34

26 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN

—_——

while our polite ditties to the upper classes, inspired by some of their illustrious members,
should have ensured us a place on their good books forever.

At the end of Sophomore year the Herculean labour of a song rested quite easily on the
class shoulders and we stood at the foot of Senior steps and sang our returns of 1909’s praise
quite happily. We seemed to give each other confidence singing en masse and had an almost
touching faith in our starter. Toward the end of May the songs took a sadder note and
moist-eyed Sophomores began to count the days before June should scatter the protecting
red class to the four corners of the earth, perhaps never to return.

At last the end came and 1909 ceded the steps to 1910, and the old classes stood shoulder
to shoulder on the ground for their last collective song. Mutes and all broke into “Thou
Gracious” with an astounding vehemence and it was the strength of the rush which carried
the song without a tearful breakdown.

Junior year was one singularly lacking in all musical efforts, save the singing at dinner of
the May Day songs in which 1911 merely followed the lead of 1910. It was fortunate for us that
little was required for we had lost so many voices that we needed time to recover and to develop
another leader. What we lacked in song we tried to make up in dignity—but it is a question
as to how we succeeded.

In the course of time we were given the steps and we did manage to get up without
mishap. I suppose every class that takes the steps for the first time feels as though it had
stolen something and been taken red-handed; but in spite of emotion we did start “Thou
Gracious” and were for the first time full-fledged singing Seniors.

In the Fall of 1910 anyone coming on the campus about half past seven would have heard
a “sound of voices,’”—but—it was not around the psalmist’s crystal sea, and if it had been
I am sure those “harpers harping on their harps” would have thrown down the instruments
along with their heavenly crowns and beaten a hasty retreat from the scene of confusion.
The sound produced was wonderful and fearful. The curious may want to know what I’m
driving at—well it’s 1911’s Senior singing, and that is something that won’t be driven and
can’t be led. There was the class gathered on Taylor steps in all stages and kinds of attire,
fighting merrily over and around the patient form of Pinkey who had been made leader—
a position much like the one of the person who blacks his face, sticks it through a hole in a
canvas and dodges the ball of the ardent pleasure-seeker who aims to hit the nigger-baby,
and thus get a good cigar—well it was a toss-up between Pinkey and the other fellow. There
she sat in medias res ducking her patient head and waiting for the storm to pass. From the
description it may be gathered that Amy was not there. Each girl had a request for a song