Worcester Polytechnic Institute - Peddler Yearbook (Worcester, MA)

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(3) Whist,

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MEETING of the Socialists was called for Jan. 15, at 8 o’clock, in the Lincoln House. Owing to a slight misunderstanding a few of the men did not make their appearance, hut by half past eight enough had arrived to form three card parties, and all started in to “buck the tiger.’’ That twelve men could get together and pass three hours play¬ ing cards and singing songs without betraying the slightest symptom of “that tired feeling,’’ would indeed be nothing short of a miracle to those who declared the inability of fifteen to do the same thing. But it is a fact that, at this and the succeeding card party, more downright enthusiasm was manifested than had been seen at any thing since the “Half-way’’ celebration. On the evening of Jan. 21, the class of ’93 repaired to “Grange Hall,’’ to hold the high carnival of “ Half-way-thro.’’ They were all armed with huge canes and other instruments, with which they defied some expected inroad from other classmen. On the same evening, some degraded rascals appro¬ priated several gallons of Middler ice-cream. On the evening of Jan. 22, the Socialists had an ice-cream party. Vague rumors had been flying about all that afternoon that the Socialists were invited to pay a visit to a former landlady of one of their number, that evening, but were warned to come in squads of one at a time, because there was a party sick four or five streets below. The boys adhered to the instructions. The first dropped in about half past eight, the s econd about five minutes later, the third about quarter of. Then the rush ceased. The last man arrived just as one member was preparing to leave. The first thing was cards. Nothing exciting occurred, except Eastman succeeded in 16

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remaining awake through one consecutive hand. The quartette favored the party with a couple of hymns, bringing in the class yell very prettily. Then as the curfew was tolling the solemn hour of eleven, the back door opened softly and five men, carrying suspicious bundles under their arms and still more suspicious looks on their faces, sneaked out into the snowy snow. The fitful gleam of a neighboring street lamp gave a wierd appearance to the shadowy forms that sped along the deserted road. The noiseless tread, the mysterious bundles, the hooded spectres, the awful solemnity of time and pace, rendered the deed still more uncanny. On the face of each traveller rested a look of determination, of heroic exultation, such as the melancholy Hamlet must have assumed when he seized Shylock by the throat and cried, “Ha! Alonzo von Gabbo, 1 have thee now.” The wintry breezes whispered like young cyclones among the trees, while the sweet-scented “strawberry and vanilla mi.xed flavored the air. On, on strode the dauntless five, while their gleaming eyes seemed to speak in words of fire; “Equal division of property; down with the Middlemen.” Ever and anon from their parted lips came at equal intervals the hurried breath that told of fast-departing strength and the stern yet noble sentiment: “ Rebboli’s or bust.” i8