What college man who has ever played ball can forget the glad moment when, after a hard fought and successful tour, he returns to receive the enthusiastic congratulations of his fellow students; the pleasurable thrill with which he first hears the sound of their voices; the joyous, clamorous greeting as the old familiar depot is reached; the happy, noisy throng that receives him with open arms; the shouting, laughing, singing, cheering, and the thousand other delightful details that constitute his triumph! All this was ours; and Belmont has still to look forward to a bigger bonfire than was piled up and consumed on the old back campus that night. To be sure, our joy was tempered by the consideration that the championship was still to be won, that the Crimson Banner was still to be wrested from the hands of the Park men by a deciding game; but, nevertheless, our prospects had so suddenly brightened, our tour had been so brilliantly successful, and our success augured so well for the future, that an anticipatory triumph was quite natural and justifiable. “We might just as well have our bonfire now, for the tour alone is worthy of it,” said Clinton Edwards, when Ray suggested that perhaps the triumph was a little premature. “We can easily have another one when we win the championship. There is plenty of fuel lying loose around town. I would contribute all the furniture in my room if I thought it would be any help towards bringing the Crimson Banner back to Belmont.” These remarks were made in the lowest and hoarsest of whispers, for Clinton’s voice, like those of his worthy “chorus,” had perished of overwork. Once or twice during the evening when the fun raged hottest, I saw him make a heroic effort to join in the cheering, but finding it useless, shake his head despairingly, and betake himself to banging on a big bass drum, which a member of the college instrumental club had brought into service. But Clinton and his chorus had done their work nobly that day, and no member of our nine will ever forget their timely appearance and loyal support at Berkeley. As the hour grew late, the excitement waned, and gradually the mass of students broke up into small knots, and moved away. I was feeling fatigued from the exertions and nervous strain of the game and the evening’s celebration; so, about half past ten, I went to my room, and there, lying off at ease, I watched from my windows the slow dispersion of the revelers on the campus below me until the last group had disappeared. And long after my fellow students, wearied by shouting, had retired to their various apartments, the fire burned on in the silent night, crackling, sizzling, and darting its fitful beams into my room, where they set grotesque and fanciful shadows dancing on ceiling and walls, and blending their lurid and wavering gleams with the myriad faces and images that the day’s memory recalled to my dreams. CHAPTER XXX