Part 22 (2/2)

”As regards a berth for your son, Thomas. The Chronicle usually takes on a few college men during the summer, when our staff is off on vacations. We always use undergraduates, and often, in two or three summers, we develop them into star reporters. However, for old time's sake, I'll be glad to give your son a chance, and if he means business, let him report for duty next Friday, at 1 P.M., to my office.

Understand, Hicks, he must come here and fight his own way, without any favor or special help from me. Were he the son of our nation's President, I'd not treat him a whit better than the rest of the Staff, so let him know that in advance. On the other hand, I'll develop him all I can, and if he has the ability, the Chronicle long-room is the place for him.

”Yours for old Yale,

”'Doc' Whalen, Yale, '96,

”City Editor--THE CHRONICLE.”

”Here's my Dad's ultimatum,” grinned Hicks, when. Butch finished the letter. ”I am to take a summer as a cub on the Baltimore Chronicle, making my own way, and living on my weekly salary, without financial aid from anyone. If, at the end of the summer, City Editor Whalen reports that I've made good enough to be retained as a regular, then--Yours truly for the Fourth Estate. If I fail, then I follow a course charted out by Mr.

Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr.! So, it is up to me to make good--”

”You--you will make good, Hicks,” quavered Theophilus, whose faith in the shadow-like youth was prodigious. ”Oh, that will be splendid, for I am going to take a course at a business college in Baltimore. I want to become an expert stenographer, and we'll be together,”

”It's work now, fellows!” sighed Beef McNaughton, s.h.i.+fting his huge bulk atop of the jit ”College years are ended, we're chucked into the world, to make good, or fail! Butch and I have not decided on our work yet. We may accept jobs as bank or railroad presidents, or maybe run for President of the U.S.A., provided John McGraw or Connie Mack do not sign us up.

However--”

At that moment, the engine of old Dan Flannagan's battered ”Dove” consented to hit on two cylinders, and the genial Irishman, who was to transport Hicks and his comrades, as collegians, for the last time, yelled, ”All aboard!” loudly, to conceal his emotion at the sad scene.

”We're off!” shrieked Skeet Wigglesworth, stowed away below, as the jitney-bus moved down the driveway. ”Farewell, dear old Bannister! Run slow, Dan, we want to gaze on the campus as long as we can.”

The youths were silent, as the 'bus rolled slowly down the driveway and under the Memorial Arch, old Dan, sympathizing with them, and finding he could make the express by a safe margin, allowing the jitney to flutter along at reduced speed. From its top, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., his vision blurred with tears, gazed back with his cla.s.s-mates. He saw the campus, its gra.s.s green, with stately old elms bordering the walks, and the golden June suns.h.i.+ne bathing everything in a soft radiance. He beheld the college buildings--the Gym., the Science Hall, the Administration Building, Recitation Hall, the ivy-covered Library; the white Chapel, and the four dorms., Creighton, Smithson, Nord.y.k.e, Bannister. One year he had spent in each, and every year had been one of happiness, of glad comrades.h.i.+p.

He could see Bannister Field, the scene of his many hilarious athletic fiascos.

And now he was leaving it all--had come to the end of his college course, and before him lay Life, with its stern realities, its grim obstacles, and hard struggles; ended were the golden campus days, the gay skylarking in the dorms. Gone forever were the joyous nights of entertaining his comrades, of Beefsteak Busts down at Jerry's. Silenced was his beloved banjo, and no more would his saengerfests bother old Bannister.

A turn in the street, and the campus could not be seen. As the last vision of their Alma Mater vanished, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., smiling sunnily through his tear-blurred eyes, gazed at his comrades of old '19--

”Say, fellows--” he grinned, though his voice was shaky, ”let's--let's start in next September, and--do it all over again!”

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