by Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews
The girl and her chaperon had been deposited early in the desirablesecond-story window in Durfee, looking down on the tree. Brant wasa senior and a "Bones" man, and so had a leading part to play inthe afternoon's drama. He must get the girl and the chaperonoff his hands, and be at his business. This was "Tap Day." It isperhaps well to explain what "Tap Day" means; there are peoplewho have not been at Yale or had sons or sweethearts there.
In New Haven, on the last Thursday of May, toward five in theafternoon, one becomes aware that the sea of boys which ripplesalways over the little city has condensed into a river flowinginto the campus. There the flood divides and re-divides; thejunior class is separating and gathering from all directionsinto a solid mass about the nucleus of a large, low-hanging oaktree inside the college fence in front of Durfee Hall. The threesenior societies of Yale, Skull and Bones, Scroll and Key, andWolf's Head, choose to-day fifteen members each from the juniorclass, the fifteen members of the outgoing senior class makingthe choice. Each senior is allotted his man of the juniors, andmust find him in the crowd at the tree and tap him on the shoulderand give him the order to go to his room. Followed by his sponsorhe obeys and what happens at the room no one but the men of thesociety know. With shining face the lad comes back later and isslapped on the shoulder and told, "good work, old man," cordiallyand whole-heartedly by every friend and acquaintance—by lads whohave "made" every honor possible, by lads who have "made" nothing,just as heartily. For that is the spirit of Yale.
Only juniors room in Durfee Hall. On Tap Day an outsider is luckywho has a friend there, for a window is a proscenium box forthe play—the play which is a tragedy to all but forty-five of thethree hundred and odd juniors. The windows of every story of thegray stone facade are crowded with a deeply interested audience;grizzled heads of old graduates mix with flowery hats of women;every one is watching every detail, every arrival. In front ofthe Hall is a drive, and room for perhaps a dozen carriages nextthe fence—the famous fence of Yale—which rails the campus round.Just inside it, at the north-east corner, rises the tree. Peoplestand up in the carriages, women and men; the fence is loaded withpeople, often standing, too, to see that tree.
All over the campus surges a crowd; students of the other classes,seniors who last year stood in the compact gathering at the treeand left it sore-hearted, not having been "taken"; sophomoreswho will stand there next year, who already are hoping for anddreading their Tap Day; little freshmen, each one sure that he,at least, will be of the elect; and again the iron-gray heads,the interested faces of old Yale men, and the gay spring hatslike bouquets of flowers.
It is, perhaps, the most critical single day of the four years'course at the University. It shows to the world whether or no a boy,after three years of college life, has in the eyes of the studentbody "made good." It is a crucial test, a heart-rending testfor a boy of twenty years.
The girl sitting in the window of Durfee understood thoroughlythe character and the chances of the day. The seniors at the treewear derby hats; the juniors none at all; it is easier by this signto distinguish the classmen, and to keep track of the tapping.The girl knew of what society was each black-hatted man who twistedthrough the bareheaded throng; in that sea of tense faces sherecognized many; she could find a familiar head almost anywherein the mass and tell as much as an outsider might what hope washovering over it. She came of Yale people; Brant