# Up the Street/Chapter 6
### VI.

Out in Olympus, where early rising is considered one of the cardinal virtues of the young, Eleanor Redway was rarely late for seven o'clock breakfast. On this glorious November morning, however, it was more than virtuously early when she was rudely awakened by a sound outside her window. Struggling against the interruption to her sleep, she rubbed her eyes, and picked out a smooth section of the pillow—and then a small missile bounded off the mosquito netting, and fell into the roof gutter with a pleasant tinkle. Eleanor sat upright; a third pebble rattled on the roof. Quickly she infolded herself in a flaming kimono, and ran to the window. On the lawn below, Hector Blanding was aiming another pebble. His suit case was beside him on the grass.
"Why, Hector!"
"Hello!" he called guardedly. "I pretty nearly missed you, sleepyhead! I've been throwing rocks for ten minutes."
"What's the matter?"
"I'm taking the six-fifteen—I'll connect with the Lake Shore express at Dimityville. I'm going to Cambridge."
"Cambridge!" she echoed, shivering. "Is anything wrong?"
"I should say there is! Here's the telegram—I'll pin it on the front door —so! It didn't come until nearly midnight. I don't know when I'll be back."
"Tell me—what is it?"
"Football—they need me."
Eleanor sat down on the window ledge.
"Do you mean to tell me you waked me—you're going to take that old milk train simply to save an hour or two getting to Cambridge? Why couldn't you be sensible and wait for the ten-forty-five?"
She yawned healthily. "When are you coming back?"
"Not until after the game—a month at least."
"A month! Are you perfectly crazy? You can't afford to waste a month on a silly trip like this!"
"Well, I'm going," he said. "I couldn't go without saying good-by. The boys are all at sea—I had to take the first train. I'll get there in time for afternoon practice to-morrow, you see. Take care of yourself, dear."
"But—Hector!"
"Yes?"
"It's so—sudden!"
Casting about him for a moment, he observed that the lattice of the side porch ran within a few feet of her window.
"I'm coming up, Eleanor."
"Oh—you mustn't!"
He tested the lattice with his full weight, and, finding that it held, scrambled nimbly to the top, whence he could touch his lady's hand, if not her lips. She watched him fearfully—and stretched down her hand. Accepting the alternative, he kissed it thoroughly.
"Not a soul in sight," he whispered. "Good-by, Eleanor."
"I didn't think it of you," she whispered ecstatically. "I didn't know you were so—romantic, Hector!"
"This isn't romance—it's reality. I'm going away."
"I think you're perfectly silly—but good luck to you!"
"Thank you," he said, dropping to the ground. "I'll write as soon as I get there."
"And your book?"
"Oh, drat the book!" he said, for the second time. "I've got to run! Goodby!"
At the corner he turned and waved his hand—then he was out of sight. To Eleanor came, as from a great distance, his clear tenor whistle. The words of the tune she hadn't heard; if she had been wiser, she would have known them by heart.
"Look where the crimson banners fly, Hark to the sound of marching feet; There is a host approaching nigh— Harvard is marching up the street."
"Oh," said Eleanor, creeping back to bed. "One of those foolish football songs. I thought for a minute it had some significance." She tucked herself in warmly, and yawned again. "Like—like—'The Girl I Left Behind Me,' for instance."