Page:The plastic age, (IA plasticage00mark).pdf/356

 colored hood over the head of a writer or a politician—and then it was happening all over again.

Suddenly the class marshal motioned to the seniors to rise. They put on their mortar-boards. The president said once more, “By the power in¬ vested in me. . .” The seniors filed by the presi¬ dent, and the grand marshal handed each of them a roll of parchment tied with blue and orange rib¬ bons. Hugh felt a strange thrill as he took his. He was graduated; he was a bachelor of science. . . . Back again to their seats. Some one was pro¬ nouncing benediction. . . . Music from the organ —marching out of the chapel, the surge of friends— his father shaking his hand, his mother’s arms around his neck; she was crying. . ..

Graduation was over, and, with it Hugh’s college days. Many of the seniors left at once. Hugh would have liked to go, too, but his father wanted to stay one more day in Haydensville. Besides, there was a final senior dance that night, and he thought that Hugh ought to attend it.

Hugh did go to the dance, but somehow it brought him no pleasure. Although it was im¬ mensely decorous, it reminded him of Cynthia. He thought of her tenderly. The best little girl he’d ever met. . . . He danced on, religiously steering around the sisters and fiancees of his friends, but he could not enjoy the dance. Shortly after eleven