“What’s the matter with Hicks?”
thundered Thor, he who at one time would have called
this riot foolishness, and forgetting that the nine
had just chanted the response to this query.
“He’s all right!” chorused the collegians,
in ecstasy.
“Who’s all right?” demanded John
Thorwald, his blond head towering over those of his
comrades. To him, now, there was nothing silly
about this performance!
“Hicks! Hicks! Hicks!” came
the shout, and the band fanfared, while the exultant
collegians shouted, sang, whistled, and created an
indescribable tumult with their noise-making devices.
For five minutes the ear-splitting din continued,
a wonderful tribute to the lovable, popular youth,
and then it stilled so suddenly that the result was
startling, for—T. Haviland Hicks,
Jr., swaying on his feet arose, and stood on the roof
of the “jit.”
With that heart-warming Cheshire cat grin on his cherubic
countenance, the irrepressible Hicks seized a Louisville
Slugger, assumed a Home-Run Baker batting pose, and
shouted to his breathlessly waiting comrades:
“Fellows, I vowed I would win that baseball
game and the Championship for my Alma Mater by my
headwork! With the bases full, and the score a
tie, the Ballard pitcher hit me in the head with the
ball, forcing in the run that won for old Ballard—now,
if that wasn’t headwork—”
BANNISTER GIVES HICKS A SURPRISE PARTY
“We have come to the close of our
college days.
Golden campus years soon must end;
From Bannister we shall go our ways—
And friend shall part from friend!
On our Alma Mater now we gaze,
And our eyes are filled with tears;
For we’ve come to the close of our
college days,
And the end of our campus years!”
Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., Bannister, ’92;
Yale, ’96, and Pittsburgh millionaire “Steel
King,” stood at the window of Thomas Haviland
Hicks, Jr.’s, room, his arm across the shoulders
of that sunny-souled Senior, his only son and heir.
Father and son stood, gazing down at the campus.
On the Gym steps was a group of Seniors, singing songs
of old Bannister, songs tinged with sadness.
Up to Hicks’ windows, on the warm June:
night, drifted the 1916 Class Ode, to the beautiful
tune, “A Perfect Day.” Over before
the Science Hall, a crowd of joyous alumni laughed
over narratives of their campus escapades. Happy
undergraduates, skylarking on the campus, celebrated
the end of study, and gazed with some awe at the Seniors,
in cap and gown, suddenly transformed into strange
beings, instead of old comrades and college-mates.
“‘The close of our college days, and the
end of our campus years—!’” quoted
Mr. Hicks, a mist before his eyes as he gazed at the
scene. “In a few days, Thomas, comes the
final parting from old Bannister—I know
it will be hard, for </i>I</i> had to leave the dear
old college, and also Yale. But you have made
a splendid record in your studies, you have been one
of the most popular fellows here, and—you
have vastly pleased your Dad, by winning your B in
the high-jump.”
