orus, each one putting his own meaning into that sweet old song of
farewell, and then, to break the charm, a small voice with a Spanish
roll in it, piped "Tamales!" at the crack in the door.

"Hey!--Lupe!--make him sing!"

They raided the stock first, and rendered happy with the jingle of
silver the quaint little remnant of the race who named their valley for
the blessed Santa Clara. Then, when he had counted it and put it safely
away with the officious assistance of Pellams Rex, they set him on the
table in his blue overalls and over-sized hat and made him sing for them
in his pathetic treble, "La Paloma," and for encore, "Two Leetle Girl
een Bloo." Pellams removed him after that, claiming that Langdon was
about to tell the story of his life, which could not be published in the
Sequoia.

Jimmie Mason had sat there all this time, taking it in and drinking with
the others, but there was never a cloud on his brain nor a waver in his
movements. The rest of them wandered from the motif; each was composing
a fugue of his own, according to the mould of his nature. Scraps of
their conversation floated in on him between songs--"Got him just below
the knees--now!"--"and the difference between me and a tank is in the
inferior receptivity--ain't that a peach?--of the receptacle"--"Now, the
fallacy of the original proposition, as Herbert Spencer hath it, lies in
the expression of the component particulars"--this was Langdon--"that
proves that if I had a board Pellams would be summarily chastised"--"Put
it down and order up another, here's good drink going stale"--"Whoa,
Pegasus, old hoss, that's my tamale you have designs on"--"and cut his
name there"--"sing it down! This is to break training for the third
time"--"What's the matter with ----ty-eight?"--All this came in on him,
as he watched them grow from geniality to hilarity and then on toward
enthusiasm. They had forgotten him; only now and then someone shied a
cracker at his head and told him to "jolly up."

Another drink, and the patriotic stage was upon them. The King ordered a
glass, standing, to the Team, and one with a foot on the table to the
Captain, and one with both feet on the table and glasses to the ceiling
to the Victory next fall. Someone started the yell; it went round the
table. Then they joined in on "Here's to Stanford College," with a verse
for every class and its yell at the end, and before they were done there
were three howling factions, each trying to