on the
distant Isles of Philip. Tom had never expected to leave the campus in
that spirit. He loved it all, from the quiet slopes by Frenchman's Lake
to that lofty redwood treetop, first rampart of the smiling city to the
eager Freshman, last long-watched glimpse of the land of his memories to
the reluctant Senior.

He had always felt that it would be a tug to say good-bye, yet he, too,
his mind over-seas, had gone away to town with hardly a thought. He had
time to reflect in that dreary fortnight at the Presidio when the
unseasonable rains drenched his tent, and the wretched routine of beans
and coffee hurt the romance of enlistment.

The life had its compensating features. Every city girl he had ever met
in College or town society came out to camp and asked for him at K
Street--K Street with its saucy cardinal flag waving above the first
tent to the left. Most of them brought candy; a vary few, with
super-feminine understanding, made it beer; one, she was a genius, sent
over on a drizzling evening a piping-hot steak. Then, too, he had three
white angles on his sleeve and "Sergeant Ashley" sounded well. Cap Smith
was not even a corporal; the emphasis with which Cap mentioned the fact
showed anything but college spirit.

These things made it easier not to think about the campus and what the
rest of the fellows were doing, but the old life came drifting in after
all. Sometimes, after the long, hard morning drill on the green slope
beyond the car-track, between drill and the welcome mess-call, Marion
would come into the Sergeant's tent and they would sit apart to talk
about the Faculty game or the Senior ball and the dances they had
expected to put on their cards. Each Saturday some of the boys came up
and brought the campus news. One time, all enlisted Stanford tumbled
out of their tents, every last one of them, to welcome a big,
slow-moving, slow-speaking man, who plays first-base at the Commencement
Game. A corporal who had never been to college and who had a newspaper
idea of students, asked if that was the football captain whom they were
crowding around and almost trying to hug, and Marion answered no; that
he was a bigger man than even the head coach. The boys held their
visitor until the officer of the day ordered civilians out of camp, and,
when the unfeeling guard drove him out, they gave the yell in good old
style. The colonel sent his orderly to find what was the matter, for it
was a high offence against ma