Her home was in Cambridge-by-the- Sea, not on the Prairie-by-the-Walnut. She
belonged to the dead-language scholars, not to crude red-blooded creatures
like himself. He turned his face to the west and the threatening sky seemed
in harmony with his storm-riven soul. He was so young--less than half an hour
older than the big whole-hearted fellow who started up the bluff in picnic
frolic with a pretty girl whom Professor Burgess adored. That was one
reason why he had brought her up. He wanted to tease the Professor then.
He hated Burgess now, and the white teeth clinched at the thought of him.

A sudden shouting and beating of tom-toms down in the Corral, and the call
in crude rhyme to straggling couples to close in, announced supper.
High above other whooping the voice of Trench, the big right guard,
reached the top of the bluff:

Victor Burleigh and Elinor Wream,
Better wake from Love's Young Dream,
Before the ants get into the cream.

The beating of a dishpan drowned the chorus. Then down by the river
Dennie's soprano streamed out,

The sun is sot,
The coffee's hot,
The supper's got.
What?
Yes! Got!


Answering this call from the north end of the Corral, a heavy base growled,