Each senior is allotted his man of the juniors, and
must find him in the crowd at the tree and tap him on the shoulder
and give him the order to go to his room. Followed by his sponsor
he obeys and what happens at the room no one but the men of the
society know. With shining face the lad comes back later and is
slapped on the shoulder and told, "good work, old man," cordially
and whole-heartedly by every friend and acquaintance--by lads who
have "made" every honor possible, by lads who have "made" nothing,
just as heartily. For that is the spirit of Yale.
Only juniors room in Durfee Hall. On Tap Day an outsider is lucky
who has a friend there, for a window is a proscenium box for
the play--the play which is a tragedy to all but forty-five of the
three hundred and odd juniors. The windows of every story of the
gray stone facade are crowded with a deeply interested audience;
grizzled heads of old graduates mix with flowery hats of women;
every one is watching every detail, every arrival. In front of
the Hall is a drive, and room for perhaps a dozen carriages next
the fence--the famous fence of Yale--which rails the campus round.
Just inside it, at the north-east corner, rises the tree. People
stand up in the carriages, women and men; the fence is loaded with
people, often standing, too, to see that tree.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25