University of the South - Cap and Gown Yearbook (Sewanee, TN)

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14 f he (£ap anb ©own. It ain ' t opened yet. The mischief ! There ' s lots of boarding-houses, though ; they ' 11 take you in. Here is your half dollar, I said. Tell Dan to fetch the trunk, and I stepped into the hack. I had had so many shocks since noon that I could not again be astonished, but I had observed that the hackman had called the place a University, and I did not know whether to expect mere pretension, or whether to hope for a pleasanter reality. The driver having instructed Dan, waked up his horses, and we set off in a reposeful trot. For a little while it really seemed to me that the horses jumped gently up and down in the same place, but after some moments I observed that we did move forward. The road led directly from the station up a steep incline, and it seemed that we would go directly through a little stone ■ church that crowned the hill. But we turned to the left, and after a short curve we entered another village. The houses here had grounds about them, and each house and fence had an individuality of its own. Still, I did not see the University, and I asked the hackman for it. This is it, he answered, waving his hand to the houses on each side of the road. The boys stay all about in these houses, and go to chapel. Are all of these boarding-houses ? No. Some live with their mothers and go to chapel. A gigantic kindergarten, I said to myself, then aloud, What is the chapel? It ' s the University where Mr. Gailor preaches. The mystery deepened. Presently a bicycle whirled by and the rider had a mustache. Is that a professor? I asked, the vision of the kindergarten being still in my mind. Lor ' , no ! that ' s a boy. I pulled my own mustache and sat a little straighter. A bicycle and a mustache made me a little more, hopeful. What boarding-house do you take me to ? I asked. TheZ ' s. Boys there? The boys are everywhere, Mister, but we ' ve got mighty nice boys ; you ' 11 like ' em. We passed a pretty house in a bright garden. A lot. of young fellows- stood about the gate ; they touched their hats.

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®he ©ap attb ( oxv% . 13 A college town! Already I felt battered and bruised with Commence- ment Exercises. The air seemed dark with crawling essays — my arms were being waved by countless declamations — my ears were roaring with orations. I could see the model youth dressed with pitiless care walk for- ward, stop with military precision, draw the right foot back and bow, return to the perpendicular, fit his middle finger to the outside seam of his trousers, and gazing at the top of the furthest window, begin in a hollow tone : Friends ! —Romans ! — Countrymen ! The memory was so strong it made me smile, even though longing to wring Jack ' s neck. What had I done to be so punished ? Does the road stop at Sewanee ? I asked. No ; it goes on to the mines. Mines ! with sudden hope. Yes, at Tracy City. My hopes collapsed. Between an unknown college and an unknown city, I chose the college. It stops at Monteagle, too. Monteagle, I repeated, with my hopes under better control. A girls ' school and Chatauqua, with pride. I had often tried to imagine the despair of the guide when they asked him of the mummy, Is it dead? I realized it now. Boys were bad, but more to my taste than anything else offered me, and as we drew up at the station I decided that Sewanee was my fate. I was the only passenger for Sewanee, and felt myself a base coward that though 1 dreaded the college, I was not brave enough to go on. But the vision of the girls ' school and the crowds that were always at Chatauqua gatherings terrified me, and I felt that any number of the very worst boys would be less unnerving to me, a timid bachelor. The station house and the village were a great advance on Cowan, and I looked about anxiously for the College. A huge wooden barn was what I expected to see, with spindling saplings planted in rows all about it. Will you go up, sir ? asked a man with a whip. Where? fastening my college-hunting gaze on his face. To the University. I ' ll take you up for a quarter, and Dan ' 11 take your trunk for a quarter. How far is the University ? A good piece. What house are you going to ? The hotel.

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®Jre Cup anii Q$otvtx. 15 They mistake me for some one. No ; we speak to everybody up here. Nobody ain ' t proud. Presently we passed another group. Here I saw base-ball bats, and ten- nis flannels, and much larger mustaches. You have base-ball ? You never saw any better, enthusiastically. We ' ve got two clubs — Harclees and Sewanees ; I am a Sewanee. You must be a Sewanee, Mister. We wear blue. Do you play? Gosh, no ! only the University boys ; but we bet on one or the other. At the house where we stopped a lady received me pleasantly. Yes, I could have a room, and terms were explained. I did not think to say that I might leave in twenty-four hours. If I remember, rny course of reason- ing was that as the next day was Saturday, I would endure until Monday. This mystery of a University consisting, as far as I could see, of one bicycle, two base-ball clubs, a number of mothers who kept boarding- houses, one chapel, and a man who preached ; and all tucked away in a thick wood on top a mountain, was a strange thing in the conventional, mechanical nineteenth century, and I desired to investigate. The room to which I was shown was a small corner room with two win- dows, a bare floor, and the simplest of simple furniture ; but it looked neat, and both windows looked out into trees. To say this, however, is to say very little in the way of description, for I cannot recall any window at Sewanee that does not look out on trees. Presently Dan brought my trunk, touched his hat, and said, Let me know when you want to go. I promised, and asked the name of my hackman. Just ask for Jim. Jim and Dan, I repeated. i will remember. Jim and Dan at least had adopted me. While I Avas getting rid of my travelling suit and the dust, I heard a soft-toned bell ring out above the trees, and from behind my curtain I watched two young ladies going with prayer-books in their hands. I began to tremble at the thought of boarding in the house with young women. I might as well have gone on to Chatauqua and the girls ' school ! What was this Sewanee ? Of course these young women were going to the chapel and the man who preached. Had I run aground on a co-educa- tional institution ? How awful ! After this I went down stairs timidly on my toes, and crept out on a