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THE GOLDEN HOUR SERIES
A new series of books for young people, bound in extra
cloth, with illuminated designs, illustrations,
and title-pages made especially
for each volume
- A LITTLE DUSKY HERO. By Harriet T. Comstock.
- THE CAXTON CLUB. By Amos R. Wells.
- THE CHILD AND THE TREE. By Bessie Kenyon Ulrich.
- DAISIES AND DIGGLESES. By Evelyn Raymond.
- HOW THE TWINS CAPTURED A HESSIAN. By James Otis.
- THE I CAN SCHOOL. By Eva A. Madden.
- MASTER FRISKY. By Clarence W. Hawkes.
- MISS DE PEYSTER’S BOY. By Etheldred B. Barry.
- MOLLY. By Barbara Yechton.
- THE WONDER SHIP. By Sophie Swett.
- WHISPERING TONGUES. By Homer Greene.
PRICE PER VOLUME, NET, 50 CENTS
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO.
NEW YORK
“WILL YOU ALWAYS STRIVE TO UPHOLD THE DIGNITY OF OUR MOST NOBLE ORDER?”
WHISPERING TONGUES
BY
HOMER GREENE
New York
Thomas Y. Crowell & Co.
Publishers.
Copyright, 1902, By THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO.
TO
Prof. William Wells, LL.D.
KNOWN AND LOVED BY MANY GENERATIONS OF UNION
COLLEGE STUDENTS AS “BILLY WELLS,” THIS
LITTLE VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY
INSCRIBED
“Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.”
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
The Moonlight Rush9
CHAPTER II.
The Gamma Questers21
CHAPTER III.
Before the Faculty35
CHAPTER IV.
The Quarrel of Friends49
CHAPTER V.
A Cowardly Revenge61
CHAPTER VI.
Almost a Tragedy74
CHAPTER VII.
The Welcome Home87
WHISPERING TONGUES.
CHAPTER I.
THE MOONLIGHT RUSH.
It’s a way we have at Old Concord; It’s a way we have at Old Concord; It’s a way we have at Old Concord; To drive dull care away.
One moonlight evening in the early spring, under a cloudless sky, a party of twelve Concord College Sophomores sang these lines as they marched up the street toward the college grounds. They were young, all in a happy mood; they kept step to the strokes of their canes on the pavement, and swung along with vigor and elasticity, making the air throb with their rollicking songs.
Parmenter was with them. His was the tenor voice that rang out with such strength and clearness above the others. He was the leader of his class; in favor with the faculty, popular with his fellows, a welcome guest at any gathering.
The party passed on up the hill, through the college gate and along the terrace, still singing. They halted in front of Professor Samuel Lee’s residence, faced toward it and began a new song:
Here’s to Sammy Lee, drink it down, drink it down; Here’s to Sammy Lee, drink it down, drink it down; Here’s to Sammy Lee, and a right good fellow he; Drink it down, drink it down, Drink it down, down, down, Balm of Gilead, Gilead; Balm of Gilead, Gilead; Balm of Gil-e-ad; Way down on the Bingo farm.
The last words were hardly out of the mouths of the singers before the door of the house was opened, and from the square of light thus made, the old professor himself stepped out upon the porch.
“Thank you, young gentlemen,” he said, pleasantly. “This is a glorious night for a song. I’ve heard students sing along this terrace for twenty years and more, and I never liked their songs better than I do to-night. The music of them grows upon me always. Thank you again, gentlemen, and good-night!”
“You’re welcome, Sammy!” shouted one irrepressible from the group, while all the rest responded with a hearty “Good-night!”
No one intended to be disrespectful to Professor Lee. The use of his nickname was meant as a mark of affection, and he understood it so. But in the classroom his dignity was never trespassed upon. There were one or two good stories handed down from class to class, narrating the just fate that befell audacious students of the past who had ventured to be rude to “Sammy.” These possibly apocryphal incidents made him more popular, and in private he was the trusted friend of every student at Concord College.
Besides that, he had a boy of his own—an only child, with whom he kept in close sympathy, and in whom the best and brightest of all his hopes were centered. This boy, Charley, was a member of the Sophomore Class. He was a bright, lovable, popular fellow, impetuous, perhaps somewhat lacking in stability, but likely to become a worthy if not a brilliant man.
He came out now upon the porch, just as his father turned to go in, and stood for a moment peering into the group on the walk as if trying to make out the identity of the persons who composed it. He was no sooner seen by his classmates than another song broke from their lips:
Here’s to Sammy’s son, bring him down, bring him down: Here’s to Sammy’s son, bring him down, bring him down: Here’s to Sammy’s son, for he’s always full of fun; Bring him down, bring him down, bring him down, down, down, down.
Young Lee recognized the tenor voice in a moment. He and Parmenter were bosom friends. Their companions had long ago dubbed them Damon and Pythias.
“Hello, Fred!” cried Lee, “are you there? Hello, fellows! Is there room for me?”
“Always room for one more,” was the reply. “Move up, please! Move up now and let the gentleman aboard! Why don’t you help him on, Freddie? Help him on; he’s yours.”
There was more good-natured bantering. Then the party faced toward the campus and started on, singing a good-night song to Professor Lee:
Good-night, Sammy! Good-night, Sammy! Good-night, Sammy! We’re going to leave you now. Merrily we roll along
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