otunda was ringing with a chorus from three hundred throats
as three hundred students poured out of doors, and over-flowed the ridge
and spilled down the broad steps, making a babel of musical tongues;
while fitting itself to every catchy college air known to Sunrise came
the noisy refrain:

Rah for Funnybone!
Rah for Funnybone!
Rah for Funnybone!
_Rah!_ RAH! RAH!!!

Again it was repeated, swelling along the ridge and floating wide away
over the Walnut Valley. Nor was there a climax of exuberance until
the appearance of Dr. Lloyd Fenneben himself, with his tall figure
and striking presence outlined against the gray stone columns of the
veranda. All this because it was mid-October, a heaven-made autumn day
in Kansas, with its gracious warmth and bracing breath; with the Indian
summer haze in shimmering amethyst and gold overhanging the land; and
the Walnut Valley, gorgeous in the glow of the October frost-fires,
winding down between broad seas of rainbow-radiant prairies. And all
this gladness and grandeur, by the decree of Dr. Fenneben, was given
in fee simple to these three hundred young people for the hours of one
perfect day--their annual autumn holiday. No wonder they filled the
air with shouts. And before the singing had ceased the crowd broke into
groups by natural selection, and the holiday was begun.

Whatever bounds of time Nature may give to the seed in which to become
a plant, or to the grub to become a butterfly, there is no set limit
wherein the country-bred boy may bloom into a full-fledged college
student.

Seven weeks after Vic Burleigh had come alongside the Greek Professor
into Sunrise, found the quick marvelous change from the timid,
untrained, overgrown young giant into a leader of his clan, the pride of
the Freshman, the terror of the Sophomores, the dramatic interest of
the classroom, and the hope of Sunrise on the football gridiron. His
store-made clothes had a jaunty carelessness of fit. The tan had left
his cheek. His auburn hair had lost its sun-burn. His powerful physique,
the charm of his deep voice, the singular beauty of his wide open
golden-brown eyes, with their long black lashes lighting up his rugged
face, gave to him an attractive personality.

Yet to Lloyd Fenneben, who saw below the surface, Victor Burleigh was
only at the beginning of things. Something of the tiger light in the
brown eyes, the pride in brute strength, the blunt just