Again that throaty, threatening growl, and again the president's
hand went up--the boys were hard to hold.

"I see a man among you whose life has added a line to that saying,
who has shown to the world that it is the courage of the commonplace
which trains for the courage of the crisis. And that's all I've got
to say, for the nation is saying the rest-except three times three
for the glory of the class of -, the newest name on the honor roll
of Yale, McLean of the Oriel mine."

It is probably a dizzying thing to be snatched into the seventh
heaven. Johnny McLean standing, scarlet, stunned, his eyes glued
on the iron fence between him and the president, knew nothing
except a whirling of his brain and an earnest prayer that he might
not make a fool of himself. With that, even as the thunder of
voices began, he felt himself lifted, swung to men's shoulders,
carried forward. And there he sat in his foolish Buster Brown
costume, with his broken arm in its sling, with the white patch
on his forehead, above his roaring classmates. There he sat
perspiring and ashamed, and faced the head of the University, who,
it must be said, appeared not to miss the humor of the situation,
for he laughed consumedly. And still they cheered and still his
name rang again and again. Johnny, hot and squirming under the
merry presidential eye, wondered if they were going to cheer
all night. And suddenly everything--class-mates, president,
roaring voices--died away. There was just one thing on earth.
In the doorway, in the group behind the president, a girl stood
with her head against the wall and cried as if her heart would
break. Cried frankly, openly, mopping away tears with a