Part 23 (1/2)
d.i.n.k sat a long while thinking, and a lighter mood was on him. After all, he was not a blank. Some one had recognized him; some one had taken his hand in admiration. He rose and slowly made his way toward the singers on the Esplanade, and by the edge of the road camped under the shadows of an apple tree and leaned his back against the trunk.
The groups of the Esplanade stood out in cut outlines against the warm windows of the Reading-room. Above, the open windows were tenanted by boys who pillowed their heads on one another and sent their treble or ba.s.s notes down to swell the volume below.
Led by a tenor voice that soared clear and true above the rest came the melody to Stover huddled under the apple tree:
_At evening, when twilight is falling And the birds to their nests are all gone, We'll gather around in the gloaming, And mingle our voices in song.
Yes, in song.
The bright stars are s.h.i.+ning above us, Keeping their watch and ward.
We'll sing the old songs that we love, boys.
Out on the Esplanade._
Stover listened, pressing his knuckles to his lips, raised out of himself by the accord of voices and the lingering note of melancholy that was in the hour, the note of the dividing of the ways.
Again in deeper accents a song arose:
_We sing the campus, green and fair.
We sing the 'leven and nine Who battle for the old school there And guard the base and line.
No cause for fear when they appear And the school flag floats above our head.
When the game begins 'tis Lawrence wins, While we cheer the Black and Red.
When the game begins 'tis Lawrence wins, While we cheer the Black and Red._
The song ended in lingering accents. d.i.n.k shut his eyes, clenching his fists, seeing wonderful days when the school should gather to cheer him, too, and lay its trust in him.
Suddenly near him in the road came the crunching sound of footsteps, and a voice said:
”Is that you, Bill?”
”Yes.”
”Bill, I wanted to say a word to you.”
”Well?”
”We've only got a few days more in the old place. I don't want to go out with any hard feelings for anybody, do you?”
”No.”
”Let's call it off! Shake hands.”
Stover listened breathless, hearing little more, understanding only that a feud had ceased, that two enemies on the verge of the long parting had held each other's hands, slapped each other's backs with crude, embarra.s.sed emotion, for the sake of the memories that lived in the shadow of a name. And something like a lump rose again in d.i.n.k's throat. He no longer thought of his loneliness. He felt in him the longing to live as they had lived through the glorious years, to know the touch of a friend's arm about his shoulders, and to leave a name to stand with the names that were going out.
He raised his fists grotesquely, unconsciously, and swore an oath:
”No, I won't give up; I'll never give up. I'll come back. I'll fight it out!” he said almost aloud. ”I'll make 'em like me. I'll make 'em proud of me.”
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