“Oh, Charley Bangs—stick out your head.”
“We want Billy Brown.”
“Hello, there!”
“Tubby, this way!”
Then this community of faint sounds was lost as, from the fence, a shapeless mass beyond began to send its song towards him.
“When freshmen first we came to Yale
Fol-de-rol-de-rol-rol-rol.
Examinations made us pale
Fol-de-rol-de-rol-rol-rol.”
“What do you know about the society system here?” said Le Baron abruptly.
“Why, I know—there are three senior societies: Skull and Bones, Keys, Wolf’s-Head—but I guess that’s all I do know.”
“You’ll hear a good deal of talk inside the college, and out of it, too, about the system. It has its faults. But it’s the best system there is, and it makes Yale what it is today. It makes fellows get out and work; it gives them ambitions, stops loafing and going to seed, and keeps a pretty good, clean, temperate atmosphere about the place.”
“I know nothing at all about it,” said Stover, perplexed.
“The seniors have fifteen in each; they give out their elections end of junior year, end of May. That’s what we’re all working for.”
“Already?” said Stover involuntarily.
“There are fellows in your class,” said Le Baron, “who’ve been working all summer, so as to get ahead in the competition for the Lit or the Record, or to make the leader of the glee club—fellows, of course, who know.”
“But that’s three years off.”
“Yes, it’s three years off,” said Le Baron quietly. “Then there are the junior fraternities; but they’re large, and at present don’t count much, except you have to make them. Then there are what are called sophomore societies.” He hesitated a moment. “They are very important.”
“Do you belong?” asked Stover innocently.
“Yes,” said Le Baron, after another hesitation. “Of course, we don’t discuss our societies here. Others will tell you about them. But here’s where your first test will come in.”
Then came another lull. Stover, troubled, frowning, sat staring at the brilliant windows across which passed, from time to time, a sudden shadow. The groups at the fence were singing a football song, with a marching swing to it, that had so often caught up his loyal soul as he had sat shivering in the grandstand for the game to begin. It was not all so simple—no, not at all simple. It wasn’t as he had thought. It was complex, a little disturbing.
“This college is made up of all sorts of elements,” said Le Baron, at last. “And it is not easy to run it. Now, in every class there are just a small number of fellows who are able to do it and who will do it. They form the real crowd. All the rest don’t count. Now, Stover, you’re going to have a chance at something big on the football side; but that is not all. You might make captain of the eleven and miss out on a senior election. You’re going to be judged by your friends, and it is just as easy to know the right crowd as the wrong.”
“What do you mean by the right crowd?” said Stover, conscious of just a little antagonism.
“The right crowd?” said Le Baron, a little perplexed to define so simple a thing. “Why, the crowd that is doing things, working for Yale; the crowd—”
“That the class ahead picks out to lead us,” said Stover abruptly.
“Yes,” said Le Baron frankly; “and it won’t be a bad judgment. Money alone won’t land a man in it, and there’ll be some in it who work their way through college. On the whole, it’s about the crowd you’ll want to know all through life.”
“I see,” said Stover. His clasp tightened over his knees, and he was conscious of a certain growing uncomfortable sensation. He liked Le Baron—he had looked up to him, in a way. Of course, it was all said in kindness, and yet—
“I’m frankly aristocratic in my point of view”—he heard the well-modulated voice continue—“and what I say others think. I’m older than most of my class, and I’ve seen a good deal of the world at home and abroad. You may think the world begins outside of college. It doesn’t; it begins right here. You want to make the friends that will help you along, here and outside. Don’t lose sight of your opportunities, and be careful how you choose.
“Now, by that I mean don’t make your friends too quickly. Get to know the different crowds, but don’t fasten to individuals until you see how things work out. This rather surprises you, doesn’t it? Perhaps you don’t like it.”
“It does sort of surprise me,” said Stover, who did not answer what he meant.
“Stover,” said Le Baron, resting a hand on his knee, “I like you. I liked you from the first time we lined up in that Andover-Lawrenceville game. You’ve got the stuff in you to make the sort of leader we need at Yale. That’s why I’m trying to make you see this thing as it is. You come from a school that doesn’t send many fellows here. You haven’t the fellows ahead pulling for you, the way the other crowds have. I don’t want you to make any mistake. Remember, you’re going to be watched from now on.”
“Watched?” said Stover, frowning.
“Yes; everything you do, everything you say—that’s how you’ll be judged. That’s why I’m telling you these things.”
“I appreciate it,” said Stover, but without enthusiasm.
“Now, you’ve got a chance to make good on the eleven this year. If you do, you stand in line for the captaincy senior year. It lies with you to be one of the big men in the class. And this is the way to do it: get to know everyone in the class right off.”
“What!” said Stover, genuinely surprised.
“I mean, bow to everyone; call them by name: but hold yourself apart,” said Le Baron. “Make fellows come to you. Don’t talk too much. Hold yourself in. Keep out of the crowd
