that followed, Peter John took no part.
"What do you want us to do?" inquired Foster.
"Well, we suggest that this young man--I've forgotten his name," said
Allen, turning to Peter John as he spoke.
"Schenck. Peter John Schenck--that's my name, and I'm not ashamed of it
either!" said that worthy promptly. "But I don't propose to hire a band
and march around the streets making a fool of myself for anybody."
"You don't have to," and again a laugh arose at the junior's words. "I
was only suggesting, that's all. But if you want to know what I think,
I'm of the opinion that if you'd be one to help haul the committee from
the senior class around in their chariot it would be a good thing for
you. That's only a suggestion on my part, as I told you, and you can do
as you please about it."
"I don't please to do it," replied Peter John sulkily.
"What's the 'chariot' you spoke of, Allen?" inquired Will.
"Oh, it's only an old hay wagon. It's been the custom for some of the
freshmen to haul the officers of the senior class around in it. It
doesn't amount to much, but honestly I think it will be a good thing for
you to do it."
"All right, you can count on me," said Will quickly.
"I don't want to count on that from you. I've something else for you and
Bennett to do."
"What's that?"
"I'll explain it to you." And Allen at once went into the details of the
scheme he proposed. Both Will and Foster laughed as he laid it before
them, and willingly consented to do their part. Peter John, however,
said not a word, and when the visitors prepared to depart, Allen said,
"You're to assemble at the gym, you know, and the parade will be formed
in front of it on the street. It'll march up Main Street, down East End
Avenue, around through Walker Street, up West Street, across Drury Lane
and then back into Main Street and then on down to the ball ground.
There the parade will break up and the freshmen and sophomores will have
their annual ball game. It'll be great fun if you take it in the right
spirit, and you'll have plenty of spectators too."
"How's that?" said Foster.
"Why, the whole college, faculty and all, will turn out to see it, and
of course all the village people will be on hand, and if it's a good
day there'll be a crowd here from out of town. The trains will be
crowded that day, and there'll be a good many who'll come into Winthrop
with their automobiles. You'll never forget the day as long as you
live."
"Great!" exclaimed Will. "I wish it was to-morrow. Where shall we get
these things we're to wear?"
"You can find them in the stores, or maybe I'll be able to help you out
some. Come down to my room to-morrow and I'll see what can be done. Good
night," Allen added, as he and his classmates started down the stairway.
"Good night," responded Will and Foster, and then closed the door.
"Of all the foolishness I ever heard that beats all," said Peter John
when the freshmen were by themselves once more. "They don't get me into
it."
"Oh, yes, Peter John. Don't pull off that way," said Will cordially.
"Not much. I'm not so big a fool as they take me to be."
"You'll be a bigger one if you keep out."
"Maybe I will, but I'm not going to go into any such doings."
"Now look here, Peter John. You're a freshman, but you can't help that
and no one blames you for it. I'm--"
"I'm no more a freshman than you are," retorted Peter John warmly.
"Right you are. But you don't want to make a bad matter worse. If you
keep out you'll be a marked man and everybody in college will hear
about it. It'll be a great deal better for you to go in quietly, and
whatever you think about it, just keep your thoughts to yourself, and
don't call the attention of the whole college to you by your
foolishness. It'll be simply a challenge for the sophs, if you don't do
it, and you'll be the one to suffer."
"You think so?"
"I know so."
"I guess the sophs found out what sort of a fellow I was the other
night. I'd have brained the first one that laid hands on me."
"You didn't though, and you wouldn't. It's a great deal better to do as
Hawley did and just laugh it off."
"Oh, I laughed all right, and I'd have given those fellows something to
laugh about too, if they hadn't tied me up."
"Of course, but the trouble is they did tie you up, and the next time
it'll be worse than that. It isn't worth while to kick too hard, Peter
John. A fellow has just got to take some things in life as he finds them
and not as he'd like to have them. It's the only way, and the sooner he
learns it the better."
"But my father told me never to let anybody impose on me," said Peter
John dubiously.
"Nobody is going to impose on you. You won't be doing anything more than
every fellow in the class, and if you don't go in you'll be the one
marked exception. The sophs will take it as an invitation."
"You think so, do you?"
"Yes, sir, I do. Come along, Peter John, and don't make any more fuss
about it."
"Well, I'll think about it," replied the freshman as he departed for
his own room in Leland Hall.
Saturday dawned bright and clear and the interest and excitement in the
college over the parade rose to its highest point. A band had been
secured from a neighboring city, and in the afternoon, when its stirring
strains were heard from the steps of the gymnasium, all the freshmen
were made aware that the time for their assembly had arrived. There were
crowds of strangers to be seen about the streets and the little town was
all active with unwonted bustle. Automobiles were arriving, the
sophomores were assembling at the various buildings, and their jeers and
cries could be heard as they greeted the appearance of the members of
the class below them when they started for the gymnasium.
Will Phelps and Foster Bennett felt keenly the prevailing excitement,
and when they entered the gymnasium building they found a large number
of their own classmates already assembled and keenly alive to the
demands that were soon to be made upon them.
Under the experienced guidance of the committee of juniors the freshmen
were soon equipped for their various parts and the procession was
formed. In advance moved the band and behind it was a huge hay wagon in
which in great dignity were seated six of the seniors. The wagon itself
was drawn by sixteen freshmen, all of whom had a tight grasp upon the
ropes that had been fastened to the wagon tongue. Directly behind the
wagon came Will Phelps and Foster Bennett and two of their classmates,
all dressed in the garb of firemen, with red jackets and helmet hats of
paper. In their hands was a huge rope at least two and a half inches in
diameter, which was attached to a tiny tin fire engine not more than a
foot in length. Behind the firemen came Hawley, who was dressed as an
infant with a lace cap on his head and carefully tied bows under his
chin, while in his hands he was carrying a bottle of milk. He was seated
in an improvised baby carriage, which was being pushed by one of the
smallest members of the freshman class. "Sunny Jim," Charley Chaplin and
Ben Turpin were among the characters that could be seen in the long
lines of freshmen that, three abreast, were arranged still farther back
in the procession, and at last, at the word of Allen, the junior who was
acting as the marshal of the day, the march was begun. Frequently Will
turned and glanced behind him at the long, tortuous line, and its
ridiculous appearance caused him to laugh and say to Foster:
"Did you ever see anything in your life like that?"
"I never did."
"Silence there in the ranks!" called Allen sharply, for he chanced to be
marching near the "fire engine." Not a trace of a smile could be seen on
his face, and to all appearances he was engaged in what he considered
one of the most serious events of his life.
In the streets the people were lined up and their laughter and
good-natured applause could be heard on every side. Small boys followed
the line of march or walked beside the long column, and their derisive
remarks were frequent and loud. The sophomores also added their
comments, but there was no open disturbance throughout the march. It
was one of the events of freshman year and as such was evidently not to
be entered upon lightly or unadvisedly, like certain other important
epochs in life.
At last the procession arrived at the athletic field and there broke up
for the baseball game with the sophomores. The grand stand was already
filled with the people and students that had watched the march, and, as
soon as Will and Foster had donned their baseball suits, for both had
been selected to play on the freshman nine, they appeared upon the
field, where already the other members of the team were awaiting their
coming.
"I didn't see Peter John, did you, Foster?" inquired Will.
"No. It'll be all the worse for him, I fancy."
"No doubt about that. What are we going to do with him, Foster?"
"Nothing."
"I don't like to see the chap suffer for his own foolishness."
"Neither do I. But he'll have to learn for himself. You can't tell him
anything."
"You can _tell_ him all right enough, but I'm afraid that's all the good
it does. You might as well try to polish sponge."
The conversation ceased as the call for the game to be begun was heard
and both boys hastened to take the positions in which they were to play.
The noise among the spectators increased as the signal was given, but
for three innings both nines played earnestly and seriously. At the end
of the third inning, with the score standing five to four in favor of
the sophomores, a radical change was made. The batter was blindfolded
and compelled to stand upon an upturned barrel, which was substituted
for the home plate. The pitcher and catcher were each also to stand upon
a barrel and the pitcher was ordered to throw the ball with his left
hand. Naturally it was impossible for the batter to hit the ball, since
he was blindfolded, and when three strikes had been called he tore the
bandage from his eyes and upon his hands and knees was compelled to
crawl toward first base. The baseman stood with his back to the field
and naturally found it difficult to secure the ball which had been
thrown by the left hand of the catcher. Shrieks of laughter arose from
the spectators, shouts and class cries were heard on every side, tin
horns mingled their noise with the blasts of the band, and altogether
Will Phelps thought that the scene was unique in the experiences of his
young life.