On only one occasion has Our Mute
felt. definitely her mistake in being
born without the gift of song. The
story is a sad one. In the guerilla
warfare between the Sophomores and
Freshmen over the Animal of 1935,
Our Mute throughout the week played
a distinguished part. She did not
balk at sitting up all night to listen
for odd sounds of hostile action; she
rose at six on Saturday to patrol the
Goodhart walk. At six o’clock that
evening, as the show was being cos-
tumed, she strolled behind the build-
ing to take a breath of air. Sounds
floated toward her on the balmy sun-
set breeze. She crept over to a light-

 

ed window, and, looking in, beheld a
cluster of singing freshmen rehears-
ing loudly with last-minute abandon
the precious animal song. Conceive
her excitement as she drank in words
and tune. Alas! conceive her horror,
when she realized as all was over
that, however she might reproduce
the words, the tune had fallen on
such barren ground as to be forever
lost. In an agony of insufficiency,
she forthwith fled the spot, never
breathing to her classmates how near
the victory had been. Her secret is
her own until her death: then she
knows there will be found the image
of the Phoenix engraven on her heart.

 

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