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Updated: June 14, 2025
"Where?" "McTurkle," answered Bud, with a grin. "A-a-aye!" we yelled. "McTurkle! We want McTurkle!" So we left the gang yelling themselves hoarse in front of the university and scooted over to our dormitory. McTurkle was in. He was sitting at his table with a green drop light casting a wan glow over his classic features.
"To lead them!" thundered Bud. "Lead them?" cried McTurkle. "Who? Me? Me ah lead?" "Ah! You, McTurkle! You, with your French horn!" "You you want me to play it?" "We do. The college calls for you. Your duty, McTurkle, your duty to that college, to your fellows, summons you. Listen, McTurkle, to the voice of Duty and Patriotism!"
From outside came a long, impatient wail from two thousand throats: "We-want-to-go-to-the-Stadium!" "What of that, McTurkle!" demanded Bud, sternly. "The spirit of Harvard speaks! Her sons demand to be led to the scene of the conflict that with mighty voices they may er consecrate the field to victory!" "But but what is it you wish me to do?" stammered the dazed McTurkle, visibly affected.
I'm not musical, and don't pretend to be, but I'll bet a hat that the man who invented the French horn was the same chap who invented French verbs. Well, we made McTurkle take a solemn oath never to practice after seven o'clock, because it was simply impossible to remember anything with those sounds sobbing along the entry. He was frightfully apologetic and promised at once.
Not until the pall of evening settles over the trampled field of battle shall we abandon hope. The university stands firm and undismayed behind her loyal warriors. Listen, McTurkey McTurkle, I mean!" Bud held up a hand imperiously and we all listened, McTurkle with his mouth wide open and his near-sighted eyes fixed in fascination upon the speaker's face.
For a good while we had puzzled over those sounds. Then, finally, one fateful night, we had descended upon McTurkle in force and learned the truth. McTurkle performed on the French horn. A French horn is an instrument which is wound up in a knot like a morning-glory vine, and the notes have such a hard time getting out that they get all balled up and confused and are never the same afterwards.
"Gentlemen," he began. "Apologize! ... Take it back! ... Who is he? ... It's the band! ... 'Ray for the band! ... Go on! Say it!" "Fellows," prompted Bud. "Fellows," repeated McTurkle. Deafening applause. "I wish to thank you for this ah this flattering evidence of shall I say esteem?" "Don't say it if it hurts you, old man," some one advised. "What's he talking about?" asked another.
"Ah I should say football the mantle of victory will fall upon the shoulders of our ah representatives. I thank you." McTurkle bowed with gentle dignity. "What's his name?" cried a chap below. "McTurkle," answered Bud. "Wha-a-at?" "McTurkle!" "Cheer for McTurkey!" demanded the questioner. "A-a-aye!" cried the throng. Bud leaped to the top step. "Regular cheer, fellows, for McTurkle!" he cried.
That to-night it is our duty and pleasure to show the team that the whole college is behind them, eager and loyal in its support!" Never before in three years of college life had any one ever wanted McTurkle to do anything. And now the knowledge that the whole university demanded his aid, his leadership, was too much for McTurkle.
Defeat looms ominous above upon the horizon, but the unconquerable spirit of Harvard arises triumphant and er flaps its flaming pinions!" "A-a-aye!" murmured Withey. McTurkle found his glasses, fixed them on his lean nose, and regarded Bud with genuine alarm. "Not for a moment do we acknowledge defeat, sir!
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