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Page 24
His popular title of Splinter had been bestowed upon him because of
certain physical characteristics however. He was a very tall man and
exceedingly thin, and the very beard which he wore imparted by its sharp
point an additionally suggestive emphasis to his slight and slender
frame. No one knew how the title originated or how it came to be
bestowed upon the professor; but its appropriateness had at once
fastened the term and every entering class received it as a heritage
from those which had preceded it.
Will Phelps already had acquired a keen dislike for the man, and he had
laughed heartily when Mott one night had declared that the student body
had been compelled to give Professor Hanson the new name he had
received. "You see," Mott had said, "the faculty and the trustees
decide what titles a man can wear _after_ his name; so it's only fair
that the students should decide what titles he shall wear _before_ his
name. Now this man's name used to be simply John Hanson. Then some
college or other said it should be John Hanson, PH.D. Well, the students
here have only gone a step further and they've not taken anything away
from the old fellow. They've added to him, that's what they have; and
now it's Prof. Splinter John Hanson, PH.D. He ought to be grateful, but
it's a cold world and I sometimes fear he doesn't appreciate what was
done for him. In fact such bestowments are rarely received as they
should be."
The suggestion Will's room-mate had made that Peter John soon might take
Splinter's place had recalled his own difficulties with the man, but
soon even the thoughts of the unpopular professor of Greek were
forgotten in the new interest that was aroused by the entrance into the
room of three young men who were at once recognized as members of the
junior class.
CHAPTER VIII
THE PARADE
"You're just the fellows we're looking for," said Allen, the leading
spirit of the three young men who entered the room.
"You haven't very far to look, then," replied Will laughingly, for in
his heart he felt honored by the unexpected visit of the upper classmen.
"That's right, freshman. How are you getting on?"
"They've kept us busy, to say the least."
"You mean the sophs?"
"Yes. That's the only class we have to think of, isn't it?"
"No. Your own class is first."
"It's the best class in college," interrupted Peter John quickly, and
all who were in the room laughed as the uncouth freshman's face flushed.
"That's the way to talk," responded Allen.
"But it is. I'm not joking," persisted Peter John seriously.
"No doubt. No doubt. But what we've come for is to tell you about the
parade."
"Parade? What parade?" inquired Foster.
"Why, every fall there is a parade of the freshmen. They have a band
usually, at least most of the classes have had one and as yours is the
best class that ever entered college, why you won't want to fall behind
the others I know."
"Who pays for the band?" demanded Peter John.
"You do, that is, your class does."
"I won't pay a cent," retorted Peter John.
"You don't have to," laughed Allen. "Some of the others will make it up.
I'm just telling you what the custom is and only for your own good."
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