ON YARDLEY HILL
Although Yardley Hall is less than forty years old, it has its customs
and precedents. And one of them is that on the evening preceding the
Broadwood game the combined musical clubs of Cambridge and Oxford shall
give a concert in the Yard. At half-past seven the performers gathered
in front of Dudley and the audience distributed itself on the grass or
sat at the open windows facing the Yard. It was still light up here
on the hill, although below the shadows were darkening over river
and marsh and meadow. Gerald and Harry, the latter up and about in a
borrowed dressing-gown, sat by the open window which looked directly
across at Dudley. The mandolins, banjos, and guitars set the fellows
humming and whistling with “The Merry Widow Waltzes” and one or two
older favorites, and then the glee clubs hummed the accompaniment and
Wheelock, substitute fielder on the Nine, sang “Mighty Lak’ a Rose,”
his sweet tenor voice filling the silent Yard with its mellow tones.
Such an outburst of hand-clapping and applauding voices rewarded this
that he was forced to sing the song over again and follow it with
“A Health to King Charles.” Then the musicians started in on “Old
Yardley,” and in a moment every fellow was singing lustily, in tune
or out, according to his ability. Up from the grass and down from the
crowded windows were hurled the defiant strains;
“Old Yardley can’t be beat, my boy,
She’s bound to win the game!
So give a cheer for Yardley and
Hats off to Yardley’s fame!”
That started the cheering. They cheered for Captain Millener, for
Colton, for Loring and so on down to Payson and Andy Ryan and “the
subs,” the fellows gradually gathering above the leader who had mounted
the steps of Dudley. Then they cheered for “Yardley! _Yardley!_
YARDLEY!” over and over. Afterwards Millener made a short speech,
and was followed by Payson. There were more cheers and finally the
glee clubs started “The Years Roll On.” Off came hats and in the
soft, summer twilight the slow, sweet, and solemn melody rose to the
darkening sky.
“The years roll on. Too soon we find
Our boyhood days are o’er.
The scenes we’ve known, the friends we’ve loved,
Are gone to come no more.
But in the shrine of Memory
We’ll hold and cherish still
The recollection fond of those
Dear days on Yardley Hill.
“The years roll on. To man’s estate
From youthful mould we pass,
And Life’s stern duties bind us round,
And doubts and cares harass.
But God will guard through storms and give
The strength to do His will
And treasure e’er the lessons learned
Of old on Yardley Hill.”
It is hard to hear that song unmoved if you are a Yardley man, and the
group in front of Dudley dissolved silently, by ones and twos and by
little groups, the fellows seeking their rooms or their friends’ rooms
to sit at the open windows and talk of graduation, or the morrow’s
contest, or the long summer vacation which was almost upon them.
Dan and Tom and Alf had listened to the concert from the window of
Number 7, and after the last strain of the final song had died away
they sat there in silence and watched the crowd break up and the
fellows radiate across the Yard in the dusk. Finally Alf gave an
impatient shake of his shoulders.
“Hang that song, anyhow,” he said, half laughing, half in earnest.
“It always makes me feel so kind of teary and noble. If I was a
millionaire I’d go out and give away my money. Let’s sing ‘Harrigan’ or
something lively.”
“I don’t think it’s going to hurt you, Alf, to feel noble for once,”
drawled Tom.
“That’s all right,” answered Alf, “but I tell you right now that if
they sing that next year, just before I’m going to graduate, I’ll
disgrace you and myself and the Class by boo-hooing; I’m just certain I
will!”
“Don’t trouble,” said Tom soothingly. “It isn’t likely that you’ll ever
graduate.”
Saturday was a “scorcher.” It started right out being a “scorcher”;
even as early as seven o’clock you knew mighty well just what you were
in for. At breakfast Dan turned in disgust from the hot cereal and had
difficulty getting rid of the three-inch-square piece of steak and a
small portion of the enormous baked potato that was set before him.
The coffee scalded his throat and made him hotter still. Over at the
other table, where sat the “regulars,” Payson was expostulating with
Danforth, the second baseman.
“You must eat something, Danforth. You’ll be knocked up for all day if
you don’t. At least put that glass of milk down and eat a roll.”
“I really can’t, sir,” Dan heard the boy answer. “I’ve had one glass
already, and that’s all I want. If I eat now I won’t be able to take
any luncheon. It’s so hot!”
“All right, but if you feel shaky towards eleven you come here and make
them give you something; don’t wait for luncheon. Now then, fellows,
I want every one of you to stay out of doors and loaf. No tennis
to-day, no golf, no anything but loafing. Luncheon’s at twelve-thirty,
remember, and the barges leave at one. So you want to be right on time
when the doors open.”
“How about the river, sir?” someone asked. “Can we row or paddle?”
“I guess so, if you don’t do too much of it. But keep out of the sun
all you can. That means you, too, you fellows,” he added, turning to
the second table. “Keep out of doors, keep out of the sun, and keep
quiet. Luncheon at half-past twelve.”
It was hard work getting rid of that morning. There were no lessons to
learn, no recitations to attend, no examinations to tussle with. Dan
and Alf found a shady spot at the edge of the woods and tried to read,
but it was stifling hot, even there, and the books soon slipped out of
their hands. Here Gerald found them after a while and Alf returned to a
semblance of animation while he teased Gerald about the dinner party.
It had been all arranged and the news was about school. Alf pretended
that it was Gerald who was to give it and was vastly concerned about
the cost.
At eleven Gerald left them to hurry down to Sound View and make the
butler’s life a burden until the early luncheon was ready. Afterwards,
when it was still only a few minutes past one, the automobile rolled
around to the front door and Gerald and his father got in and sped up
the hill to Merle Hall, where they took in Harry, officially pronounced
well enough to see the game. Then, with flags flying, for Gerald had
adorned the car with four Yardley banners, they sped off down the hill,
across the bridge and away along the dusty road to Broadwood. They
passed the barges half way over and received a cheer as they swept
past. Gerald thought he had caught a brief glimpse of Dan in the second
barge, but wasn’t certain. At all events, Dan was there and supremely
happy. For at luncheon Payson had called across to him from the other
table;
“Careful with your eating, Vinton. Don’t stuff. Danforth’s knocked out
and you’ll start the game at second.”