e occasion. Again I hung my diminished head before
this broadside of superior information. Sam was perfectly right. I
have rarely seen such a crowd in a small compass as was collected at
the railway station before we started. How we ever reached Sam, who
made himself visible to me at last across an ocean of heads by lifting
himself on the shoulders of obliging friends, and found our special car
seems mysterious to me as I look back upon it. It really appeared as
though every man, woman, and child in the city _were_ going, from the
highest officials of the State and our leading citizens in various
fields to the veriest street Arab who had managed to beg, borrow, or
earn the requisite fare. Everybody, or nearly everybody, carried a
flag, and Josephine seemed to think that I, as a Harvard man and the
father of the half-back of the team, was lacking in enthusiasm because
I had not got possession of one.

"It will be time enough for enthusiasm when we win the match," I
remarked, sententiously, though what with the general crowd and the
files of students bubbling over with Rah-rah-rahs as they tore along
the platform to find seats in the several trains, I was beginning to
feel very tremulous about the gills, so to speak.

I doubt if Josephine heard my answer. Her attention had suddenly been
absorbed by the sight of Mrs. Willoughby Walton, on the way to her
special car, in all her glory, which consisted of a new seal-brown
costume with tiger-skin trimmings and a retinue comprising Gillespie
Gore, Dr. Henry Meredith, the specialist on nervous diseases (who, like
everybody else, had evidently taken a day off), and half a dozen youths
who looked young enough to be freshmen. She was frantically waving a
crimson flag, which she shook at the windows of our car as she passed
with the spirit of a belle of nineteen.

"That woman is simply wonderful," murmured my darling. "She is
fifty-five if she is a day, but she will not give up."

"Rah! rah! rah! Harvard!" I ejaculated hysterically. I felt that I
was getting rattled, as my famous son calls it.

"Look here, Cousin Fred," said Sam Bangs at my shoulder. "Seen the
morning paper? Here he is cabinet size and a full family history
annexed. It's something which his great-grandchildren will be proud
of. Where the dickens, by the way, is Mrs. Sloane? I've been looking
for her everywhere in the station. She's coming, because she
telephoned me last night to inquire if I co