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For the Honor of Randall

�What a glorious night!�

Tom Parsons, standing at the window of the study which he shared with
his chums, looked across the campus of Randall College.

�It�s just perfect,� he went on.

There was no answer from the three lads who, in various attitudes, took
their ease, making more or less of pretenses at studying.

�The moon,� Tom went on, �the moon is full----�

�So are you--of words,� blurted out Sid Henderson, as he leafed his
trigonometry.

�It�s one of the finest nights----�

�Since nights were invented,� broke in Phil Clinton, with a yawn. �Dry
up, Tom, and let us bone, will you?�

Unmoved by the scorn of his chums, the tall lad at the casement, gazing
out on the scene, which, to do him justice, had wonderfully moved him,
continued to stand there. Then, in a quiet voice, as though unconscious
of the presence of the others, he spoke:

�The moon o�er yonder hilltop rises, a silver disk, like unto a warrior�s
shield, whereon he, from raging battle coming, is either carried upon it,
or bears it proudly as----�

�Oh for cats� sake!� fairly yelled Frank Simpson, the Big Californian,
as he had been dubbed. He shied his book full at Tom Parsons, catching
him in the back, and bringing to a close the blank verse our hero was
spouting, with a grunt that greatly marred it.

�Say, you fellows can�t appreciate anything decent!� shot back the lad at
the window. �If I try to raise you above the level of the kindergarten
class you are in deep water. I suppose I should have said: �Oh see the
moon. Does the moon see me? The moon sees me. What a pretty moon!� Bah!
You make me tired. Here we have the most glorious night of the winter,
with a full moon, snow on the ground to make it as light as day, a calm,
perfect night----�

�Oh perfect night!� mocked Sid.

�Vandal!� hissed Tom.

�Go on! Hear Hear! Bravo!� cried Phil. �Let the noble Senator proceed!�

�Oh, for the love of mustard!� broke in the big lad who had tossed his
book at Tom. �There�s no use trying to do any work with this mob. I�m
going over to see Dutch Housenlager. He won�t spout blank verse when I
want to bone, and that�s some comfort.�

�No, but he�ll want to get you into some horse-play, like tying knots in
Proc. Zane�s socks, or running the flag up at half mast on the chapel,�
declared Tom. �You had much better stay here, Frank. I�ve got something
to propose.�

�There! I knew it!� cried Phil. �There�s a girl in it somewhere, or Tom
would never be so poetical. Who is she, Tom? and when are you going to
propose?�

�Oh, you fellows are worse than the measles,� groaned the lad who had
been looking at the moonlight. �I�m done with you. I leave you to your
fate.�

With a grunt of annoyance Tom turned away from the window, kicked under
the sofa the book which Frank had thrown at him, and reached for his cap
and coat.

�Where you going?� asked Phil quickly, as he turned over in the deep
armchair, causing the ancient piece of furniture to emit many a groan,
and send out a choking cloud of dust. �Whither away, fair sir?�

�Anywhere, to get away from you fellows,� grunted the displeased one.

�No, but seriously, where are you going?� asked Frank. �Now that you�ve
broken the ice, I don�t mind admitting that I don�t care such an awful
lot for boning.�

Tom paused in the doorway, one arm in and the other out of his coat.

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For the Honor of Randall