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

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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

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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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16 ©he ( ap anh (SSonm. piazza. Here I sat down carefully on the edge of a chair. I had reached that point where the impossible seemed more than probable, and the usual had tapered off into the uncertain. I had never felt so bewildered since the time when I studied Hegel. Would Sewanee illustrate the great prop- osition that Being and Non-Being were one? For Sewanee seemed to be, yet where was it? I felt doubtful even about sitting down on the splint-bottomed chair that looked so innocent. I was not at all sure that it would not turn into something else — a bicycle, perhaps, or the chapel, or the man who preached. I could think of Sewanee as nothing but an Jt with a capital I. Or, perhaps Itness would be better. Presently the bell rang again ; then from every side I heard clanging, and dashing, and tinkling. ' A fire, or dinner, ' I said, in quotation marks. Certainly everything had waked up. People seemed suddenly to be moving in every direction ; even the cows stepping along move briskly. Young fellows bolted into the yard, sobered their gaits, and touched their hats as they passed me ; then my hostess appeared and asked me in to supper. I was glad, for, besides being very hungry, I saw the young women with prayer-books approaching. Everything in the dining-room was plain, but, as I remember it, the food was simple and good. My hostess introduced some of the young fel- lows who were nearest— Smith, and Brown, and Jones, of course, and Tompkins, and Simpson — nice fellows they seemed. The young ladies came in next, Miss Jemima and Miss Angelica. The atmosphere became blurred, and I bolted a whole glass of milk. I saw little Brown dig Smith in the ribs furtively, and had an unhappy consciousness that I was making things stiff, and while pondering some airy remark Miss Angelica said, in a slow little voice, How is the nine, Mr. Brown ? The breaking of a mill-dam was nothing to the rush of talk that fol- lowed. Splendid and magnificent were the mildest adjectives I heard, and Smith was positive that the Sewanees would be victorious the next day. You mean the base-ball nines? I said to little Brown in an undertone. Of course. Won ' t you be a Sewanee? At this request there fell an appalling silence, all waiting for my answer. Yes — yes, I gasped: 1 promised the hackman as I came up. What hackman? came in chorus. Jim. Good for Jim!