T. Haviland Hicks Senior | Page 9

the football squad, or any of the collegians received from the
blithesome youth, since the billet-doux he left with old Hinky-Dink at
Camp Bannister. Old students, returning to the campus for another
golden year, invaded Hicks' room in Bannister, ready to enjoy the cozy
den of that jolly Senior, but they encountered silence and desolation.
No one had the slightest knowledge of where the cheery Hicks could be;
they missed his singing and banjo strumming, his pestersome ways, his
cheerful good nature, his cozy quarters always open house to all, and
his Hicks' Personally Conducted tours downtown to Jerry's for those
celebrated Beefsteak Busts.
A telegram to Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., in Pittsburgh, sent by
the worried Butch Brewster, had brought this concise response:
No knowledge of Thomas' whereabouts. He should be at Bannister.

"Queer," reflected Beef McNaughton, shifting his bulk on the
protesting fence. "We know Hicks will be back, for all his luggage is
stowed away in his room, and we are sure he is giving us all this
mystery just for a joke--he dearly loves to arrange a sensational and
dramatic climax--but we just can't get used to his not being on the
campus. When Theophilus Opperdyke can't study, it's high time the
S.O.S. signal was sent to T. Haviland Hicks, Jr."
"That is not the worst of it," growled Captain Butch Brewster, his arm
across little Theophilus' shoulders. "The football squad misses Hicks,
Beef. For the past two seasons he has sat at the training-table, his
invariable good-humor, his Cheshire cat grin, and his sunny ways have
kept the fellows in fine mental trim so they haven't worried over the
game. But now, just as soon as he left Camp Bannister, the barometer
of their spirits went down to zero and every meal at training-table is a
funeral. Coach Corridan can't inject any pep into the scrimmages, and
he says if Hicks doesn't return soon, Bannister's chances of the
Championship are gone."
"As Theophilus says," responded the gloomy Beef, "we just can't get
used to his not being here. We miss his good-nature, his sunny smile,
the jolly crowds in his cozy quarters--why, the campus is talking of
nothing but Hicks--and I don't know what Bannister will do after Hicks
graduates--shut down, I suppose!"
"Well, you know," grinned the Phillyloo Bird, his cadaverous structure
humped over like a turkey on the roost, "our Hicks hath sallied forth on
the trail of a full-back, a Hercules who will smash the other elevens to
infinitesimal smithereens! He told the squad to just leave it to Hicks, so
don't be surprised if he is making flying trips to Yale, Harvard, and
Princeton, striving to corral some embryo Ted Coy. Remember how
Hicks often fulfills his rash prophecies!"
"A Herculean full-back--Bah!" fleered Butch, for all the campus knew
of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s, extremely rash vow to unearth a "phenom."
"The truth of it is, fellows. Hicks has failed to locate such a wonder as
Coach Corridac outlined, for there ain't no such animal! He doesn't like
to come back to Bannister without having made good his promise,

without that Gargantuan giant he vowed to round up for the Gold and
Green."
Just then, as if to substantiate Butch's jeering statement, a youth
wearing the uniform and cap of The Western Union Telegraph
Company and advancing across the campus at that terrific speed always
exhibited by messenger-boys, appeared in the offing. Periscoping the
four Seniors on the fence, he navigated his course accordingly and
pulling a yellow envelope from his cap, he queried, in charmingly
chaste English:
"Say, kin youse tell me where to find a feller name o' Brewster, wot's
cap'n o' de football bunch?"
"Right here, Little Nemo," advised the Phillyloo Bird, solemnly. "Hast
thou any messages from New York for me? John D. Rockefeller
promised to wire me whether or not to purchase war-stocks."
The Phillyloo Bird, at this stage of his monologue, was interrupted by a
yell that would have caused a full-blooded Choctaw Indian to turn pale.
This came from good Butch Brewster, who, having signed for the
message, and imagined all manner of catastrophes, from world-wars,
earthquakes, pestilence and loss of wealth, down to bad news from
Hicks, after the fashion of those receiving telegrams but seldom, had
scanned the yellow slip. Never before, or afterward, not even when the
luckless Butch fell in love, and T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., assisted Cupid,
did the pachydermic Butch act so insanely as on this occasion.
"Whoop-eee! Yee-ow! Wow-wow-wow!" howled the supposedly solemn
Senior, tumbling from the Senior fence and rolling on the campus like a
decapitated rooster. "Hip-hip-hooray! Ring the bell, Beef, get the
fellows out, have the Band ready, Oh, where is Coach Corridan? Read
it, Beef, Theophilus, Phillyloo. Oh, Hicks is coming and he's got--"