Sims's college, the original
scene of the exploits of the old gang. In the thirty
years since he had graduated, though separated from it
only by two hundred miles, Mr. Sims had never revisited
it. So is it always with the most faithful of the sons
of learning. The illumination of the inner eye is better
than the crude light of reality. College reunions are
but for the noisy lip service of the shallow and the
interested. The deeper affection glows in the absent
heart.
My friend invited me to "come along." We would, he said,
"blow in" upon the place and have a look at it.
It was in the fullness of the spring time that we went,
when the leaves are out on the college campus, and when
Commencement draws near, and when all the college, even
the students, are busy.
Mr. Sims, I noted when I joined him at the train, was
dressed as for the occasion. He wore a round straw hat
with a coloured ribbon, and light grey suit, and a necktie
with the garish colours of the college itself. Thus
dressed, he leaned as lightly as his foot allowed him
upon a yellow stick, and dreamed himself again an
undergraduate.
I had thought the purpose of his visit a mere curiosity
bred in his disappointment.
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