afternoon girls had been arriving, dozens of them, to attend
the fraternity dances. One dormitory had been set aside for them, the
normal residents seeking shelter in other dormitories. No man ever
objected to resigning his room to a girl. He never could tell what he
would find when he returned to it Monday morning. Some of the girls left
strange mementos....

No one except a few notorious grinds studied that night. Some of the
students were, of course, at the fraternity dances; some of them sat in
dormitory rooms and discussed the coming game from every possible angle;
and groups of them wandered around the campus, peering into the
fraternity houses, commenting on the girls, wandering on humming a song
that an orchestra had been playing, occasionally pausing to give a
"regular cheer" for the moon.

Hugh was too much excited to stay in a room; so with several other
freshmen he traveled the campus. He passionately envied the dancers in
the fraternity houses but consoled himself with the thought, "Maybe
I'll be dancing at the Nu Delt house next year." Then he had a spasm of
fright. Perhaps the Nu Delts--perhaps no fraternity would bid him. The
moon lost its brilliance; for a moment even the Sanford-Raleigh game was
forgotten.

The boys were standing before a fraternity house, and as the music
ceased, Jack Collings suggested: "Let's serenade them. You lead, Hugh."

Hugh had a sweet, light tenor voice. It was not at all remarkable, just
clear and true; but he had easily made the Glee Club and had an
excellent chance to be chosen freshman song-leader.

Collings had brought a guitar with him. He handed it to Hugh, who, like
most musical undergraduates, could play both a guitar and a banjo. "Sing
that 'I arise from dreams of thee' thing that you were singing the other
night. We'll hum."

Hugh slipped the cord around his neck, tuned the guitar, and then
thrummed a few opening chords. His heart was beating at double time; he
was very happy: he was serenading girls at a fraternity dance. Couples
were strolling out upon the veranda, the girls throwing warm wraps over
their shoulders, the men lighting cigarettes and tossing the burnt
matches on the lawn. Their white shirt-fronts gleamed eerily in the pale
light cast by the Japanese lanterns with which the veranda was hung.

Hugh began to sing Shelley's passionate lyric, set so well to music by
Tod B. Galloway. His mother had taught him the song, and he loved it.