The rattling of the chairs against each other sounded harsh and discordant, and yet no one seemed to want to lessen it. Some of the fellows laughed and joked a little, as though they weren't thinking of anything serious. It made a large circle. They sat down in comparative silence. The Class President arose and said, "Say, fellows, let's sing 'Here's to you, my jovial friend,' all around the class, and each man stand up while we're singing to him." They started with the President and went around to the left. You know that drinking song. It's a simple little salute, but there's more heart in its swelling high notes than in anything ever written. But perhaps that is because of its association. "Here's to you, Jack Stehman," they sang. "Here's to you, my jovial friend, And we'll drink with all our heart, For sake of company-- We'll drink before we part, Here's to you, Jack Stehman." Stehman, the President, had arisen when his name was called, and remained standing while the song was carried through. The big fellow seemed to loom up bigger than ever in the half dark. He arose with his old, well-known slouch, and the sight of this little characteristic brought up to every one of them the whole big, lovable personality of the man. He started to look around at the fellows and smile as they began to sing, but the clear, warm notes rang out, "We'll drink before we part," and he changed his mind and looked down at the grass under his feet. He was not embarrassed. He merely preferred looking down. It was so different from Class Day, when he had made his much-applauded President's address, and told people in his nice set speech about the sadness of farewell and the beauty of the elms. He was the one all the girls had asked the most questions about. The class censor had guyed him about his brand new dignity and his good looks. Nobody was feeling like guying him now. Little Stacy sat next. He did not stand up very high. There was not much to him. He had been a poler all through the course, and you would not have expected the thing to affect him very much, but you could see his thin hands working nervously along the edge of his coat as he looked about at the half-darkened crowd of faces, and he smiled his foolish, little, self-conscious smile. The little chap had no idea that they would ever sing to him in that way, and when he heard Harry Lawrence's strong bass come out with "And we'll drink with all our heart," he fairly quivered. When he sat down the President reached a big arm about him. Then came Reddy Armstrong. He was not very tall either. He stood up very straight and stiff with his round, freckled face screwed up into funny twists. He only stared straight ahead into nothing. He looked dazed. He was dazed. He had been through some very queer things that day. "Poor little Red," thought Linton as he looked at him.