followed by, "Oh, here's to" a great many other things.
"You've got a great voice, old man," said Tommy Wilson to Hart. The latter was roaring out a deep bass to one of the songs of rejoicing; his face was red and his eyes were sparkling.
"Can't you get up and sing us something, Pop?" cried Potter Clark. "Briggs here will play an accompaniment for you."
"Yes," was the answer. "Hold on, I'll sing you something."
The room was perfectly silent as he stood up. Truly the class president was developing in an entirely new direction.
The song was a plaintive, Swedish air; a friend of his, the editor of the Oakland Chronicle, had caught it and put words to it, and they were far from bad. Hart had a round, full voice, and as he stood there, firm and erect, he sang with a depth of feeling that no one would have thought he possessed.
Talcott had caught the accompaniment and the swing of the simple melody. As he finished there was a clapping of hands and a shout in unison. Hart stood there a minute, then he placed the china mug he had been holding, on
