writing to his mother only twice a week. It was very confusing....




CHAPTER V


Capwell Chapel--it bore the pork merchant's name as an eternal memorial
to him--was as impressive inside as out. The stained-glass windows had
been made by a famous New York firm; the altar had been designed by an
even more famous sculptor. The walls, quite improperly, were adorned
with paintings of former presidents, but the largest painting of all--it
was fairly Gargantuan--was of the pork merchant, a large, ruddy
gentleman, whom the artist, a keen observer, had painted
truly--complacently porcine, benevolently smug.

The seniors and juniors sat in the nave, the sophomores on the right
side of the transept, the freshmen on the left. Hugh gazed upward in awe
at the dim recesses of the vaulted ceiling, at the ornately carved choir
where gowned students were quietly seating themselves, at the colored
light streaming through the beautiful windows, at the picture of the
pork merchant. The chapel bells ceased tolling; rich, solemn tones
swelled from the organ.

President Culver in cap and gown, his purple hood falling over his
shoulders, entered followed by his faculty, also gowned and hooded. The
students rose and remained standing until the president and faculty were
seated. The organ sounded a final chord, and then the college chaplain
rose and prayed--very badly. He implored the Lord to look kindly "on