Stanford Stories: Tales of a Young UniversityIrwin, Will
General
Stanford Stories: Tales of a Young University
Irwin, Will
College stories, American; Short stories; Stanford (Calif.) -- Fiction; Stanford University -- Fiction
"When we were quiet again, the Senator talked to us informally, as
though we were in reality his children as he had said we were to be. It
was an earnest talk, about his ideals of what the University was yet to
be, and his hope for their fulfillment; of economy and judicious living;
and of endeavor to be of use to the world. It was a privilege to stand
there listening. He appealed to each one of us individually. We could
not know then how few more such opportunities we were to have. When he
had finished, the dining-room doors slid back--it was a put-up job, that
serenade--and it was Mrs. Stanford's turn. After the supper, we gathered
for a little personal talk with both of them, then we had some more
mandolin music, and Baker sang 'Suwanee River' to Capron's
accompaniment.
"That evening brought the Founders pretty close to the crowd. It was a
good thing to have happen, it began things right. Then, you know, he
died suddenly, in vacation. I was in Yosemite. When term opened, it was
hard to get used to seeing her driving around the campus alone. I don't
think any of the people who came after those early days can ever be so
loyal to the Founders, to the person of one and the memory of the other,
as we are. I'm sure none of us who went over serenading that night will
ever forget it. It's one of the Pioneer memories."
Both graduates were looking into the fire. Freshman Haviland snored
softly in the window seat. The eyes of the rest of the chapter were
fastened on the chafing-dish. Shirlock's story had seemed pretty long
and the rarebit sent out a tantalizing odor.
Duncan called out, "Supper's ready, children," and the heated plates
came clattering up from the hearth, bringing the visitors back from the
far echoes of their own beginnings to the noisy unconcern of a Freshman
year that knew a kind, white-bearded face from pictures only, and never
could understand.
FOR THE SAKE OF ARGUMENT.
For the Sake of Argument.
"For we are frank and twenty
And the spring is in the air!"
HOVEY.
"Well!" said Miss Meiggs, spreading across her lap one of the Beta Rhos'
new monogrammed napkins, "I must say _your_ being here is a surprise."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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