"
"But I don't drink."
"Go on! you've told me about the time you did what you called 'slopping
up' down in Texas!"
"That was only once ... and since then I've become a physical
culturist."
"Well, come and join the party anyhow ... it won't hurt you to look on."
My curiosity impelled me to accept the invitation to the "keg party" as
such a jamboree was known among the students.
The kegs of beer waited us at the station ... disguised with misleading
labels ... "chemicals, handle with care." Tenderly we loaded them on the
waggon that had been hired. The driver sat smiling as the solicitious
students heaved them up and secured them firmly....
We sat dignified and quiet, till the outskirts of the town were reached
... then the whip was brought down and away we whooped, bouncing along
the country road....
We whipped off down the road into the open country with a roar of
singing and shouting. We sat on the kegs to keep them from jumping out,
as we urged the driver to ply the whip.
* * * * *
There was a corner in a cornfield that bent inward, hidden from the
casual passer-by by a grove of Osage orange trees. Here we drew up,
jumped out, tenderly conveyed the kegs forth ... the ground we had
chosen, in the corner of the field, was too rocky for planting. It was
sultry early afternoon, of a late spring day.
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