The Free Lance.
“His good blade carves the casques of men , for the Free Lance
thrusteth sure.”
Vol. XIV.
HIS SISTER’S CHUM.
ti Tust my luck” growled Ralph Wayne as he walked
slowly up and down the platform of the station be
hind the gates. “Here is my last day of vacation —every-
body, including all the girls at the shore, and I must start
in for another gear’s grind. Wish I had another week as
‘Sis’ has. ”
It was a hot, sweltering day in the last week of August,
and the crowd assembled was evidently trying to escape the
heat of the city by a jcurney to the country over Sunday.
Saturday is always a bad day for crowds and as the gates
swung back Ralph struggled through with his dress-suit
case, cane, and golf bag, and hurried down the platform in
the race for seats. He found a place near the middle of the
train and then gazed out into hot and smoky atmosphere of
the shed.
“Good bye to g'ood times” he moaned as the train quick
ly slipped out of the darkness into the hot sunlight. Ralph
glanced around around the car with the hope of seeing some
fellow student, but all the faces were strange and, although
the car was comfortably filled, nobody with a college man’s
look met his sight.
Meanwhile the train had rumbled out over the “elevat
ed, ’ ’ through the yards, and approached a pretty suburban
JUNE, 1900.
No. 3.