VICTOR MEETS "HIS CHILDREN."
The next morning revealed the full measure of the crowd that filled the
little country town to overflowing. And the road leading from the
village westward to the University was crowded with foot-passengers,
horsemen and carriages of every description.
Those who had no reserved seats set out early, to secure the most
eligible of the unreserved places.
The ceremonies were to commence at twelve noon.
Our party, consisting of Emma Cavendish, Laura Lytton, Electra Coroni,
Mrs. Fanning, Mrs. Wheatfield and Dr. Jones occupied the whole of the
third form from the front.
They were in their places just a few moments before the overture was
played.
The hall was crowded to overflowing. Not only was every form filled, but
chairs had to be set in the space between the audience and the
orchestra, and also in the middle and side aisles, to accommodate ladies
who could not otherwise be seated; while every foot of standing room was
occupied by gentlemen.
Mr. Lyle had given up his seat next to Laura Lytton in favor of a lady,
and had explained to his party that he had a friend from San Francisco
who was present and with whom he could stand up.
And he went away and took up his position in a corner below the
platform, beside Victor Hartman, but entirely out of the range of his
party's vision.
I will not weary my readers with any detailed account of this
Commencement, which resembled all other college commencements in being
most interesting to those most concerned.
There was an overture from a new opera.
Then there was an opening oration by one of the learned professors of
the University, which was voted by the savants to be a masterpiece of
erudition and eloquence, but which the young people present found
intolerably dull and stupid. And when the great man sat down a storm of
applause followed him.
Then ensued the usual alternation of opera music and orations.
And the young people listened to the opera music, and yawned behind
their fans over the orations.
And the savants gave heed to the orations, and closed their senses, if
not their ears, to the music.
At length the time for the distribution of the diplomas arrived, and the
names of the successful graduates were called out, and each in turn went
up to receive his diploma and make the customary deep bow, first to the
faculty and then to the audience.
Then followed the offertory of beautiful bouquets and baskets of flowers
from friends to the graduates. But the most beautiful offering there was
a basket of delicate silver wire filled with fragrant pure white lilies
sent by Emma Cavendish to Alden Lytton.
Laura Lytton, in a patriotic mood, sent a bouquet composed of red, white
and blue flowers only.
The other ladies of the party sent baskets of geraniums.
The valedictory address was delivered by Alden Lytton, who had, besides,
taken the highest honors of the college.
His address was pronounced to be a great success. And his retiring bow
was followed by thunders of applause from the audience.
There were several proud and happy fathers there that day; but perhaps
the proudest and the happiest man present was Victor Hartman.
With tearful eyes and tremulous tones he said, as he grasped Mr. Lyle's
arm:
"My boy pays me for all--my boy pays me for all! He is a grand fellow!"
The people were all going out then.
"Come," said Mr. Lyle, himself moved by the generous emotion of Victor.
"Come, let me introduce you to your boy."
"No, not now. Let me go away by myself for a little while. I will see
you an hour later at the hotel," said Hartman, as he wrung his friend's
hand and turned away.
Mr. Lyle joined his party, with whom he found the most honored graduate
of the day, who was holding his silver basket of lilies in his hand and
warmly thanking the fair donor.
Mr. Lyle shook hands with Alden and heartily congratulated him on his
collegiate honors, adding:
"We shall see you on the Bench yet, Mr. Lytton."
Alden bowed and laughingly replied that he should feel it to be his
sacred duty to get there, if he could, in order to justify his friend's
good opinion.
"But what have you done with your Californian, Mr. Lyle?" inquired Laura
Lytton.
"Sent him back to his hotel. By the way, ladies, he is a stranger here.
Will you permit me to bring him to see you this evening?"
"Certainly, Mr. Lyle," promptly replied Emma Cavendish, speaking for
all.
But then she gave a questioning glance toward her aunt, the chaperon of
the party.
"Of course," said Mrs. Fanning, in answer to that glance. "Of course the
Reverend Mr. Lyle's introduction is a sufficient passport for any
gentleman to any lady's acquaintance."
Mr. Lyle bowed and said:
"Then I will bring him at eight o'clock this evening."
And, with another bow, he also left the party and hurried off to the
hotel.
That evening, at eight o'clock, the three young ladies were seated alone
together in the front drawing-room of their boarding-house. Their
elderly friends were not present.
Dr. Jones was dining at the college with Alden Lytton and his
fellow-graduates.
Mrs. Fanning, fatigued with the day's excitement, had retired to a
dressing-gown and sofa in her own room.
Mrs. Wheatfield was in consultation with her book concerning the next
day's bill of fare.
Thus the three beauties were left together, and very beautiful they
looked.
Emma Cavendish, the "radiant blonde, with the golden hair and sapphire
eyes and blooming complexion," was dressed in fine pure white tulle,
with light-blue ribbons.
Electra, the wild-eyed, black-haired, damask-cheeked brunette, was
dressed in a maize-colored silk, with black lace trimmings.
Laura Lytton, the stout, wholesome, brown-haired and brown-eyed lassie,
wore a blue _barege_ trimmed, like Electra's dress, with black lace.
The room was brilliant with gas-light, and they were waiting for their
friends and visitors.
Dr. Jones had promised to return, and bring Alden with him, by eight
o'clock at latest. And Mr. Lyle had promised to come and bring "the
Californian."
The clock struck eight and with dramatic punctuality the bell rang.
The next moment the little page of the establishment opened the
drawing-room door and announced:
"Mr. Lyle and a gemman."