At seven o’clock the students gather by classes at four different parts of the campus: the seniors to sit on their double fence, the juniors to sit on the steps of the recitation hall, the sophomores to occupy the commodious steps of the Assembly Hall, and the freshmen to stand near the library. Silence! Suddenly the low, vibrating voices of the seniors fill the air with, “Harvest Moon.” On its completion, the three lower classes send snapping hand claps over to the fence. Silence! The juniors send across to the seniors the melodious, sentimental song, “Summer Days and Love, Love, Love!” over the triple trills of which the high-pitched tenors linger as if they would stop there and sound those musical half tones until out of breath. Led by the seniors, the underclassmen repeat the hand-clapping. Silence! With a sudden, flank attack, the sophomores, directed by a shirt-sleeved and very fat student fly into the midst of “Dolly Grey,” a stirring war ballad, and from the pathos which wells out of the sentimental passages, one can easily imagine those wild, irresponsible sophomores crying in harmony with it. Once more the three classes snap their applause. Silence! A longer silence this time, for the freshmen, making their first appearance in the rôle of class singers--a thick mass of them--cannot agree with their director as to what the premiere shall be. Soon the matter is settled. An arm is raised and then--a low rumble that dies down, followed by three giant laughs from three different points of the campus. The freshman leader has pitched the tune too low. “Out with it, Freshies!” comes a mocking, cutting call across from the sophomores--traditional enemies of the freshmen. One more try, and with the effect of an aeroplane getting its flight slowly, hesitatingly, the freshman song at last rises to a mighty, boyish, exultant rendering of “Old Black Joe!” for they dare not trust themselves with a recent melody. After the songs, the cheers! the class cheers! The seniors give one for the juniors, and the juniors applaud it. The seniors give one for the sophomores, and the sophomores applaud it. Then the seniors give a heartier one for the freshmen, and those boys almost split the heavens with their yellings. Next the juniors make the rounds of the classes, with the same response of applause, save that their cheer for the seniors gets but scant and dignified applause, for the seniors must not be too boyish! Then the sophomores and the freshmen have their turn and the cheering is over. Silence. The night is deepening, and one hardly stirs. Four huge masses of shadow move in the direction of the campus centre. Then one hears a martial, drill-sergeant’s “Left, left, left!” as the classes catch the step. It is so arranged that, without a halt, the four classes merge into one mass in the middle of the green.