The Washington herald., 1914-06-29
Class DaY.
ny EMORY J. HAYNES.

1t sends its beams ahead of the date For several
weeks the reminder of your class reunion oncemore
has been smiling at you your private desk. You
missed the previous You may be here at the
next one.
And that reminds you of the pathos of the class
reunion. Getting of the train in the old college town
is joyous The once familiar streets wear welcome
that belongs to the boyhood 1t but yesterday
the whole college span of life here Surely at the
next street corner one will meet Jack and Bill and
further up college street there will be lots of the fel
lows. Any instant you will hear your shouted
Il say, GeorgieT
But it is not so. A strange unwelcome soon set
ties on you. Nobody knows you. Even the little
tailors shop does not beckon you to come in and
settle the bill pay something account. college
boy without debt is a single "townie" You do not
know yourself
What has happened? This has happened, that
these kids" whom you meet, the college
boys. They crowd you off the sidewalk, being linked
in phalanx and singing song. And you resent it
that the song was once your very own, your hearts
delight for a serenade. Where did these mere chill
dren pick up your own song? You overhear one Of
these small boys called by Why yes, the child
must be his fathers son. and that's how he learned
the song.
have been at the station greet you except that you
mailed him his check three days ago. And then too,
he is the committee OF something You taught
the boy your song. Many names are the names you
once loved to speak But the faces are different Diff
ferent, yet the same You the fathers face your
classmates, but the features wear another imprint
the mothers Your chum's wife, whom you never
saw, she also is here in the person of her son.
By the way, this belongs to your class
now. So does your charming wife, whom you
introduce. Suddenly strikes you strangely that your
classmates should all have married with gray
hair. Pretty women, to be sure, but getting trife
matronly slow OF step and with decided gray hair.
Ii forces you acknowledge the signs of years
in the lovely girl at your side. Girl? That she
is longer But college does bring memories Of
girls at commencement time. This is commencement,
and first you thought yourself boy here You are
not. You, too, are growing gray.
Where in all the world is such mingng oil the
glad and the sad class day? Like a fash of the
clear shining through cloud rift is the first hour
under the old class tree. Prone on the grass, all
burdens thrown off the great outer world of struggle
cast into the That other the boys world which
lay around all the triumphant senior year, the
world of faiths and hopes, that returns. What we
are going to be and do, where we shall live whom
VIC Will All lLSSS ClOuQS ndnS once
more in sky. How quick, how easily, how fully
we step back to being boys again! We sing the songs
with JOY
We relax hands that have been knotted into
fists for the fight, and extend the palms in grasp
of thrilling fellowship. We clap each other on the
back caressngly We remember nothing evil The
tales tell produce only laughter of happiness.
Then, little by little the facts return and sober
US Where is Henry? Dear old chap, he has lived
his life its close" Shall we not pay him the re-
spect of silence: Shall we not listen just then. as
the old chapel clock strikes the hour like a knell?
No roll is called. but in its place tell each other
over with satisfaction that so many are here. We
dwell upon the budding fame of the governor and
are glad in the growing riches OF the merchant We
are truly glad with the prosperous. Such OF us as
are not governors getting rich get sober-faced
in spite OF ourselves. The checker board of life gets
into vision once and blots out the sun-fecked
lawn. Death and disaster present unweIcome
wraiths, at all class reunions.
But presently we light the pipe and follow the
clouds of incense rises toward the arch of leaves
Then sing song, not rollicking song hut one
rich in melody and full of the soul of long ago We
hear again the voices of those other days. Tender
memories are the tribute of class day.