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 class-mates. He saw the campus, its grass green, with stately old elms bordering the walks, and the golden June sunshine 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, Nordyke, Bannister. One year he had spent in each, and every year had been one of happiness, of glad comradeship. 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!" End of Project Gutenberg's T. Haviland Hicks Senior, by J. Raymond Elderdice