raduates. First, in their
preparatory course; then in classics, and afterward three years in
Heidelberg, where he had won the Philosophy Doctorate.

At this moment the newly-elected president who had been sitting with
drooping head, as if he had been rebuked instead of having received their
highest honor, arose and stated that he would be greatly pleased if Dr.
Sparrow could be elected to fill the vacant chair, but he feared they
were too late. Forty-eight hours ago the joint board of Burrough Road
Institute, a noted school in London, had elected him to fill the chair of
Belles-Lettres and History, and he feared that Sparrow had before now
telegraphed his acceptance.

"Then," said Quintin, "I move that we elect him anyhow--even if I have to
cross the sea to give Burrough Road satisfaction."

The inspiration was complete; every man was ready to vote, and did vote
for the man who was wanted in London--and Tom Sparrow became Dr. Sparrow,
Professor of Greek and Greek Literature in Monastery University, a result
which none ever regretted.

An earnest throng clustered around the newly-elected president, with
hearty congratulations. Not only the trustees, but more than two hundred
students, graduates included, who had been nervously waiting outside to
hear the news--rushed impetuously as far as they could into the board
room, and seizing McLaren, hoisted him to the shoulders of four sturdy
men, and then marched out from the chapel into the park singing
boisterously their latest college song:

Rah! Rah! Monastery,
Biggest Lion of them all,
Albertson and Mack and Quintin,
Rah! Rah! Rah!

A full moon made it almost as light as day, and even dignified Albertson
joined in the jovial song, while Billy Sparrow, dressed in his best blue
broadcloth with its bright brass buttons, joined lustily in the chorus:
"Rah! Rah! Rah! Albertson, Mack, and Jerry Quintin."

Quintin's team stood at the gate, and its owner told the driver to drive
to the farmhouse and wait there. Quintin himself was somewhat nervous,
knowing that he had something more to accomplish before he slept.

The leader in this carnival of pleasure and song was Joe Elliot, a next
year's senior. He was a stalwart man, the largest in the crowd, six feet
four inches in height, broad-shouldered and clear-eyed--a leader in
everything he undertook. He stalked in front, bearing a United States
flag, setting the pace in both step and song.

Quintin after some effort succ