crashing lustily into the opening bars of the famous Tate marching song. Harold stood with the rest and made desperate efforts to join in the ear-splitting din of masculine voices that filled the room. He was far from alone in not knowing the words of the anthem. There was a difference of opinion, evidently, among many of Tate's sons as to some of the phrasing. Nor had the exact tune remained intact in the musical memory of scores of Tatians. The close harmony portions were very sour. "Shock" Shaw, for instance, was endeavoring to sing baritone and was achieving a bass two keys too low. The shouting assemblage finished the song with a roar a stanza behind the orchestra and sat down.
Pinckney Parsons Young stood up again and said dryly, "Now, if those in conference in the anteroom will kindly clear up their business and join us, dinner will be served."
A group, grinning sheepishly, filed out from a closetlike room, adjoining the banquet hall, and took their places at the table. Their "business" seemed to have had something to do with metallic objects that they were now replacing in their hip pockets. It was a noticeable fact that, thereafter, most of the cat-calling and interrupting of speakers was the handiwork of the late-comers from the ante room.
