“No; they’ll keep him for the last place.”
“Well, Allison, captain of the crew, then.”
“I heard Smithson has switched over to Keys.”
“They’re both after De Gollyer.”
All four had tentative lists in their hands, eagerly comparing them.
“Dopey, you’re all wrong. Clark’ll never get it.”
“Why not.”
“Look at your Bones list—there’s no place for him. You’ve got to include the pitcher of the nine and the president of Dwight Hall, haven’t you?”
“My guess is Rogers first man for Keys.”
“No; they’ll take some man Bones wants—De Gollyer, probably.”
“Let’s get into the crowd.”
“Come on.”
“It’s ten minutes of five already.”
Le Baron, passing, stopped Stover, saying excitedly:
“Say, Dink, watch out for the crowd who go Keys and let me know, will you? I mean the men in our crowd?”
“Sure I will.”
Stover was in the throng, with a strange, sharp memory of Le Baron’s drawn face. It was a silent mass, waiting, watch in hand, trying stoically to face down the suspense of the last awful minutes. Men he knew stared past him unseeing. Some were carefully dressed, and others stood in sweater and jersey, biting on pipes that were not lit. He heard a few scattered voices and the brief, crisp remarks came to him like the scattered popping of musketry.
“What’s the time, Bill?”
“Three minutes of.”
“Did they ever make a mistake?”
“Sure; four years ago. A fellow got mixed up and tapped the wrong man.”
“Didn’t discover it until they were halfway down the campus.”
“Rotten situation.”
“I should say so.”
“Let’s stand over here.”
“What for?”
“Let’s see Dudley tapped. He’ll be first man for Bones.”
“Gee, what a mob!”
“Packed like sardines.”
Near the fence, the juniors, hemmed in, were constantly being welded together. Stover, moving aimlessly, caught sight of Dudley’s face. He would have liked to signal him a greeting, a look of good will; but the face of the captain was set in stone. A voice near him whispered that there was a minute more. He looked in a dozen faces, amazed at the physical agony he saw in those who were counted surest. For the first time he began to realize the importance of it, the hopes and fears assembled there. Then he noticed, above the ghostlike heads of the crowd, the windows packed with spectators drawn to the spectacle. And he had a feeling of indignant resentment that outsiders should be there to watch this test of manhood after the long months of striving.
“Ten seconds, nine seconds, eight,” someone said near him. Then suddenly, immediately swallowed up in a roar, the first iron note of the chapel bell crashed over them. Then a shriek:
“Yea!”
“There he comes!”
“Over by the library.”
“First man.”
Across the campus, Dana, first man out for Bones, all in black, was making straight for them with the unrelenting directness of a torpedo. The same breathless tensity was in his face, the same solemnity. The crowd parted slightly before him and then closed behind him with a rush. He made his way furiously into the center of the tangle, throwing the crowd from him without distinction until opposite Dudley, who waited, looking at him blankly. He passed, and suddenly, seizing a man nearer Stover, swung him around and slapped him on the back with a loud slap, crying:
“Go to your room!”
Instantly the cry went up:
“It’s De Gollyer!”
“First man tapped!”
The mass parted, and De Gollyer, wabbling a little, taking enormous steps, shot out for his dormitory, tracked by Dana, while about him his classmates shouted their approval of the popular choice.
“Yea!”
“Rogers!”
“First man for Keys.”
“Rogers for Keys!”
Stover set out for a rush in the direction of the shout, tossed and buffeted in the scramble. At every moment, now, a cry went up as the elections proceeded rapidly. From time to time he found Le Baron, and shouted to him his report. He saw men he knew tearing back and forth, Hunter driven out of his pose of calm for once, little Schley, hysterical almost, running to and fro. At times the slap was given near him, and he caught the sudden realization, a look in the face that was not good to have seen. It was all like a stampede, some panic, a sudden shipwreck, when every second was precious and, once gone, gone forever; where the agony was in the face of the weak-hearted and a few stoically stood smiling at the waiting gulf.
The elections began to be exhausted and the writing on the wall to stare some in the face. Then something happened; a cry went up and a little circle formed under one of the trees, while back came the rumor:
“Someone’s fainted.”
“Man’s gone under.”
“Who?”
“Who is it?”
“Franklin.”
“No, no; Henderson.”
“You don’t say so!”
“Fainted dead away. Missed out for Bones.”
All at once another shout went up—a shout of amazement and incredulity. A great sensation spread everywhere. The Bones list had now reached thirteen; only two more to be given, and Allison of the crew, Dudley, and Harvey, chairman of the News, all rated sure men, were left. Who was to be rejected? Stover fought his way to where the three were standing white and silent, surrounded by the gaping crowd. Someone caught his arm. It was Le Baron, beside himself with excitement, saying:
“Good God, Dink! you don’t suppose they’re going to turn down Harvey or Allison?”
Almost before the words were uttered something had happened. A slap resounded and the sharp command:
“Go to your room!”
Then the cry:
“Harvey!”
“Harvey’s tapped!”
“Only one place left.”
“Good heavens!”
“Who’s to go down?”
“It’s impossible!”
Dudley and Allison, prospective captains, roommates from school days at Andover, were left, and between them balancing the fates. A hush fell in the crowd, awed at the unusual spectacle of a Yale captain marked for rejection. Then Dudley, smiling, put out his hand and said in a clear voice:
“Joe, one of us has got to walk the plank. Here’s luck!”
Allison’s hand went out in a firm grip, smiling a little, too, as he answered:
“No, no; you’re all right! You’re sure.”
“Here he is.”
“Last man for Bones.”
“Here he comes!”
The crowd massed at the critical point fell back, opening a lane to where Allison and Dudley waited, throwing back their shoulders a little, to
