ty they closed shop, and Pellams and I fell on each other's
chests behind a pillar, and busted at the josh on ourselves.

"Then we went over to get the figures of our triumph. 'Boggs, 402;
Castleton, 375,' and the biggest vote in the history of the office.
Well, you bet we went down to the train! Couldn't freeze _us_ out! We
were going to pry open the Lobster's claws and use them for a corkscrew.
So we piled into a 'bus. But, honest, we were paralyzed.

"Down at the station was the conquering Brown with her people, all
watching for the train. Say, when Boggsie saw the whole gang of us, he
was a balloon. He got up on a truck and made us a speech of thanks.
Pellams and I yelled 'Hear, Hear,' right along. Oh, it was awful! He
gave us the whole history of the Student-Body from the days of
'Ninety-one up. Finally Pellams couldn't stand it any longer and called
out, 'Good boy, Boggsie. How about that feed?' and Boggsie waved his
hand like a Tuesday evening spieler and said, 'I have provided for that,
ladies and gentlemen. Miss Brown, my cousin, invites you all down to her
home in Palo Alto for a little refreshment. Everyone is welcome.'

"I had to pick my fat friend up. Boggsie's getting out of the whole
thing without spending a bean knocked him cold. But he got his wind
later. You ought to have heard his speech down there at the house, with
a plate of melted strawberry muck in one hand and a glass of sour in the
other, replying to Boggsie's vote of thanks to us two, and skinning his
face at the Brown girl. Oh, it was a peach!"

IN THE DARK DAYS.

In the Dark Days.

"Mrs. Leland Stanford has decided to sell her jewels to keep
open the doors of the University."

ASSOCIATED PRESS REPORTS, 1896.

Bonita, mother of racers, stood just beyond the shadow of an oak tree,
leisurely cropping the new pasture grass. Occasionally, she lifted her
head toward the red roofs of the University buildings as though she
expected somebody. The chimney sent up a stripe of black against patches
of cloud and sky, and the even hum of the shops came across the pasture
with a distinctness born of the motionless Spring air. Bonita, putting
her pointed ears forward, could catch the upper notes of the chorus,
rehearsing in the Chapel.

Such a day as this should bring Craig into the pastures. He could lean
on the fence and pull at his pipe to his heart's content. The brood-mare
did not fancy the smoke, but she liked to