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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8fb72d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #54996 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54996) diff --git a/old/54996-0.txt b/old/54996-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6fabaf1..0000000 --- a/old/54996-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6923 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Yale Cup, by Albertus True Dudley - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Yale Cup - -Author: Albertus True Dudley - -Illustrator: Charles Copeland - -Release Date: June 28, 2017 [EBook #54996] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YALE CUP *** - - - - -Produced by Wayne Hammond and The Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - -THE YALE CUP - - - - -BOOKS BY ALBERTUS T. DUDLEY - - -Phillips Exeter Series - -Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth. - - FOLLOWING THE BALL. - MAKING THE NINE. - IN THE LINE. - WITH MASK AND MITT. - THE GREAT YEAR. - THE YALE CUP. - A FULL-BACK AFLOAT. - THE PECKS IN CAMP. - THE HALF-MILER. - - -Stories of the Triangular League - -Illustrated by CHARLES COPELAND. 12mo. Cloth. - - THE SCHOOL FOUR. - AT THE HOME-PLATE. - THE UNOFFICIAL PREFECT. - - * * * * * - - THE KING’S POWDER. - -LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON. - -[Illustration: SAM FORGED AHEAD, CLEARING EVERY OBSTACLE JUST IN FRONT -OF HIS RIVAL.--_Page 284._] - - - - - _PHILLIPS EXETER SERIES_ - - THE YALE CUP - - BY - ALBERTUS T. DUDLEY - - AUTHOR OF “FOLLOWING THE BALL,” “MAKING THE - NINE,” “IN THE LINE,” “WITH MASK AND - MITT,” “THE GREAT YEAR” - - _ILLUSTRATED BY CHARLES COPELAND_ - - [Illustration] - - BOSTON - LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. - - COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. - - Published, March, 1908. - - _All Rights Reserved_. - - THE YALE CUP. - - Norwood Press - J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co. - Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. - - TO THE MANY - PLEASANT YOUNG FRIENDS - WHO, CONSCIOUSLY OR UNCONSCIOUSLY, HAVE - ASSISTED IN THE MAKING OF - THIS BOOK - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER I - - PAGE - - AN EXPERT PACKER 1 - - - CHAPTER II - - ARCHER RECEIVES 9 - - - CHAPTER III - - FIRST IMPRESSIONS 21 - - - CHAPTER IV - - BRUCE GIVES ADVICE 29 - - - CHAPTER V - - SPORT FOR SPORT’S SAKE 38 - - - CHAPTER VI - - A BONE OF CONTENTION 47 - - - CHAPTER VII - - MR. WORLDLY WISEMAN 58 - - - CHAPTER VIII - - SLOW TO ANGER 68 - - - CHAPTER IX - - THE FURY OF A PATIENT MAN 76 - - - CHAPTER X - - DUNCAN’S DISGUST 86 - - - CHAPTER XI - - A REVELATION OF CHARACTER 95 - - - CHAPTER XII - - MR. ALSOP’S DIGNITY 105 - - - CHAPTER XIII - - THE CHALLENGE 115 - - - CHAPTER XIV - - AN AFFAIR OF HONOR 127 - - - CHAPTER XV - - SAM’S FIRST RACE 137 - - - CHAPTER XVI - - HE TRIES AGAIN 148 - - - CHAPTER XVII - - A FOOLHARDY ADVENTURE 162 - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - MR. ALSOP BARKS 174 - - - CHAPTER XIX - - UP THE WRONG TREE 188 - - - CHAPTER XX - - THE SOCIALIST 204 - - - CHAPTER XXI - - HONK! HONK! 216 - - - CHAPTER XXII - - HOW THE FISH WAS CAUGHT 226 - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - LESSONS IN HURDLING 237 - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - ROBERT OWEN, FRESHMAN 249 - - - CHAPTER XXV - - JUNE TO DECEMBER 263 - - - CHAPTER XXVI - - JANUARY TO MAY 273 - - - CHAPTER XXVII - - ARCHER _VERSUS_ KILHAM 282 - - - CHAPTER XXVIII - - THE YALE CUP 291 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - - Sam forged ahead, clearing every obstacle just in front - of his rival (p. 284) _Frontispiece_ - - FACING PAGE - - Donald caught the fastening at one end at the fourth attempt 4 - - “Referee! referee! they’re playing thirteen men!” 44 - - This spectacle of pitchers and streams of water and heads - greeted Mr. Alsop’s gaze 164 - - At the same moment Sam vaulted the barrier 228 - - “That’s Owen” 256 - - - - -THE YALE CUP - - - - -CHAPTER I - -AN EXPERT PACKER - - -“All packed?” inquired Robert Owen, inserting his head through the door -of Number 7 Hale and sweeping the scene of confusion with a curious -glance. Satisfied to accept the evidence of his eyes in lieu of a -definite reply, Owen was just closing the door again when one of the -Peck twins, who inhabited the room, sang out: “Hi there, Bobby! Come in -here a minute!” - -Owen let himself in and set his back against the door. - -“You call that packing, do you?” he asked, looking with a grin of -amusement at a big trunk which gaped at him with wide-distended jaws, -the whole front of the tray showing like a flaunting tongue. “Whose -trunk is that?” - -“Don’s,” replied Duncan. - -“Why don’t you take some of the things out and put them in yours?” - -“Because he’s going straight home, and I’m not,” retorted Duncan. - -“That lid will never go down,” said Owen, who had been examining the -overfed monster. “You’ll have to repack.” - -“Repack! Why, what’s the matter with that packing? That wasn’t done -the way Blossom does his--fill a pillowcase and hammer it down with a -baseball bat--that’s all hand work.” He came nearer and whispered in -Owen’s ear: “I don’t want it repacked. I put in a couple of old bottles -that I picked up down back of Porter’s. There’ll be something doing -when mother unpacks them.” - -Donald came out of his bedroom. “Do you think it will go?” he asked of -neither in particular, gazing doubtfully at the problem. - -“Of course it will,” said Duncan, promptly, “if you put weight enough -on it. Try it, Bob, and see what your hundred and eighty will do.” - -“Hundred sixty-eight,” corrected Owen, as he mounted the incline. The -lid sank to within four inches of its proper place. - -“I’m afraid we’ve got to take some things out,” sighed Donald. - -“If you take out anything, it will have to be that box of specimens,” -remarked Duncan, shrewdly. The box of specimens was the one thing which -Donald would not want to leave behind. - -Donald meditated. - -“Let’s try to snap it,” proposed Duncan. “Bob and I will get on one end -and jump it down. You try to catch the fastening when it comes right. -Then when we get one tight, we’ll down the other.” - -This method actually proved effective. Donald caught the fastening at -one end at the fourth attempt; the weight of all three brought the -second fastening into place. The lid fortunately was strongly made and -the hinges held. Donald locked the trunk and put the key in his pocket, -while Owen and Duncan pulled the strap to a hole beyond the power of -any porter to loosen. Then they drew long breaths and contemplated the -work of their hands. - -“It’s like a bale of hay,” said Duncan in triumph. Donald, however, -seemed not wholly satisfied. - -“I wish it had iron bands round it. If the thing bursts, I shall be all -to the bad.” - -“That strap’s as good as an iron band,” spoke his twin, reassuringly. -“Things go a great deal better when they’re packed tight; I’ve heard -mother say so often.” - -“Why don’t you go together?” asked Owen, marvelling that the twins, who -belonged together like the two halves of a walnut, should actually be -at the point of separation. - -“That’s a personal question, but I’ll condescend to answer it,” -returned Duncan, a little sheepishly. “Don, of course, has passed all -his exams. I only got recommended in three, and I believe I’ve flunked -’em all. So I’m going down to Uncle Will’s till after the Fourth, and -then I’m to tutor in Cambridge. If I get a decent number of points in -the fall, I’m coming back here. If I don’t, I’ve got to go to work.” - -[Illustration: DONALD CAUGHT THE FASTENING AT ONE END AT THE FOURTH -ATTEMPT.--_Page 3._] - -“Shall you keep your room?” - -Duncan nodded. “It doesn’t cost anything to do that. They’ve given me a -room-mate too, a tall, bony fellow, named Archer. Upper middler. Hails -from Portland.” - -“You’ve seen him, then?” - -“No. He’s related to the Sedgwicks, and he was there the other day. -That’s his description as I got it from Wally. When are you going?” - -“To-day. I may as well say good-by.” Owen held out a hand which Duncan -gripped. - -“I don’t suppose you’ll ever be seen here again,” said the Peck, -ruefully. “You’ll have to come with the freshman teams, though, won’t -you?” - -“If I can make any,” answered Owen, lightly. - -“Make any!” Duncan sniffed. “If you call that modesty, I don’t. It’s -pure affectation. You know you could make the Varsity nine, if they’d -let freshmen play.” - -“I shall come up anyway, whether I play with the freshmen or not,” -pursued Owen, disregarding Duncan’s flattering comment. “I shall want -to turn up here occasionally to see the old place and the profs and the -people I know.” - -“Gee! wouldn’t it be sport when you’re all through and aren’t afraid of -anybody!” exclaimed Duncan, his tongue hurrying after his imagination. -“I’d walk up to Doc Rounder and say, ‘How-de-do, Doctor Rounder! How’s -that fine dog of yours?’ Doc would smile all over and begin to crack -the mongrel up. Then I’d tell him that the pup looked pretty well for -such an old dog, and ask if the police really did shoot at him for -snapping at people. I’d see Hayes and thank him for all he taught -me--he was always telling me that I was the only fellow he’d ever had -whom he couldn’t teach anything to--and josh him about his chickens. -I’d call on old Moore and get him going about the school spirit. I’d--” - -“You’d better wait till you graduate before you plan to come back to -show yourself off,” interrupted Owen, laughing. - -“That’s a fact,” returned Duncan, suddenly reduced to humility. “Most -likely I shall be doing the errand-boy stunt in my father’s office. -Don’ll have to be the one to come back.” - -“I’m never coming back,” said Don, decidedly. “I’m down on the place. -They’re always looking for a chance to fire you, and they haven’t given -Dun a fair show. When he’s a great man, I hope he’ll be elected trustee -and cut down all their salaries.” - -“That’s just what I’d do,” declared Duncan. “And what I took off from -the salaries of the profs I don’t like I’d give to those who are on the -square.” - -“I can guess who’d get an increase,” Owen remarked. - -“Not very hard to do that. I wish you’d guess how I’m going to get -twelve points this summer.” - -“Buck up and work, you idiot!” cried Donald, impatiently. - -“That’s what I’m going to do, isn’t it?” Duncan retorted. “I know what -I’m up against without your rubbing it in.” - -At this juncture Owen, regardless of the fact that by staying five -minutes longer and using a little diplomacy he could involve the twins -in a first-class scrap, virtuously said good-by and returned, somewhat -depressed, to his packing. He liked Duncan Peck too well to hear of -his troubles with unconcern. He hoped sincerely that the boy would -get off a lot of points in September, and that the new room-mate would -prove to be of the right sort. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -ARCHER RECEIVES - - -The middle of September was past. The school authorities had survived -the worst of the confusion of registering, allotting rooms, smothering -complaints, turning away unpromising applicants, evading the tearful -entreaties of parents, arranging schedules, laying down rules. -The second-hand furniture dealers were sold out, having reaped a -cash harvest of a hundred per cent on goods bought of the mortally -impecunious three months before. The student dealers in fountain pens -and athletic supplies were making hay in dazzling sunshine. Football, -the great industry of autumn, clamored for devotees. The first notes of -the year-long wail over the food at Alumni Hall already floated in the -air. With screech of bearings and groan of ill-fitting machinery, the -Seaton mill had begun its one hundred and twenty-third manufacturing -season. Would the product be worth while? It depended quite as much -on the quality of the raw material provided as on the process of -manufacture. - -Sam Archer came to Seaton with vague but highly colored expectations, -due in no small measure to the entertaining reminiscences of adventure -and romance which his Uncle Fred delighted to tell. Uncle Fred had -preceded him in school by twenty-odd years. The school had been smaller -then, and the life simpler. The boys still boarded around the village -in private houses, the sports were general affairs requiring no -special training, the school itself formed a big fraternity with few -distinctions except such as come naturally to superior personality. -Uncle Fred, being a bright, friendly, whole-souled fellow, learning -easily and possessing a natural aptitude for games of all kinds, had -been a conspicuous figure in the school. He looked backward upon his -Seaton days as the happiest period of his life; Sam looked forward to -his with an eagerness born of long-fondled hopes. - -Sam moved into 7 Hale, to which he had been assigned, and waited to -see what kind of a comrade this appointed room-mate was to be. When -two days went by without sign of a Peck, he called at the office and -learned that the absentee was expected on the morrow; his coming, -however, depended on the results of the examinations which he was -taking in Cambridge; if he did not appear, another room-mate would be -provided. - -Ruminating dolefully on this uncertainty about a most important matter, -Sam reached home in time to catch a caller who was just turning -from the door. It was Bruce, a good-looking fellow of the ruling -oligarchy--likewise captain of the track team. He had been pointed out -to Sam on the first day of school. - -“Hello!” called Bruce. “Do you live in this entry?” - -“Yes,” responded Sam, “in Number 7. My name’s Archer.” - -“Then you’re the fellow I’m looking for. Where’s Duncan Peck?” - -Sam opened the door for his caller. “He hasn’t come yet. I’ve just been -to the office to see about it. They didn’t seem sure that he’d come at -all.” - -“I’m awfully afraid that he won’t, myself. He wrote me that he had -to make twelve points to get back. I don’t believe he can get twelve -points in twelve years.” - -“Won’t you sit down?” asked Archer, politely. - -“No, I thank you. I’ve got to get home.” The visitor gave a glance at -Sam’s lanky figure. “--Do anything in athletics?” - -“Not much,” replied Sam, modestly. “I played football and baseball in -the high school, but our teams wouldn’t be called anything here. I ran -the high hurdles too.” - -“Did you?” The track captain’s interest became keen immediately. “What -time have you made?” - -“Nothing very good. Eighteen seconds was my best.” - -Bruce’s eagerness languished. “You ought to do better than that. If you -don’t play football, get Collins to help you this fall.” - -When the next day passed and no Peck appeared, Sam quietly moved the -furniture of the stay-away to the other bedroom, and took up his -quarters in the corner room, which possessed obvious advantages -over its mate. The reasoning here was as straight as Euclid. This -unknown quantity, Peck, as original occupant, enjoyed a prior claim -to the desirable room. Against all later comers the Archer claim -took precedence. Any claim, however good, is strengthened by actual -occupancy. If Peck wasn’t coming, Sam might as well have the room as -give it to some one else. - -That evening Archer received a call from three inhabitants of his -“well.” They came in boldly, addressed him jauntily, and proceeded -to throw the sofa pillows at each other and his own surprised self. -Presently one grabbed a baseball bat and called for a game with the -pillows. Another seized a tennis racquet and began to whack a ball -with indefinite recklessness, but largely at Archer’s head. When one -of the missiles narrowly escaped the shade of his new lamp, Sam, whose -ire had been rising, waded into the chief offender, threw him down and -beat him hard with the pillow, was pulled off by another, on whom he -immediately turned with the same vigor, gave cuffs and received them, -and was finally, after a hard struggle, subdued by the combined efforts -of the three. After this the trio let him up, shook hands with him, -assured him that he was “all right,” and departed suddenly. They had -hardly time to escape into a room close at hand, and Sam to pick up his -cushions and the tennis ball, when an ominous knock was heard at the -door, and Mr. Alsop appeared. - -“What’s all this noise, Archer?” he began sharply. “Don’t you -understand that no rough-housing is tolerated in this building?” - -“Yes, sir,” panted Sam, non-committal. - -“What’s been going on here?” - -“I’ve had some visitors.” - -Mr. Alsop eyed him sternly. “Who were they?” - -Now this was a very wrong question for Mr. Alsop to put. If he had -possessed half as much common sense as energy and devotion to supposed -duty, he would never have asked it. He counted on the newcomer’s -inexperience, and hoped to get a grip on two or three unruly characters -in his well, which would help him in maintaining order in his -territory later on. He did not consider that in extorting evidence -from the new boy he would be exposing the thoughtless betrayer to -months of annoyance and contemptuous treatment at the hands of the -mischief-makers. Fortunately Archer’s instinct was truer than the -instructor’s. - -“I don’t know their names,” he said. - -“Describe them!” - -“I don’t think I can, sir.” - -Mr. Alsop threw at the incompetent a glance of scorn. “Well, you can -send them to me.” - -Archer’s look glanced from Mr. Alsop’s angry face to the door of his -bedroom, thence to the floor, thence squarely back again to the teacher. - -“I’d rather not, sir.” - -There was a moment’s silence. Mr. Alsop had shot his bolt; he was -not prepared to make an issue of the refusal of a boy to betray his -associates. “You can at least tell them that if this thing is repeated, -you are likely to get into serious trouble!--You can do that without -offending your sense of honor, I hope?” he added, with an accent of -sarcasm. - -“Yes, sir.” - -The teacher turned and retraced his way to his rooms downstairs. Two -doors were pushed quietly open as he reached a lower floor. From each -emerged a studious boy holding a finger between the leaves of a book. -The pair crept to the stair railing, heard the steps descend the last -flight, and a door close. Then they scurried for Archer’s room. - -“What did he say?” demanded the first eagerly as soon as the door was -shut behind him. - -Archer began an account of the conversation. - -“Did you give us away?” interrupted number two. - -“Wait till I am through, can’t you?” responded Sam. “No, of course I -didn’t.” - -“Shut up, Lordie, and let him tell it!” commanded the other. “We want -it all.” - -Archer finished his repetition, omitting nothing. - -“You’re the right stuff,” declared the one called Lordie. “Just like -the old sneak to try to get it out of you because you’re new. Last year -he got little Roberts fired for nothing at all. He thinks he’s the -whole institution--faculty, trustees, and all.” - -The door opened abruptly. Number three rushed in and closed the door -softly behind him. “Look out! he’s coming again!” - -Numbers one and two dived for the bedroom. Number three settled into a -chair and opened an Anabasis which lay on the top of a pile of books on -the table. There was a gentle tap at the door. - -“Come in!” called Archer. Mr. Alsop entered. - -“Visitors again so soon?” he asked, seeking to cover his suspicion with -an air of pleasantry. “You seem to have made friends early, Archer.” -He glanced at the book which lay open on the lap of number three. “I -didn’t know you took Greek, Taylor.” - -“I don’t,” answered Taylor. “I just picked the book up. Looks hard, -doesn’t it?” - -“I don’t think it is really any harder than a modern language, if the -modern language is seriously studied. In fact, many teachers are of the -opinion that the college requirement in Greek is easier than that in -German.” - -Neither Archer nor Taylor disputed or commented on this opinion. “Won’t -you sit down, sir?” said Archer, suddenly recalling his obligation to -a guest. - -“No, I thank you,” replied Mr. Alsop. “I returned to speak of something -which I ought to have emphasized when I was here a few moments ago. -The responsibility for order in the dormitories is really laid upon -the students themselves. Every student is expected to see to it that -no unseemly disturbance is made, and that nothing is done to interfere -with the studies of others. The whole matter is left in your hands, and -you are put on your honor to do nothing unworthy of the dignity and -name of the school. It’s in the dormitory life that the spirit of the -school especially shows itself. We trust you to conduct yourselves like -gentlemen, without being watched, and put you on your honor to do so.” - -“Yes, sir,” replied Archer, conscious of a peculiar feeling, a mixture -of approval of the theory and suspicion as to the practice. - -“That is all that I wanted to say. Good night!” - -The boys echoed the salutation piously, and the room was left in -momentary quiet. Soon the two hidden worthies emerged from the bedroom, -and pranced across the floor, chuckling. - -“My eye!” cried Lord. “Did you ever hear such stuff? He puts you on -your honor, and then tries to make you tell who rough-housed you, and -comes sneaking up here to see if he can’t catch some one. That’s a good -one!” - -“Just go and tell him something in confidence and see what would -happen!” exclaimed Fowle (so his name proved to be; his mates called -him “Birdie”). “He’d bring it all up before the faculty, and you’d be -fired like a shot, as Murphy was last year. That’s _his_ kind of honor.” - -“Are they all like that?” asked Archer, in consternation. He had been -taught to respect his teachers. - -“No, only about half,” said Lord. “There are some I’d be willing -to tell anything to, and do ’most anything for. There are others -who aren’t worth wasting cusses on. Alsop thinks he’s the greatest -man since Washington--and what is he?” He snapped his fingers -contemptuously. - -“When’s Peck coming?” demanded Taylor, abruptly. - -“He was due yesterday, if he passed his exams.” - -“Too bad if he doesn’t come. He’s an awfully good fellow and lots of -sport. Know him?” - -Archer shook his head. Fowle took occasion, while his friends were -intent on this conversation, to make a good shot at Lord with a sofa -pillow. Lord seized the pillow, but made a wild return. Fowle jeered. -The fracas seemed in a fair way to begin again when Taylor interfered, -and with forceful prophecies of the fate that would befall them all -if they got to rough-housing again, persuaded the pair to “quit their -fooling” and take themselves off. - -That same afternoon Mr. Peck’s stenographer brought him a telegram, -which ran thus:-- - -“Got ten points what shall I do send money quick.” - -The father dictated immediately the following answer:-- - -“Go back to Seaton try again will send check there.” - -The next day Archer saw his room-mate. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -FIRST IMPRESSIONS - - -Archer came in from French next morning feeling depressed. Mr. Alsop -had caught him on an unmastered point in the lesson, and had then -made him the subject of pleasantries which, though they seemed to -the teacher merely casual examples of his innate cleverness, cut -the sensitive boy to the quick. Of course the boy was foolish to be -sensitive; one of the incidental advantages of the Seaton system is -that while it may develop in the pupil a precocious sharpness and -suspiciousness, it also accustoms him to hard knocks. Sam, however, -could not avoid the impression that he was paying the penalty for Mr. -Alsop’s defeat of the evening before. As he felt himself innocent of -wrong-doing, his pride and his sense of justice were both offended. - -He closed the door behind him and let the catch down; to keep the door -locked seemed the easiest way to avoid trouble. As he turned, he was -startled to see in the doorway of the second bedroom a coatless lad -gazing at him with critical chilliness. - -“Scared of burglars, or is some one after you?” asked the stranger, -scornfully. - -“Neither!” retorted Archer. “Who are you?” - -“Peck! I suppose you’re the fellow this wise faculty has seen fit to -tie me up with.” - -“I’m Archer,” said Sam, curtly, resenting the contempt latent in Duncan -Peck’s words. - -“That’s a pretty name. It’ll look well on a card on the door. What’s -your other name? Reginald?” - -“No--Sam.” - -“Sam! That’s a come-down after Archer. I’ll call you Archer; you call -me Peck. I’ll take one side of the room, you the other. You’ve turned -me out of my bedroom, I see.” - -“Yes. I thought you weren’t coming. You can change again if you want -to.” - -“It isn’t worth the trouble. What do you want to lock yourself in for?” - -“Some fellows came in here last night and raised a row. I wanted to be -let alone.” Sam gave a short account of the experiences of the evening -before. - -“They won’t try that again now that I’ve got here,” Peck made -complacent answer. “It’s foolish to get us into trouble with Alsop,” he -added, his tone hardening. “He’ll be down on the room the whole year. -It’ll take a lot of soft soap to make him feel right again.” - -Sam was silent, convicted of having brought the room into suspicion -by unwise conduct, yet puzzled to see wherein his error lay. He was -disappointed, too, by the coldness and unfriendliness of this room-mate -whom everybody had described as jolly and agreeable. - -Peck put on his coat and went to the door. “I guess we can get along -together if we let each other alone. Only don’t keep the door locked; -I may sometime want to come in.” - -Duncan went his way to the house which his fraternity made its -headquarters, a little ashamed of his ugliness, but firm in the opinion -that this new Archer was a “fresh guy” who would require repression -to make him endurable. If Duncan had been forced to give grounds for -this dislike, he could in honesty have advanced but two. With the -first, Archer was in no way concerned: Duncan did not want a dormitory -room-mate at all; he wanted to room with his friends of the Alpha Beta -Gamma at Knowles’s. His father, however, who saw in this scheme but an -additional incentive to waste time, had vetoed it at once, and written -privately to the office to make sure that his son should receive a -“good, quiet, studious room-mate” who might help him to become in his -turn good, quiet, and studious. By what method of induction the office -arrived at the conclusion that Samuel Wadsworth Archer was such a boy -is not worth investigation; the office has its whims, and they are not -always wrong. - -Duncan’s second objection was personal. In moving him out of the -bedroom which he had occupied for two years, calmly putting his -household goods on the sidewalk, as it were, and taking possession, -Archer had shown himself to be a fellow of a consummate and incurable -insolence. Duncan didn’t care for the bedroom,--at least, so he assured -himself,--but with a fellow of that stamp he wouldn’t even condescend -to quarrel. - -Duncan did not appear again until just before his afternoon recitation; -the evening also he spent elsewhere. During the next day he was at -home for hardly two of his waking hours, and during this time he was -either dressing or undressing in his bedroom, or talking with fellows -who came in, or working at his desk. He was not impolite, and he spoke -pleasantly enough when he found occasion to speak at all; but he -indulged in no unnecessary conversation and asked no favors, while his -general manner indicated clearly his purpose that community of room -should not involve community of life. - -Sam, though inexperienced, was not wholly dense. He understood that -his room-mate meant to have nothing to do with him, and at first felt -both humiliated and hurt. But pride soon came to the rescue. If he -was not good enough for Peck, neither was Peck good enough for him; -he had no reason to be ashamed either of himself or of his family. If -Peck did not want his society, he certainly could dispense with the -companionship of Peck. This appeal to pride gave him a certain peace of -mind and stayed him also against discouragements from another source. - -In his high school Archer had been considered athletic. He had played -on the eleven and on the nine, and still held the school record in the -high hurdles. At Seaton he found himself judged by different standards. -When he drifted out on the Seaton campus with twoscore football -candidates, he confessed to himself sadly that he belonged in the lower -third. He possessed too much length and too little breadth and weight -ever to be a factor in the Seaton games. The only advantage which -he could surely claim over the average impossible who enlivens the -playing fields during the first fortnight with brand-new trousers and -awkward zeal, was that, being long-legged, he could kick. The Seaton -coaches wanted men who could kick, but they didn’t want men who could -do nothing else. The best that could come within Archer’s reach was a -place on the second, or on his class eleven. - -The failure to make good in football had been in a measure anticipated. -In the hurdles, however, Archer had permitted himself certain -ambitions, which, though unexpressed, represented warmly cherished -hopes. Now Collins, the trainer, who had got him out to display his -paces, told him bluntly that he must learn to sprint before he could do -anything worth while. It wasn’t enough to pace his distance properly -and clear the barriers; he must mount in better form and get speed into -his three strides between the hurdles. Archer, being strongly of the -opinion that sprinters are born, not made, took this exhortation as an -adverse judgment,--especially as it was coupled with the information -that Fairmount’s regular racing time was a second under his record, -while Kilham of Hillbury was good for at least one-fifth better. - -Sam thought the whole subject over as he sat alone in his room after -dinner on the day of the experiment with the hurdles. It was clear -that he must accustom himself to an entirely new point of view. The -sooner he was reconciled to being classed with the mediocrities, the -better it would be for him. Duncan Peck’s conduct indicated that his -personality was not especially taking; his recitation work was not -brilliant, and he suspected that his conversation gave no assurance of -great mental gifts; his only hope in athletics was to plod along the -trail after the leaders and pick up what they might leave. The outlook -for distinction was not promising--but why must he win distinction? Was -it not better to acknowledge in all humility the commonplace character -of his endowment, and go cheerfully forward doing his best all round, -and letting results take care of themselves? He might play football for -fun on the class team; he might take hurdle practice for exercise and -amusement, without hope of silver cups and gold medals and the sight of -his portrait in the Boston papers. He could certainly meet Duncan Peck -like a polite and self-respecting fellow who courted nobody’s patronage -and understood a sentiment expressed in manner quite as well as one -voiced in rough words. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -BRUCE GIVES ADVICE - - -The autumn weeks that slipped by had little effect on the relations of -the two boys in 7 Hale. Duncan thought less ill of Archer after longer -experience with him: he was not especially fresh after all; he minded -his own business, and did not presume, or pretend, or brag, or fish for -Duncan’s friends. On the other hand, he was not as particular in the -matter of clothes as Duncan liked his friends to be. Archer’s coat was -not always fresh from the tailor’s goose, the turn-up of his trousers -was usually imperfect, his neckties were carelessly chosen, and did not -match his socks. His tastes, moreover, were too democratic; he showed a -disposition to like everybody; rich or poor, clodhopper or aristocrat, -athlete or grind--he accepted them all as parts of the same world with -equal rights to favor and friendship. Archer nodded at every fellow -he met; so did Duncan, but Duncan’s nods were carefully graduated -to the person. On one fellow he bestowed a short formal jerk of the -head, which, accurately translated, read, “This is my duty greeting, -even you receive it.” To another the nod was a conscious expression of -friendliness; a smile that lighted up the face went with this salute, -and a jolly word that had a personal ring. Archer drew the line at -meanness and a dirty shirt; Duncan’s line was farther up, separating -the few who were supposed to be of the right sort from the many who -were not. - -When once the principle was established that their ways lay apart, it -was easier to follow the diverging paths than to bring them together. -At first Peck thought Archer fresh and ordinary, and did not care for -him. At first Archer was offended at Peck’s foolish snobbishness, and -proudly disregarded him. The attitudes thus taken both maintained -through obstinacy, after each had discovered that he was at least -partially wrong. Archer waited for Peck, who had established the -precedent, to change it. With Peck the loss of the favorite room still -rankled, and he held that advances toward reconciliation should come -from the aggressor. So they tacitly agreed that they must always -disagree. - -Bruce came to the door one day demanding Peck, or information as to -where he could be found. Archer replied in emphatic terms that he knew -nothing about Peck’s affairs. - -“Isn’t he ever here?” asked the track captain, in a tone of vexation. - -“Come at midnight and you’ll find him. He’s here to sleep.” - -Bruce looked thoughtfully at Archer. “He ought to stay at home more,” -he said, after a slight pause. “He won’t do any work, knocking about -from room to room.” - -Archer gave an impatient jerk of his shoulders. “It’s none of my -business what he does. I think he goes away to avoid me.” - -“Why should he?” - -“I don’t know. He doesn’t like me, I suppose.” - -“He and Don used to fight like cat and dog, but they always stuck to -the nest,” Bruce mused. “What have you done to him?” - -“Nothing. He just doesn’t like me. You can’t blame him for that.” - -Bruce had been talking with Collins that morning, and the trainer had -spoken a good word for the long-legged recruit to the hurdling force, -not on account of what he could do, but because of the spirit he -showed. Bruce was fond of whimsical Duncan. He was well disposed, also, -to the recruit. - -“Didn’t you throw him out of his room?” - -Sam flushed uneasily. “Yes, and I offered to give it back to him. He -said it wasn’t worth the trouble of changing.” - -“Duncan is a little queer. He takes things hard sometimes. The more he -feels a thing, the less he likes to talk about it.” - -The visitor departed, leaving Sam to puzzle over this new light on -the actions of his incomprehensible room-mate. On first impulse he -vowed that if Peck was such a fool that he wouldn’t say plainly what -he wanted, his wants didn’t deserve consideration. Sam himself, in -Peck’s circumstances, would not have hesitated an instant; he might -have been annoyed, but he would have declared his annoyance frankly; -he wouldn’t have played the sorehead. But was there really any ground -for annoyance? Sam imagined himself in Peck’s place, and answered -immediately “yes.” In fact, the more he considered it, the more serious -the offence became. A fourth-year boy unceremoniously bundled out -of his old quarters by a newcomer because of a few days’ delay in -arriving, and then calmly told he might move himself back if he wished! -It was a fresh thing to do; Sam squirmed in his chair under the lash -of his own conscience; however silly on the part of Peck to pout like -a foolish school-girl, there was no defence for that act. - -The recitation bell gave forth its dreary clang; Peck rushed in, took -some books from his desk and started for the door. - -“Bruce has been here,” said Archer. - -“I saw him,” replied Peck, as he crossed the threshold. - -This exchange of chilly brevities jarred on Sam’s perturbed feelings. -No one but a lobster or a sorehead would sulk that way! It would be of -no use to offer apologies to such a fellow. The only course was to say -nothing and replace the furniture. - -Glad to do something to make amends for his error, Sam dug out Birdie -Fowle from the room opposite, led him into Number 7, and set forth his -demands. By concentration of will power, he at length succeeded in -giving Birdie’s good-natured inclination to do anything anybody asked -of him, the victory over his disinclination to do anything at all. -Together they hustled Sam’s bedroom furniture and general movables -into the study, placed Peck’s bed in the corner room, moved his bureau -without disturbing the articles on top, and hung his wall ornaments -in corresponding positions in the new quarters. The contents of his -own closet Sam cleared out, but Peck’s he left unprofaned for the -owner himself to change. After that, the pair dumped Sam’s possessions -miscellaneously in the inferior room, and adjourned to Porter’s drug -store for consolatory fudges at Archer’s expense. - -When Sam returned he found Peck standing on the threshold of his old -room, looking unpleasantly surprised. - -“What have you been doing now?” he demanded, as Sam entered the study. - -“Birdie and I have just put your things back in your old room,” -answered Archer. “We did it carefully. I don’t think anything is hurt. -You’ll have to shift your clothes yourself.” - -“You take a lot of liberties with other people’s property!” commented -Peck, savagely. “You seem used to moving. Your family must be in the -habit of changing tenements whenever rent-day comes round.” - -At this slash Sam laughed outright. His family had inhabited the same -house for four generations. It was one of the recognized ornaments of -the city, pointed out to every stranger. “The last time we moved was in -1790,” he said quietly. - -“What!” - -“And I naturally don’t remember much about it. My great-grandfather did -the moving.” - -Peck stared for a few silent seconds. “Well, you’re certainly making up -for your ancestors’ omissions. Perhaps they hadn’t anything to move. -I hope you aren’t going to keep this thing up all through the year.” - -“You needn’t worry. I shan’t touch your things again. I’ve just put you -back where I found you. We’re square now.” - -“I didn’t ask you to do it,” persisted Peck, ill-humoredly. - -“I know you didn’t, but I came to the conclusion that I oughtn’t to -have moved you in the beginning, so I tried to make it good. I’m sorry -if you don’t like it.” - -“Oh, I don’t care,” replied Peck, with indifference, going to transfer -his clothes to the empty closet. - -Archer strode over to Alumni to luncheon, disappointed in the outcome -of his efforts to make amends for his act of thoughtlessness. He felt -that he had come as near an apology as he could, without actually -falling on his knees and demanding forgiveness with tears. If Peck was -still sore, he might go hang! His favor wasn’t worth having. - -That evening Peck inquired what kind of a house it was that Archer’s -family had lived in for four generations, and for the first time in -six weeks of co-residence, there occurred between them what might -be called a conversation. But, as Sam gloomily remarked to himself -afterward, it was like a talk over a wall. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -SPORT FOR SPORT’S SAKE - - -The football weeks were coming to an end. With the loss of eight strong -players who had graduated the year before, or for other sufficient -reasons had left school, and the lack of proper new material with which -to work, the coach and school had been hard put to it to develop an -eleven worthy of Seaton traditions. Sam played on the second eleven -when he got the chance, and regularly did practice kicking to give -exercise in catching punts to the backs on the first. He understood -well, however, that he was not of the chosen, and cherished no -illusions as to chance of promotion. - -With the best of skill and labor a perfect finished product cannot -be expected from poor materials. The school, whose pride had been -exalted by the achievements of the Great Year just past, felt keenly -the failure of the eleven to round into proper form. Weak spots, -apparently incurable, developed in the line. The attack was frequently -forceless and scattered, the defence slow, the whole game perfunctory -and spiritless. Inferior elevens were allowed to score; teams which -Hillbury had found easy, proved serious foes at Seaton. General -sentiment grew pessimistic as the season advanced. - -It was perhaps for this reason that the class games aroused so great -an interest. The juniors got out their heavy men, inspired them with a -spirit of dash and defiance, and beat the lower middlers. The seniors -drafted four fellows from the school second eleven, filled up the -number from the squad of brawny candidates, and went forth to bag the -upper middlers. Varney, the captain of Archer’s class team, took what -he could get from the second eleven,--three, all told,--picked the best -of the crowd of ambitious amateurs, and took up the gage of battle. Sam -found himself, as the only man who could put the ball back straight, -playing at centre, expected to change places with Bull Norris, the -full-back, when there was occasion for kicking. - -The school team, with the faculty director of athletics, had gone to -Cambridge for a game with the Harvard freshmen. Some of the teachers -were out of town; others were busy with their own affairs. Not a soul -of them was on the campus--a fact which was not at first observed. -An umpire and a referee were chosen from the two lower classes. The -referee, from the defeated lower middlers, showed himself a model of -fairness; the umpire, a junior, favored the seniors, whom he considered -the weaker team, hoping that they would survive the fray to meet his -own class. The class supporters took their places decorously on the -side benches, and cheered their representatives in due and seemly -fashion. Archer kicked the ball to the seniors’ ten-yard line, where -Hoover took it and ran it back fifteen yards. At this point there was -a wrangle over Fairmount’s illegitimate blocking. The umpire affirmed -at the outset that the performance was perfectly legal; but on being -pressed, took safer ground for his decision by declaring that he didn’t -see the blocking at all. This aroused a new spirit. The upper middlers -jeered at the umpire, the seniors jeered at the upper middlers. In the -next scrimmage, Taylor, who was playing quarter, didn’t receive the -ball cleanly from his centre, and Archer, sprawling his full length -through a narrow hole beside the guard’s knees, got his hands on the -ball and pulled it under his chin. The squirming layers were stripped -off and Sam was adjudged the rightful holder. Then the upper middlers -pushed Kendrick, their heavy half-back, through the line again and -again, now behind big Ames, now behind Mulcahy, the other tackle, now -through the centre, until a touch-down was achieved, and later a goal. -This score temporarily soothed the inflammation caused by Fairmount’s -holding. - -The seniors sent the ball down to Mudie, who fumbled it and was caught -on the fifteen-yard line. Archer now gave up his place to Norris, who -passed back for a kick. The ball came so high that Sam had to jump for -it, but he managed to get his kick off before Putnam carried him down. -The ball went out of bounds on the forty-yard line, where the seniors -got it. They had no star like Kendrick, whose playing was surprisingly -hard and fast, but they worked well together, and Taylor ran his game -cleverly. Through guard and centre was no thoroughfare, but the upper -middler ends were hugged and pulled out of the way, without protest -from the short-sighted umpire, and the ball was shoved down upon the -goal line by a series of successful flank movements, helped out by an -occasional frontal attack on the tackles. So the score was made even by -a senior touch-down and goal. - -Meanwhile the audience was warming up. A detachment moved down from -the benches to the side-lines, whither the balance of the interested -sympathizers speedily followed. Regular cheering ceased. From either -side now rose spontaneous yells of exultation or hoots of disapproval. -The witty indulged in jocose personalities directed against players of -the opposite camp. The two classes not concerned took sides, juniors -with upper middlers, lower middlers with seniors. Archer kicked off -again to the seniors’ fifteen-yard line. Taylor tried a quarterback -run, and was nailed on the starting line and thrown back two yards. -The seniors’ kick was blocked by Ames, who struck down the arms of -his opponent, and rushing through, took the rising punt on his chest. -From Ames the ball bounded against the goal-post and rebounded among -the pack. It was found, in time, under an upper middler’s body. Wildes, -the senior left end, declared that it had been stolen from him, but -the referee would not allow the claim. Then Kendrick threw himself -into several breaches, and plunged, wriggled, and crawled his way to a -touch-down. Soon after this the half came to an end. - -By this time it had become generally known that not a prof was on -the field. A wild spirit possessed the crowd, a spirit of frolic and -horse-play. Each party wanted victory, but it wanted fun also, and on -the whole more. The ground was cleared for the second half by volunteer -policemen, who made a great show of eagerness for order, and in fact -led in the disorder. The crowd toed the side-lines when the seniors -kicked off; when Kendrick got the ball and ran it back, the throng -of upper middlers crossed the lines and swept in behind the wake of -the play. Varney’s men rushed the ball until they were blocked, when -Archer kicked. Hoover took the ball safely for the seniors, and started -his team on a return trip. Immediately another line of spectators crept -up behind the ball, crowding in upon the game, cutting off the seniors’ -crack end runs and forcing the play directly through the line. Here the -upper middlers held, and got the ball. - -Yet, strange to say, though the upper middlers now found conditions -exactly to their liking, the line plunges, which had been successful -before, suddenly failed. Every attack that penetrated the line seemed -to meet three men in the secondary defence. Big Ames glanced over the -heads of his two opponents and yelled: “Referee! referee! they’re -playing thirteen men!” - -The line, and the crescent of supporters behind it, took up the cry. -The crescent contracted, and meeting the line of seniors, enclosed the -players and cut off escape. The two centres knelt at the ball, gazing -at each other through sweat-dimmed eyes, while the officials counted. -The senior uniforms numbered twelve! - -[Illustration: “REFEREE! REFEREE! THEY’RE PLAYING THIRTEEN MEN!” -_Page 44._] - -Groans and taunts greeted this discovery. The senior team was -reduced to the normal number, elbow room was won by the use of elbows, -and the play went on. Two tackles developed such a mutual interest -that they disregarded the game altogether and devoted their energies -during every scrimmage exclusively to each other. Each was goaded on -by a troop of ardent backers. The ring of spectators narrowed and -thickened and heaved and sputtered. Ambitious volunteers sprang in -behind and lent a hand in pushing or in staying the enemy’s charge. -In the increasing confusion, a loud voice shouted “Game’s over!” In a -twinkling began a stampede for the possession of the ball, a confused -running and pushing and swarming. The football bladder burst in the -mêlée; all that the outnumbering upper middlers carried away was the -collapsed cover of the much-tormented ball. - -In spite of the assertion of spectators of all classes that the -senior-upper middler game had been the most enjoyable event of the -school year, Sam was not wholly content to have his serious efforts -turned into a joke. Duncan, who was manager of the senior team, -likewise strongly disapproved of the course of things, and vowed that -he should protest the game. Together they talked it over in the second -spontaneous conversation of the year, in which Peck took great pains to -deny that there had been any intention of putting twelve men into the -field against eleven. - -The next morning the whole school were treated to a chapel lecture on -the extreme impropriety of their conduct on the field the day before, -and to an exposition of the irreparable injury caused thereby to the -dignity and fair fame of the institution. At the same time the game was -declared null and void, and command was issued that it be replayed. The -ruling as to the game the boys accepted as reasonable; the invective -against their rowdyism served but to sweeten the recollection of an -hour when they had actually enjoyed sport for sport’s sake. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -A BONE OF CONTENTION - - -The game was played again under prescribed conditions, and the upper -middlers won once more, this time in consequence of practice gained -in playing together, by good use of the forward pass, and through -Kendrick’s splendid plunges and fast runs. In fact, Kendrick was easily -the hero of the game. Late in the season as it was, the coach took him -immediately on to the school eleven as a substitute back, and as luck -would have it, he got his S by slipping into the unfortunate Hillbury -game at the very end. Of this we shall speak later or not at all. -Sam Archer too, in much less conspicuous fashion, won credit in the -class match, though the senior centre got under him several times and -carried him off on his back. Big Ames of baseball fame played with his -usual ungainly determination, and a fellow named Mulcahy was much in -evidence during the game. - -It was on the subject of this Mulcahy that Archer and Peck came to -their first open disagreement. They naturally talked the game over -that evening--Sam with frank elation, Peck in a spirit of good-natured -forgiveness. When Mulcahy’s name was mentioned, Peck’s attitude changed -instantly. - -“He’s a mucker!” he said, with contemptuous curtness. - -“Why?” demanded Archer. - -“Because he is,” answered Peck. “Anybody with half an eye can see it. -He held Wildes twice to-day.” - -Sam smiled wisely. “If everybody is a mucker who held in to-day’s -game, Mulcahy isn’t the only fellow in the class. Putnam tripped Ames -deliberately. I saw it myself.” - -“It was probably a knee tackle that slipped down.” - -“No, he stuck out his foot and Ames fell over it.” - -“Well, that’s just because he doesn’t know the game. No one who is -acquainted with Harry Putnam would charge him with dirty play. If he -did that, it was because he didn’t know any better, or forgot himself.” - -“But if Mulcahy did the same thing, it proves he’s a mucker!” - -Sam was quite satisfied with this rejoinder. If Duncan Peck had any -sense at all, he must recognize the absurdity of his prejudice. Sam, -at the age of seventeen, with several generations of locally honored -ancestors behind him, had become, since his arrival at Seaton, an -ardent democrat. He believed firmly that a boy was as good as his -mind and character made him, without regard to the clothes on his -back or the money in his pocket or the social position of his nearest -relatives. Rebelling instinctively at the pretensions of certain -fellows whose fathers had “struck it rich,” and whose money gave them -a kind of importance, he was disposed to see in the poorer fellows -who were carrying the burden of their future on their own unaided -shoulders, examples of a sturdy, manly independence wholly admirable. - -“Whether he did the same thing or not,” replied Peck, coolly, “Mulcahy -is a mucker.” - -“The real difference is that Mulcahy works his way and Putnam doesn’t,” -asserted Sam, warmly. - -Duncan smiled scornfully. “The real difference is that Mulcahy works -other people and Putnam doesn’t!” - -“Putnam doesn’t have to,” retorted Sam. - -“Neither does Mulcahy.” - -“Why, he has to earn every cent he spends,” returned Sam, eagerly. “It -takes a lot more stuff in you to do that than to wear good clothes -and keep your hands white on the money your father gives you. It’s -these fellows who earn their way who do things when they get into real -work. They’re used to hard knocks, and they go straight ahead when -fellows like Putnam flat out. That’s proved by the whole history of the -Academy.” - -“What’s proved by the whole history of the Academy?” asked Peck, with -irritating calmness. - -“Why, that fellows that earn their way make the most successful men.” - -“I haven’t said a word against fellows who earn their own way,” -retorted Peck, sharply. “They may make the most successful men and they -may not. I don’t care anything about that. But if you think that the -history of the Academy proves that every scholarship fellow becomes a -great and good man, you’re sadly off. The scholarship fellows are of -all kinds--good, bad, and indifferent. Some are nice fellows; some are -dead beats, getting their board and clothes off the Academy because -it’s less work and more fun than it would be to milk cows or work in -the shoe-shop; some seem to be training for crooks or anarchists. They -work their way because they have to, that’s all. You don’t suppose they -prefer it, do you?” - -“Mulcahy plays football, and is on the ‘Seatonian,’ and does well in -his studies, and he is a good speaker in the Laurel Leaf,” remarked -Archer, feeling suddenly his inexperience, and returning to the -personal example when general assertion proved unsafe. “He amounts to -more than Kendrick, and yet you don’t make any objection to Kendrick.” - -“Kendrick is a good fellow,” said Duncan, enigmatically. - -“But Mulcahy isn’t!” completed Archer, with a sarcastic grin. - -“No, Mulcahy isn’t.” Duncan’s assertion was made in the nonchalant -fashion which we use in stating generally accepted facts. A slight -pause ensued, which he broke with a sudden accession of vehemence. -“It’s no use to argue about such fellows. Either you like ’em or you -don’t. It’s a matter of taste, and the way you have of looking at -fellows. We shan’t agree, because we don’t think alike. You have your -kind and I have mine. You’ve a right to admire Mulcahy and his gang if -you want to. I suppose you’ve got a right to bring him in here, too--as -half the room is yours.” - -“I shall if I want to,” answered Sam, with head high. “He’s just as -good as--as we are.” - -“That depends on the value you set on yourself,” returned Duncan, -coolly, taking his books into his bedroom with the air of one who -wished to be alone. - -Sam sat down at his desk, declaring scornful indifference to Duncan -Peck and his snobbish notions, but his thought ran rather on the -discussion just held than on the lesson before him. Notwithstanding his -assertion to the contrary, he soon decided that he should not bring -Mulcahy round. It wasn’t the fair thing to impose an unwelcome guest -upon his room-mate. At the same time he was clearly convinced that -Peck’s attitude was unworthy and contrary to the spirit and ideals of -the school. If he must choose between Peck’s favor and the friendship -of deserving boys who were struggling to overcome the handicap of -poverty and make something of themselves, he should not hesitate as to -a choice. The steady fellows toiling along the path trodden by Webster -and Lincoln were more honorable companions than the sleek, empty-headed -brats of the newly rich! - -This resolution to keep Mulcahy away from 7 Hale out of consideration -for Peck, Sam broke that very day--broke because he couldn’t help -himself. Mulcahy would come. To be sure, he had a reason for -coming,--to discuss the election of the Laurel Leaf, of which literary -society Archer had become a member; but he stayed longer than was -necessary for this purpose and talked mainly about himself. Mulcahy was -a striking figure in the school. Of good size, with well-poised head -and bold, regular features lighted up by brilliant dark eyes, ready of -speech and confident in manner, he gave the impression of one who had -a distinguished future before him. He had not only the plausibility of -a natural politician, but a certain insinuating way of taking another -fellow into his confidence as if he alone appreciated the other’s true -value. Sam had been captivated by Mulcahy’s winning attentions early in -his school career; he believed in him and admired him. - -Mulcahy was frankly ambitious. He was bound to lift himself. When he -had finished school--he explained to Sam--he meant to study law and -get into politics in some large city; he might go to college first if -the way opened. He expected to have to work hard to accomplish these -ambitions, especially as he believed in going in for the outside things -as far as possible--the “Seatonian” and athletics and the literary -societies. He tried to keep safely above the scholarship line, and -he did well with the influential profs. He belonged to the Christian -Fraternity, too; it helped you with the profs to belong to that. - -“When you have to fight your own way in the world, you must take -advantage of everything that comes along,” he declared. - -“It’s a great thing to do that, to educate yourself,” said Sam, -enthusiastically. “It develops an ability that puts you ahead when you -come to real work in the world.” - -Mulcahy looked at him sharply. “Yes, it sounds well, but it isn’t all -it’s cracked up to be. If you tried it a month, you’d find out. Lots of -fellows in this school look down on us scholarship fellows.” - -“Not those whose opinion is worth anything,” answered Sam, promptly. -“Not the best fellows, or the profs.” - -“The profs don’t count,” said Mulcahy, “and it’s hard to tell who are -the best fellows. There’s your room-mate, Peck, for instance. He speaks -to me on the street in a kind of condescending way, and he wouldn’t be -above taking a crib from me in recitation, but you don’t suppose he’d -invite me up here, do you?” - -Sam blushed and twisted in his chair; he felt thoroughly ashamed of his -room-mate, sufficiently ashamed to report with open indignation the -discussion which had recently been held on this very subject. But an -instinctive regard for honorable dealing, an instinct which Sam felt -even when his faulty reason would have misled him, closed his lips. -“I’ve heard him speak highly of Kendrick,” he said, at length finding -a clue. “He’s a scholarship man.” - -“Kendrick!” ejaculated Mulcahy. “What’s there to him? A common grind -who’s had the luck to be taken on the football squad!” - -“Why, I thought he was a nice fellow,” remarked Archer, puzzled at -Mulcahy’s vehemence. “What’s the matter with him?” - -“Oh, he’s good enough as fellows go,” replied Mulcahy, “but it’s always -seemed to me a green kind of goodness. He doesn’t know any better.” - -“Know any better!” echoed Sam, still puzzled. - -“I mean he isn’t very keen,” Mulcahy explained. “His wits are dull. -You could take him in as easy as looking. He’s an honest fool, and -good-natured.” - -Sam did not answer. He was wondering why two fellows with the same hard -problems of life to solve shouldn’t sympathize with each other. Mulcahy -rose to go. - -“I’ll count on you, then, in the election. Of course, I don’t want -the office, but we can’t have those fellows running things to suit -themselves all the time. It’s contrary to the whole spirit of the -place. I wish you’d see Lord and Kendrick and get them with us. They’d -bring others.” - -“I’ll do all I can,” said Sam, cordially. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -MR. WORLDLY WISEMAN - - -The blow fell; Hillbury routed the Seaton eleven with ease. Sam had -his mother and twelve-year-old sister down for the occasion. They -came gay-trimmed and expectant, surveyed the room with critical but -forgiving eyes, took luncheon at the Sedgwicks’, saw the game, and -departed by an evening train, witnessing with unsympathetic curiosity -the noisy antics of the victors as they trooped to their special. -Duncan happened in at 7 Hale while the visitors were there. He had the -courtesy to hide any indifference which he may have felt to the Archer -family. As a result, Mrs. Archer found him most agreeable, and she -gave cordial expression to her opinion that Sam had been fortunate in -his room-mate. Peck listened politely and made an acceptable response, -but Sam, with a haste which surprised his dear mother, switched the -conversation to another track. - -After his guests had departed Sam returned to his room and fell to -brooding on the disappointments of life. Being new to the school and -loyal, he was sensitive to the humiliation of the defeat by Hillbury; -he likewise felt his loneliness in the big school in which he knew so -many slightly and cared especially for no one who cared for him. His -relations with Duncan kept him at a distance from Duncan’s friends. In -spite of his championship of Mulcahy he did not find that young man -wholly satisfying as a companion. The temptation to find relief in -wrong ways came up before him in a vaguely attractive form, not strong -enough to upset his moral balance, but effectively adding to his sense -of isolation. John Fish in the room below had planned to celebrate the -victory. The victory failing, John had resigned himself to celebrating -defeat. He did this by stealing out of town to a neighboring city, -whence he would steal back in the early morning with gross boasts of -his achievements ready for trustworthy ears. John Fish was one of -those who never refuse themselves what they crave if gratification -is possible. He was too coarse and too vulgar to exert a winning -influence on Archer, but the thought of him to-night gave a pessimistic -trend to our young man’s philosophy. He looked abroad through blue -spectacles upon a world of injustice in which the wicked triumphed. -There was Birdie Fowle, who never did anything worse than make a noise -or throw water out of a window, and yet was deep in Mr. Alsop’s bad -books; the wise ones declared that Birdie wouldn’t last long in school. -John Fish, meanwhile, went his quiet way unsuspected. Mr. Alsop always -had a good word for him as an orderly and serious-minded youth; yet his -sins compared to Fowle’s were as boiler plate to blotting-paper. - -Sam took up his French books to get ready for Monday’s examination. -Mr. Alsop was young and strenuous, a good teacher, but saturated with -the conviction of his own importance, and ambitious for distinction as -a driver. He boasted that he tolerated no sluggards in his courses; -he prided himself on his keenness in detecting the goats before their -whiskers had begun to appear. The result was that many slow-minded -sheep got the credit of being goats, and many a wily old goat palmed -himself off as an innocent lamb. Mr. Alsop meant well, but went wrong; -and being wholly satisfied with the rectitude of his intentions, he -was the last to discover the crookedness of his course. More than one -unscrupulous idler, by pretending that he was struggling hard against -natural inability, secured better marks than he deserved. Others--among -them Sam--who said less and actually struggled more were predestined -from the beginning to D’s and E’s. Sam felt that nothing short of a -series of phenomenal examination books could propitiate fate. Convinced -that the scales were weighted against him, he worked half-heartedly. It -was with a sense of relief, after a quarter of an hour of unprofitable -study on his French, that he hailed the interruption of Mulcahy. - -“Plugging to-night?” asked the caller, in a tone of surprise, as he -dropped indolently into a comfortable chair and hoisted his feet to the -top of a table. - -“It’s got to be done,” replied Sam; “why not to-night?” - -“Because on the night of a Hillbury game nobody expects to do -anything. If we had won, you’d have been out all the evening -celebrating.” - -“It was terrible, wasn’t it!” mourned Sam, reminded anew of the -school’s affliction. - -“They got it right in the neck,” returned Mulcahy, cheerfully. -“Defence, attack, kicking, running, forward passes, Hillbury put it -all over ’em. They won’t hold up their heads for a week. It’s a very -different thing being on an eleven that’s had the stuffing beaten out -of it, from playing a winner.” - -“You talk as if you were glad we got beaten,” said Sam, gloomily. - -“Oh, no, I’m just making the best of the case. There’s no use in crying -about it. You and I didn’t lose the game, anyway. Those that lost will -have to take the kicks now.” - -“I don’t think they deserve kicks. They played as well as they knew -how. Kendrick was a regular star. The way he stopped the rushes of that -big red-headed Hillbury half-back was wonderful!” - -“Yes, he did pretty well considering the short time he’s been out,” -Mulcahy conceded. “But what good was it? They got licked to their -knees, that’s the essential fact.” - -“Who wrote that editorial in the ‘Seatonian’ special about the game?” - -“I did,” replied Mulcahy, complacently. “Wasn’t it smooth?” - -“Well, your statements don’t hang together then. In that you said that -while the result of the game was disappointing to Seaton, the main -thing, after all, was that it was well played and fairly won; it was no -disgrace to a team to be beaten in such a contest.” - -Mulcahy laughed heartily. “The ‘Seatonian’ was speaking then. The paper -says what will sound well and suit the profs. The editors think what -they please.” - -“Do you write all the good advice the ‘Seatonian’ gives us, about -studying, and maintaining the reputation of the school, and acting up -to the Seaton spirit?” - -“We all take a turn at it. It’s part of the business.” - -“Don’t you believe in it?” - -“Oh, sometimes; sometimes not. We don’t have to.” Mulcahy was growing -tired of the subject. “What’re you working on, French?” - -“Yes, I’ve got an exam with Alsop Monday.” - -“It’s an easy subject.” - -“Not for me, and not with Alsop.” - -“Oh, he isn’t bad if you don’t get him down on you. You want to go to -see him and ask his opinion about things. Pretend to think a great deal -of him, and let him give you information--he likes to do that--and -confide in him some trouble or other--not a real one, you know, but -something you’ve thought up. Get him going on the comparative merits of -ancient and modern languages, if you can, and be convinced. He’s ’most -as easy that way as Rounder. You’ll have to do some plugging too, of -course.” - -“I’m willing to plug,” said Archer, dubiously, “but I hate to talk with -him.” - -“Too bad you don’t have Rounder; he’s the easiest thing there is,” went -on Mulcahy. “Last year Stevens and McCarthy were way down in his class; -they hadn’t either of ’em been doing a thing above E. Both of ’em went -to Doc Rounder two weeks before the end of the term. Stevens said: -‘Don’t you think I’ve been improving lately, Doctor? I’ve been working -terribly. It seems to me I ought to have a D anyway.’ Doc Rounder looks -at his book and says: ‘Well, I don’t know--have you been studying -_very_ hard?’ ‘Two hours every lesson,’ says Stevens. ‘Perhaps I can. -We’ll see,’ says Doc. McCarthy was nervier. He said: ‘Dr. Rounder, I -think I ought to have a B this time. I’ve made a great improvement over -last term.’ Rounder looked in his book again and kind of hesitated; -‘I’m afraid I can’t do it, McCarthy, your marks are too low.’ ‘I ought -to have B with the work I’ve put in it,--C at least,’ McCarthy said, -trying to look indignant. Rounder said he’d think it over. Stevens got -D for a term mark, and McCarthy C--and neither of ’em deserved a thing -above E.” - -“Had they been doing all that work?” asked Sam, innocently. - -“Naw, they hadn’t studied ten minutes a week.” - -“Then they lied.” - -Mulcahy laughed aloud. “Of course they lied. Who wouldn’t to Rounder? -Why, lying is the one thing you learn in his course.” - -Archer pondered this statement in silence. Presently Mulcahy offered to -help him with his French, and they employed themselves for a half-hour -in looking up points on which Mr. Alsop was considered likely to test -his class in the examination. After a time Mulcahy’s zeal slackened. He -tilted back in his chair, smoked a couple of cigarettes, and talked of -the coming election in the Laurel Leaf. - -“Scholarship men do smoke, then?” asked Sam, as the conversation -lagged. He knew well that it was a strict rule that holders of -scholarships should not smoke. - -“We’re not supposed to,” answered Mulcahy, easily, “but you can’t -always do what you’re supposed to.” - -“I should think they would smell it on your clothes.” - -“I’m pretty careful. Besides, you can always lay it off on to some one -you’ve been with. My reputation would save me from suspicion anyway. I -could bluff my way out of it.” - -“It doesn’t seem quite square--” - -“Oh, rot! What’s a few cigarettes? It’s just a question of getting -ahead of the profs. The faculty is on one side and we’re on the other. -They try to make us do what they want, and we try to do what we please. -They’ll soak us if they can, and we beat ’em when we can. This isn’t -a Sunday-school; it’s a little piece cut out of the world. If you’re -going to get on here, you’ve got to shake your kindergarten ideas, and -play the game.” - -Mulcahy soon took himself away, and Sam went early to bed to sleep -off his low spirits. On the next day he made an afternoon call at -the Sedgwicks’ and yielded readily to an invitation to supper. Miss -Margaret was a mighty sorceress in dispelling the grumps. In the -evening he attended the Christian Fraternity meeting, addressed by -a distinguished professor of Yale. Mulcahy sat in a front row, and -listened devoutly. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -SLOW TO ANGER - - -Regular exercise in the gymnasium began immediately after the Hillbury -game. In Sam’s squad was a fellow from South Boston named Dennis -Runyon. Runyon possessed a head ornamented with stiff, bristly hair on -top, a stubby nose and pimply cheeks in front, and flaring clam-shell -ears at the side. In the vacant spaces of his brain lurked, with other -delusions of a large and general ignorance, a fixed idea that every man -who was not positively effeminate admired a pugilist. Runyon’s notions -as to the meaning of education were hazy; he had come to Seaton with -the somewhat vague hope of bettering his prospects in life, bearing a -letter of introduction from a cousin who had worked his way through the -school and was appreciative of the help which it had given him. This -letter from a faithful alumnus procured Runyon’s admittance. Entering a -lower class in which the work was, for him, largely review, he gained -rank high enough to receive a provisional scholarship. - -But Dennis Runyon’s ambitions were not limited to gaining a foothold -on the toilsome, uphill road which the self-made man must travel; he -thirsted for distinction, especially distinction in athletics. The -school football team did not desire his services; his class captain -gave him a trial, and quickly dropped him for a smaller man who used -his head more and his fists less. The football season passed, the -uneventful winter months were at hand, his lesson marks were tending -steadily downward. The name of Runyon was still obscure in Seaton. - -Dennis went home for Thanksgiving, and offered what excuses he could -for his failure to make the expected reputation. - -“Don’t you know any fellows at all?” demanded Pete Runyon, an older -brother, who had brought some glory upon the family by winning public -matches at various boxing clubs. - -“Not many,” replied Dennis, candidly. “They don’t take much notice of -a new fellow.” - -“Why don’t ye get up a fight, then? That’ll show ’em what kind of a man -ye are.” - -“I haven’t got any reason for fighting.” - -“Find one, make one! Pick out one of these fellows who’s stuck on -himself and give him a little jaw. He’ll fight when he gets mad enough. -Then give him a good upper cut and finish him off easy. They’ll have -some respect for you then. Ain’t ye man enough for that?” - -“I dunno.” - -“Ye ought to be, then. What’ve I learned ye to use yer paddies for? See -what it’s done fer me! When I go down the street, the’ ain’t a man in -the ward that don’t jump to give me the glad hand. It’s so everywhere. -Everybody likes a man that can fight. The boys’ll talk about ye all -over the school. Ye’ll be somebody then!” - -Dennis returned to school with his brother’s counsel ringing in his -ears. He experimented at first with boasts, and anecdotes of hard -bouts. The bystanders listened with grins and suggested that he try -his skill on Legge. Legge was a heavy-weight football player, old and -hard, with the torso of a Roman Hercules, and arms ridged with iron -sinews. As Runyon was a light middle-weight, this suggestion could only -spring from gross ignorance of the rules of the ring, or be prompted -by a spirit of ridicule. When flippant small boys of his class, whose -weakness was their protection, fell to asking him, with mock solemnity, -for details of these encounters, he became gradually aware that he was -being chaffed. Something must be done to impress the contemptuous with -his worth. - -Exactly why he chose Sam Archer as the person on whom to try the value -of his brother’s advice is not easy to determine. Jealousy doubtless -entered into the case, a little personal spite, and much of the cunning -of the professional sport. Sam’s democratic principles were not quite -broad enough to include a friendship with Runyon. Sam had made a class -football team when Runyon had not. Sam was tall and therefore looked -big, yet being thin was presumably weak--a combination much to be -desired in the person to be used by Runyon for demonstration of his -prowess. He was, moreover, an independent. Not being a member of any -close organization, he was not always surrounded by friends who felt -themselves privileged to interfere in his affairs; and though not a -fraternity man or a great athlete, he was not so obscure that a victory -over him would be inglorious. - -Having selected his victim, Runyon’s only problem was to make him -fight. It happened soon that chance threw a pretext directly in his -way, though he was not quick enough to recognize it. Archer, in the -hurried crowding to put away dumbbells after the exercise, stepped on -Runyon’s heel and pulled his gymnasium slipper loose. Runyon turned -with a scowl, but before his mind awoke to the opportunity Archer had -begged his pardon and passed on. The next day Runyon deliberately trod -on Archer’s heel, and did not apologize. The result, however, was -disappointing; Sam adjusted his shoe and went his way without bestowing -a look on the offender. - -The boxer now had recourse to more aggressive measures. He pushed -young Hartley into Archer on the gymnasium floor, but it was Hartley -who turned on him with abuse--and Hartley was too small to notice. He -commented with audible contempt on Sam’s performance on the vaulting -horse. As he passed Taylor and Archer talking together at the head of -the gymnasium stairs, he mocked the phrase which had just fallen from -Sam’s lips, and lingered near by to see if his challenge would be taken -up. - -“What’s that fellow driving at?” demanded Taylor. “Is he trying to get -up a scrap with you?” - -“It looks like it,” replied Sam. “Perhaps it’s just his way of being -funny.” - -“He’s getting too fresh. He ought to be squelched!” - -“I don’t want to be the one to do it. You don’t gain anything by -scrapping with fellows like him.” - -Sam’s evident unwillingness to be drawn was just the incentive needed -to urge his assailant on. Runyon was one who could be bluffed or -cowed, but not placated. Sam was by nature good-humored and patient, -capable of holding out on a fixed course to the last gasp, but neither -resentful nor pugnacious. When Collins informed Bruce that Archer was -good material, but must get speed and fight into him before he could -accomplish anything, the coach showed himself a shrewd judge of -character, as well as an expert in the psychology of successful racers. -As Archer sought to avoid him, Runyon’s conduct grew more offensive. -Both were criticised severely by spectators of the performance, the one -for not standing up for his rights, the other for acting like a hoodlum. - -The crisis came one day early in December, when Runyon, having flung -out an unsuccessful gibe in the dressing room, overtook Archer on the -stairs and jostled roughly against him. Sam, at last exasperated, gave -the bully a push with his shoulder that sent the intrepid challenger -hard against the side wall. Runyon rebounded, and striking Archer a -blow in the upper arm, squared himself for battle. - -“Come on, if you want to fight!” he called derisively. “I didn’t -believe you had sand enough.” - -“I won’t fight here,” answered Archer. - -“Ye won’t fight anywhere, I guess. You’re too much of a coward!” - -By this time boys were gathering above and below, and staring at the -brawlers with eager, grinning faces. - -“Don’t stand his lip, Sam,” said Kendrick, pushing his way up the -steps. “Knock the face off him!” - -Runyon turned sharply toward the intruder. Whatever his intention, he -suppressed it as soon as he recognized the stalwart football player. -“He’ll knock the face off me, nit!” said the pugilist. “He won’t even -give me a chance to get at him. Shorty Hartley’s about his class.” - -The gong for the beginning of exercise sounded. - -“I’ll give you a chance this afternoon,” said Sam, hastily. - -“Yes, you will!” sneered Runyon, “probably when you have a crowd of -friends to butt in.” - -“When we can have it out alone,” declared Sam, with a hard look in his -eyes and an air of extreme dignity. “I’ll send a second to you this -noon.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -THE FURY OF A PATIENT MAN - - -The more Archer considered the matter, the more disgusted he became. -It was totally unreasonable and absurd. Runyon had apparently set his -heart on forcing a fight--why, Runyon alone knew. Sam felt himself the -victim of an inexplicable persecution. He couldn’t hand the persecutor -over to friends to chastise, he couldn’t complain to the faculty, he -couldn’t put up forever with insults and humiliations. He simply must -fight--unless Mulcahy’s sharp wits could devise a way of silencing the -rowdy. - -Sam found Mulcahy before luncheon, and appealed for help. - -“What did you get into such a scrape for?” demanded Mulcahy, with small -show of sympathy. - -“It wasn’t my fault; he forced me into it.” - -“You must have done something to him. He wouldn’t pick on you without -some kind of reason.” - -“Not a thing. I don’t think I’d ever spoken to him. He’s making a fool -of himself and me too. Can’t you go to him and show him how idiotic it -is, and get him to shut up? If you don’t succeed in that, tell him I’m -ready to fight.” - -Mulcahy drew away. “I couldn’t do that, really. It wouldn’t do for me -to interfere. I’d like to help you, of course, but I couldn’t get mixed -up in a thing of that kind.” - -“Why not?” asked Archer, perplexed at his friend’s coldness. - -“Well, it would be talked about; some of the faculty would hear of it, -and they might not understand my position in it. I couldn’t have them -think I was acting as second in a school prize-fight. Then my position -on the ‘Seatonian’ has to be considered.” - -“I don’t see what that has to do with it,” said Archer, gloomily. “I’ve -got into trouble with a cheap mutt, from no fault of mine. I’ve got to -have some one to help me.” - -“I’ll help you by giving you the best advice I know. Go to Runyon -quietly and fix it up.” - -“Fix it up!” echoed Archer. “How can I fix it up?” - -“Why, tell him you acted thoughtlessly, and are sorry you pushed him. -Beg his pardon, and when the thing is over and settled, avoid him. If -you don’t patch it up, you’ll be walloped by a good fighter, and very -likely get kicked out of school into the bargain.” - -Sam stared--glared--at his counsellor. “Go down on my knees to that -fellow!” he said, with vibrant voice and flashing eyes. “Swallow all -the insults he’s given me and ask for more, beg his pardon for not -taking his dirty kicks with gratitude! I wouldn’t do that for a dozen -‘Seatonians’ and a hundred faculties. I wouldn’t do that for any one, -not if I knew I was going to be fired the next minute!” - -“Don’t blame me, then, if things don’t go right,” returned Mulcahy, -seating himself at his desk as if the interview were over. “You’ll just -get into the scrape deeper. I’ve given you the best advice I know. My -conscience is clear.” - -Sam flung out of Mulcahy’s room without a backward glance or a word. -Furious with Mulcahy and with the whole ridiculous business, he strode -along vowing he would fight without a second, anywhere, at any time. -At the corner of Sibley he ran into Kendrick. - -“Look out there!” sang out Kendrick’s cheerful voice. “What’re you -rushing me for? I’m not Runyon.” - -Sam’s face brightened. “Say, Ken, will you be my second if I have to -fight that fellow?” - -“Sure, I will,” responded the ready Kendrick. “But why do you say ‘if’? -You’ve _got_ to fight him.” - -“Don’t you think you might go to him and show him what a fool he’s -making--” - -“It wouldn’t do a bit of good,” interrupted Kendrick. “Nothing’ll cure -his disease but some good hard punches in the head. I’d just as lief go -and tell him what a fool he is as not. Maybe I’d get a chance to hand -him a few myself. Only it wouldn’t do any good.” - -“You won’t get into any trouble with the profs by backing me, will -you?” questioned Sam, mindful of Mulcahy’s fears. - -“Trouble? Supposing I do? The job’s got to be done, hasn’t it?” - -“Then go and tell him to come to my room after the four o’clock bell -rings. Alsop is at recitation then. He can bring some one with him.” - -“All right,” replied Kendrick, cordially. “Trust the thing to me. I’ll -arrange everything in proper style, giving him a little of my opinion -at the same time. Four o’clock this afternoon at 7 Hale!” - -Mr. Alsop took his books and his dignity over to recitation that -afternoon, little suspecting the plot against the boasted quiet of his -entry. Kendrick had cleared the centre of the room of movables, and now -sat on the sofa, nursing his knee and giving final words of counsel. -Sam had put on tennis shoes, an old pair of trousers and a jersey, and -over this had thrown his coat. - -“Don’t accept any rules at all,” advised Kendrick. “Just wade in and -hit him any old way. You aren’t fighting for a diamond belt, you’re -just defending yourself against bullying; close in on him or throw him; -then pummel him. If you stand off, he’ll whack you. You want to rush -him.” - -“It’s the craziest fool thing I ever got into,” groaned Sam. “There’s -no sense in it at all. I never did anything to the mucker.” - -“What’s the good of going over that again! When a rowdy sets on you in -the street, you’ve got either to fight or to run. It’s no use to tell -him he isn’t acting like a gentleman. If Runyon insists on fighting, -you’ve got to fight him, or get some one else to do it for you, or -appeal to the faculty for protection.” - -“I know it!” growled Sam, whose temper was growing vicious. “I’m going -to fight.” - -“You’re going to win, too,” observed Kendrick, with a sage nod, falling -in naturally with the orthodox practice of encouragement pursued by -seconds since the days of Homer. “He’s nothing.” - -A bold knock at the door announced the coming of the enemy. Runyon -walked in, followed by Brantwein, his supporter. Brantwein was a -radical, avowing and defending extreme socialist ideas. He was beating -his way through the school. He sold peanuts to the fellows on the -bleachers at the ball games, devised various means, effective and -ineffective, of getting marks without excessive work, put the shot -with considerable success, and protested generally that his name did -not mean “brandy,” because it was not spelled with a double _n_. None -the less he was dubbed “Brandy” from the day of his advent. He was -generally against the government, and he liked a scrap. - -Runyon took off his coat immediately. “We’ll follow the Marquis of -Queensberry rules,” he proclaimed. “No hitting below the belt and no -clinching.” - -“Rules nothing!” answered Kendrick, curtly. - -“What’s all this for, anyway?” said Archer. “I’ve nothing against you -to fight over.” - -“I’ve got something against you,” returned Runyon, “and you ain’t goin’ -to crawl out of it now!” - -At this taunt a white spot appeared on each of Sam’s cheekbones, and -an ominous light flashed into his eyes. He drew off his coat--slowly, -because he wanted time to consider his opening. Runyon caught the -change of color in his opponent’s face, and misinterpreted its meaning. -Fearing that the long-suffering Archer might be still reluctant to use -his fists, and that the éclat which he had striven for might at the -last moment escape him, he stepped forward and swung the flat of his -hand in a stinging slap against Sam’s cheek. - -The effect far exceeded Runyon’s expectations. Sam’s long-suppressed -anger at being forced into a ridiculous position flared into scorching -fury. With every nerve alert and every muscle quivering, he flung -the coat aside and leaped forward. He came too quick and too hard -for his enemy’s artistic defence. The blow that should have felled -him to the floor, wildly and feebly aimed, glanced harmless from his -lowered, plunging head. The next instant, Sam’s arms were encircling -Runyon’s waist, his head was planted safely against his opponent’s -chest; the on-rush of his dive swept the boxer, drumming vainly on -the muscle-armored shoulders, back against the wall. They struck the -doorpost with a force that slammed Runyon’s head against the wood. -Before he could recover, Archer caught his footing, and whirling his -confused assailant about, threw him to the floor and fell heavily upon -him. - -What followed was totally contrary to the conduct expected of a -well-mannered hero of a boy’s book. Never was mighty fighter so soon -despoiled of his martial ardor, or so quickly brought to piteous appeal -for mercy. The seconds together dragged the infuriated tiger from -his prey. And while Kendrick in the corner of the study was bringing -Archer back to his normal state of charity and patience, Brantwein -was swabbing Runyon’s swelling, red-smeared face in the bedroom, and -muttering a combination of consolations and invectives. - -“He didn’t fight fair!” sputtered Runyon, when his breath returned and -his throat was clear. - -“Oh, shut up!” retorted the socialist. “You got what was coming to you.” - -“Didn’t I tell you the way to fix him!” boasted Kendrick, when the door -closed behind the battered, cowed Runyon and his disappointed second. -“If you had fought according to ring rules, he’d have knocked you all -over the place.” - -“Supposing he had done it, what then?” asked Sam, looking ruefully at -his knuckles. - -“Then I should have insulted him,” answered Kendrick, promptly, “and if -he did for me, some one else would have come up. He’d never have got -through the year without a good whaling.” - -Runyon went home the next day for comfort and repairs. And when he was -repaired and comforted, not daring or not caring to face the jeers -of his schoolmates, he decided not to return to the scene of his -defeat, but to work in a department store instead. Some time after his -disappearance, some innocent asked a friendly instructor whether Runyon -was expelled on account of his fight with Archer, and thus put the keen -noses of the faculty on the scent. So, long after the school had ceased -to talk of it, the history of the Battle of 7 Hale was revealed to the -authorities. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -DUNCAN’S DISGUST - - -Despite his fears, Sam never heard from the faculty with reference to -his duel. He had, on the whole, proved to his teachers his right to be -considered a law-abiding citizen, if not a distinguished scholar; and -the accepted student version of the affair showed him anything but an -aggressor. Mr. Alsop, while consenting to the verdict of acquittal, -adhered in silence to his own opinion, which held Sam accountable for -the desecration of the well by a low fight. - -This, however, was a month after the event. Mulcahy had come over on -the very evening to offer congratulations. - -“You were lucky to get out of it so easily,” he said. “The fact is that -I thought Runyon would be too much for you, so the best thing was to -switch him off. I didn’t like the idea of your being mauled about by -a rough bully like him. That’s why I tried to keep you back.” - -“But I simply couldn’t put up any longer with the treatment he was -giving me,” protested Sam. “That was worse than fighting and getting -licked. I hadn’t any self-respect left.” - -“I hoped you would be able to patch it up. I see now that I was wrong, -but I was terribly afraid he’d do you some injury.” - -Sam uttered a low laugh--quite the good-natured victor. “Well, he -didn’t. My knuckles are the only sore spot on me.” - -“It’s a good thing you got Kendrick into it with you. He’ll be more -likely to come over to our side on the Laurel Leaf matter. Have you -talked with him yet?” - -Sam shook his head. - -“Be as careful with him as you can. Make him see that we want to get -the offices out of the hands of the oligarchy, back into the school. -It’s a shame that a democratic institution like the Academy should be -bossed by the few fellows in the fraternities.” - -“Isn’t it chiefly because the frats have got some of the best fellows -in them?” asked Sam, innocently. - -“No! They have some good fellows and a lot who wouldn’t be anything if -they didn’t have money behind them. They put a frat man forward, and -the rank and file just sit still and vote him in.” - -“The rank and file don’t care much about it anyway.” - -“They ought to, and they will when they’re aroused. It’s up to us to -show them how to protect their rights.” - -After Mulcahy went, Sam compared the statement which his guest had -just made about the duel, with the reasons which he had given the day -before when he refused to act as second. “He was really afraid to have -anything to do with it,” he mused. “I don’t believe those fellows he’s -so down on would have gone back on a friend in that way. Still, I ought -not to blame him for that; he has his way to make; he can’t afford to -get into trouble with the profs.” The contrasting conduct of Kendrick, -who also had his way to make, occurred to him, and shook his faith -in his own argument. “But Ken is a natural scrapper,” he reassured -himself. “Ken would do ’most anything to see a fight.” - -One thing, however, Ken would not do--vote for Mulcahy for office. That -Archer discovered as soon as he broached the subject. - -“I wouldn’t vote for him for street sweeper!” he declared. “Mulcahy’s -a pig, and a grafter. He’s all for Mulcahy, and for nobody and nothing -else. If he wants a thing, on general principles I don’t want it. If -he says a course is right, I’m sure it isn’t. He works everything and -everybody he can get hold of. He’s got the faculty hypnotized into -believing he’s an angel. I wouldn’t trust him around the corner.” - -“He’s a mighty able fellow,” replied Archer, who charged Kendrick’s -vehemence up against prejudice and envy; “a lot abler than Metcalf, or -Dupont, or--” - -“Or me--” put in Kendrick, fervid, but ungrammatical. “He’s all -that--everything but straight.” - -“I’ve never seen anything crooked about him,” Sam persisted. “He’s been -a very good friend to me. I should think as you’re both in the same -boat, you’d sympathize with him.” - -“How are we both in the same boat?” - -“Why, you both have to rely on yourselves for what you get. You are -both scholarship men.” - -Kendrick looked relieved. “Is that all you meant! I was afraid you -thought we were in some way alike. If that was so, I was going to -change right off so as to be different. Mulcahy’s a crook!” - -“He’s a friend of mine, if you please,” said Sam, with dignity. - -“What has he ever done for you, anything?” - -“Yes, he’s helped me with lessons and given me advice.” - -“Advice is cheap. You can get it by the hour down in Alsop’s room. If -he’s given you free tutoring, that’s something.” - -“It hasn’t been very much,” confessed Sam. “I didn’t need it.” - -“He wasn’t much use to you in your row with Runyon, was he? If you’d -followed his advice then, you’d have been to the bad altogether.” - -“He meant well; he was afraid I’d get hurt,” announced Sam; and then, -to cut short this discussion of Mulcahy’s virtues, he asked, “Then you -won’t vote for him?” - -“Vote for him? Never. I’d rather vote for myself! I’m more or less of -a fool, but I have a little principle, and there are some things I’m -too good or too proud to do. There’s nothing Mulcahy wouldn’t do, if -he could make anything by it, and was sure nobody saw him. Don’t be -surprised if you find me electioneering against him.” - -Sam went back to his room disgusted. The causes of his disgust were so -complex, that he couldn’t possibly disentangle them. He imagined the -chief one to be his failure to accomplish his object with Kendrick, -and the latter’s colossal prejudice against Mulcahy. In fact, he -was beginning to feel the difficulty of defending his friend from -insinuations against him, and to be annoyed that it was necessary to do -so. He found Peck standing before the grate with hands clasped behind -him, and a black frown on his face. - -“I hear you’ve been turning this place into a prize ring,” began -Duncan. “Hereafter when you have these little affairs with your -friends I wish you’d hold ’em somewhere else.” - -“I shan’t have any more. I didn’t want this one. I tried as hard as I -could to keep out of it.” - -“You didn’t have to hold it here, did you?” - -“Perhaps not. I didn’t know where else to go. I thought you wouldn’t be -here.” - -“I wish I had been. I’d have stopped it mighty quick. Runyon and Brandy -Brantwein and Mulcahy and you! That combination would ruin any room’s -reputation!” - -“Mulcahy wasn’t here!” said Sam, sullenly. - -“Who was it, then?” - -“Kendrick.” - -Duncan stared. “I wonder how he got into it,” he said at length. - -“He knew I was forced into the thing and he wanted to help me out,” -answered Sam, quickly. “That’s more than some fellows I know would do,” -he added with scornful emphasis. - -Duncan’s stern look melted into a malicious grin. “More than Mulcahy -would do, I’ll bet. He isn’t running any more risks than he can help.” - -“There wasn’t any risk!” said Sam, bravely. - -“There wasn’t? Why, you’ll every one of you be fired when the faculty -gets on to it.” - -“I guess not,” Sam remarked with a confidence which was not altogether -sincere. - -“That Mulcahy has the crust of a crocodile,” went on Peck. “I -understand he’s trying to elect himself president of the Leaf.” - -“Look here, Peck,” said Sam, holding his head high, “I wish you’d leave -Mulcahy out of the conversation hereafter. He’s a friend of mine, and I -don’t care to hear him abused all the time. If you don’t want to vote -for him, you’re not obliged to. There’ll be other candidates. He has -brains and ability, but perhaps they don’t count as much in your eyes -as clothes and a big allowance and membership in a frat.” - -“That isn’t so,” snapped Duncan. “I don’t care anything about money, -but I hate a mucker whether he’s rich or poor.” - -“Mulcahy isn’t a mucker. My opinion on that point is worth more than -yours, for I know him better than you do. He’s going home with me over -next Sunday. That shows what I think of him.” - -Archer spoke with six feet of dignity and the gravity of a judge -handing down a decision, but Peck was totally unimpressed. “I hope he -won’t steal the silver,” he said with an exasperating twinkle,--“the -old silver!” - -Sam blushed, and cursed himself that he had ever been fool enough -to tell Peck anything. And while he blushed and sought vainly for a -crushing reply, Peck went whistling off to his bedroom, disposed to -think rather better of his room-mate after all. If you believe in your -friends, it’s your business to stand up for them--until you find them -out. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -A REVELATION OF CHARACTER - - -There was no danger of lack of quorum at the election of the Laurel -Leaf. Every faithful wheelhorse, every indifferent who had joined “to -please the folks at home,” every intermittently interested member -hastened to the society rooms with ballot in his hand and zeal in his -heart. The tide set hard against the champion of democracy. Underwood -was elected by a vote representing two-thirds of the society. - -Greatly chagrined and deeply sympathizing with his defeated friend, Sam -took Mulcahy home to 7 Hale to console him. Peck, who happened to be -in, greeted them coldly, and withdrew in such marked haste that Sam, -fearful lest Mulcahy should resent the intended slight, hastily pushed -his best chair forward and invited his guest cordially to sit down. -Mulcahy, however, showed himself in no wise sensitive. He settled into -the comfortable chair and composedly lit a cigarette, less like a -young reformer who had suffered a great disappointment, than a shrewd -old philosopher to whom a single defeat was but one of the little -annoyances of life, to be smiled over and forgotten. - -“When are you going to begin to smoke?” he asked, as Sam drew his chair -to the fireplace beside him. - -“Not for a long time,” answered Sam, “perhaps never.” - -“Why not?” - -“My family don’t want me to, for one thing. Then I want to keep myself -in good condition.” - -“Most fellows wouldn’t care much for either of those reasons,” said -Mulcahy. “You’re expected to do what the rest do.” - -Sam did not reply to this; he was thinking how hard it often was to -resist doing the things which the rest did. - -“People at home don’t know anything about what is necessary in a school -like this,” continued Mulcahy. “If you want to get on, you mustn’t go -against the crowd.” - -“I don’t care anything about getting on,” said Sam. “I’m not ambitious.” - -“You’d like to be popular, wouldn’t you?” - -“No!” Sam answered decidedly. “I shouldn’t want to be disliked, but -holding office and that kind of thing doesn’t interest me. There’s too -much hard feeling and disappointment.” - -Mulcahy laughed. “You don’t know anything about it. Now, I got beaten -to-night. Do you suppose I’m discouraged? Not a bit. I’ll lie low -for a while and work my game and wait. By and by things will come my -way. If you just hang on to a thing long enough, don’t make mistakes -and don’t get mad, you wear away the opposition after a time. There’s -another election this year, and there’s another year after this. I’ll -be president of the Laurel Leaf before I leave this place. See if I -don’t.” - -Again a silence. Sam believed in Mulcahy’s prophecy, but the tone of it -grated on him. - -It was not Mulcahy’s habit to take people into his confidence. But -to-night, as he lolled in Archer’s comfortable easy-chair, flattered -by the attentions and admiration of this boy of superior strain, he -relaxed his caution and gave a glimpse of his real self. - -“Do you know what I do summers?” he asked. - -“Work, don’t you?” - -“At what?” - -Sam shook his head. “You’ve never told me.” - -“I sell books. I can go into a factory--when they’ll let me in--and -sell books right through from floor to floor, to men and women both. -I’ve sold books bound in morocco for six dollars to women who didn’t -earn that a week. I used to be so successful that when I came to -deliver the books, they’d pretend I’d used unfair means to get their -signatures. Yet it was all done by holding on and not taking offence, -and flattering and agreeing with people.” - -“I don’t think much of getting poor women to pay a week’s wages for a -book when they need every cent they can earn for food and clothes,” -said Sam, bluntly. - -“Oh, perhaps they earned more than six dollars. It don’t matter. -They’re bound to throw away about so much anyway.” - -“How old are you?” asked Sam. - -“I’ll be twenty-one next July.” - -“You’re only three years older than I am, but I couldn’t do that kind -of thing if I were fifty.” Sam did not say exactly what he meant, which -was that he couldn’t do that kind of thing under any circumstances. - -“I just mentioned it to show what hanging on will do. I don’t really -care anything about this Laurel Leaf office except as a help to -something else.” - -“What is that?” - -Mulcahy looked at his host doubtfully under the rising twists of smoke. -“You won’t speak of it to any one?” - -“Certainly not, if you don’t want me to.” - -“You know what the Yale Cup is?” he asked. - -“Never heard of it.” - -“The Yale Club of Boston gives a cup every year in three or four -big schools to the senior who ‘combines the greatest excellence in -athletics with good standing in his studies.’ That’s the way it reads -in the catalogue. It’s awarded at Commencement, with a whole batch of -other prizes. In June of our senior year I want that cup. The greatest -difficulty is about the athletics. I’m going to try hard for the -football team next fall, and I’ll do something with the pole vault this -year. With the ‘Seatonian’ and the presidency of the Laurel Leaf, and -good rank in studies, and the favor of several influential profs, which -I’m working for, I ought to have a good show.” - -“Do you apply for it?” asked simple Sam. - -“No, foolish! The faculty picks out the man.” - -Mulcahy threw the stub of his fourth cigarette into the fireplace and -lighted another. “That’s a prize worth having,” he went on, “for it -means that the winner is a superior, all-round man. I’m going in for -the Merrill compositions too, and perhaps for the speaking. They’re -cash prizes, you know; but as honors they aren’t in it with the Yale -Cup.” - -“Did Owen get it last year?” - -“No, he wasn’t a good enough scholar. He did well enough in athletics, -but he was only about a C man in his studies.” - -“That would be a perfectly bully thing to take home with you, wouldn’t -it?” broke forth Sam, in honest enthusiasm. “Your father and mother -would be tickled to death with the scholarship part of it, and the -honor of the athletics would make you feel like a prince. I’d rather -get a thing like that than have an auto of my own.” - -Mulcahy smiled complacently. “I really don’t care much about athletics. -I only go in for them because it’s at present the thing to do.” - -A light step was heard in the entry, followed immediately by a knock -at the door. Mulcahy put his cigarette on the edge of the table, and -shoved his chair away; Sam turned his half round. “Come in!” he cried. - -The door opened to admit Mr. Alsop. “Good evening,” he began, as both -students rose, and Mulcahy retreated still farther from the table. “I -came to inquire the result of your election.” - -“I was badly beaten,” said Mulcahy, with charming frankness. “They -wouldn’t have me. Underwood was the honored man.” - -“I’m glad to see that you take it so well,” said Mr. Alsop. “That’s the -spirit I like in school politics.” He stopped short, suddenly aware of -the thick atmosphere of smoke and the pungent, penetrating odor of -cigarettes. “Why, Archer!” he exclaimed, turning sternly on Sam, “you -told me the other day that you did not smoke at all!” - -Sam flushed to the roots of his hair; his look glanced from the -reproving countenance of the teacher to the calm face of Mulcahy. He -did not answer. - -“He doesn’t smoke much, I can assure you,” Mulcahy broke in quickly. -“I think he was tempted to try a cigarette to-night to comfort himself -over our defeat.” - -Mr. Alsop sniffed the air. “There’s more than one cigarette in the -atmosphere of this room.” - -Sam raised his eyes sullenly to the teacher’s, shot a swift, -significant glance at Mulcahy, and looked out across the table at the -red banner upon the wall. He said nothing, for there was nothing that -he could say. - -“There’s a great difference between not smoking at all and smoking a -little,” the teacher continued in a severe lecture tone. “As I have -explained, we do not forbid smoking, except to scholarship men; we try -to discourage it all we can, because we consider it harmful. You told -me that you did not smoke. I find you smoking. You have not been honest -with me.” - -Mr. Alsop paused to give Archer an opportunity to reply. Sam racked his -brain for some non-committal form of words, and found none. “Yes, sir,” -he said desperately. - -“He probably thought, sir, that he smoked so little that it was -practically none at all,” interposed Mulcahy. “I’ve never seen him -smoking before to-night.” - -“He should have said so, then,” declared Mr. Alsop, addressing Mulcahy. -“My question was a friendly one and should have been frankly answered.” -He faced the culprit again, who, with angry red cheeks and hostile, -defiant eyes, now looked squarely at him. “I want to be helpful to you, -Archer, but I can’t be that unless you trust me. If you had been honest -with me, I shouldn’t have said anything different to you then from what -I am saying now, but it would have been pleasanter for you to hear. Any -smoking at all is bad for a boy of your age. The habit will grow on -you, if once you get it, in spite of you. It will interfere with your -physical and mental growth, and unfit you to do your best in studies -or in athletics.” - -“Yes, sir,” said Sam, whose indignation over the unfair treatment -which he was enduring did not prevent his recognizing the truth of the -instructor’s words. - -“Good night!” - -With this abrupt salutation, Mr. Alsop went his way downstairs, wholly -satisfied with his own conduct, but confessing serious disappointment -with certain of the boys under his care. If only Archer were as -straightforward, and Fowle as orderly, as John Fish, the well would -be less a source of uneasiness to him and less damaging to his pride. -Archer evidently needed watching; and Fowle--well, Fowle would -certainly have to go before the end of another term. That boy’s -perpetual disregard of rules and apparent contempt for authority were -unendurable! - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -MR. ALSOP’s DIGNITY - - -“I’m awfully sorry!” began Mulcahy, vehemently, as soon as the door had -closed behind the departing form of Mr. Alsop. “I’m awfully sorry, but -I couldn’t help it. There wasn’t any other way out.” - -“I suppose not,” answered Archer, with sullen sarcasm. - -Mulcahy came round the table and put his hand on Archer’s shoulder. Sam -threw it off and edged away. - -“Just try to think of it from my side,” urged Mulcahy. “Here I was, -caught in the act. If Alsop had wanted to make a row about it, I might -have lost my scholarship. They’d all have been down on me, anyway, and -it would have been terribly hard to get them over to my side again; -while as for you--” He hesitated at this point, not sure how to put -his idea into unobjectionable form. - -“While as for me,” flamed Archer, “all I get is to have Alsop tell all -the rest that I’m a liar and going to the bad as fast as I can. That’s -nothing at all!” - -“You’re crazy!” answered Mulcahy, smiling compassionately at his -companion’s vehemence. “Nothing like that will happen. You’ve a right -to smoke if you want to. Alsop understands that. I smoothed out all the -difficulty about your telling him that you didn’t. You won’t hear from -it again. Alsop won’t think any differently of you from what he always -has.” - -“No different, but more so,” interjected Sam, bitterly. - -“While as for me, why, my whole life plans might be spoiled.” - -“_My_ life plans don’t make any difference, do they?” - -“You haven’t any. You don’t need to have any. A fellow in your -position, with all the bills paid for you, and everything provided for -years to come, doesn’t know what it is to have to struggle along with -your head just above water, always afraid a big wave will roll up and -swamp you.” - -“Why didn’t you think of that when you lighted the cigarettes?” -demanded Sam, roughly. “What business have you to smoke at all? You -know the rules.” - -“The rules are silly for a man of my age,” returned Mulcahy. “If I’d -known Alsop was going to butt in, of course I wouldn’t have done it.” - -“It’s done now, anyway,” sighed Archer, looking at his watch. “I don’t -know about you, but I’ve got to do some studying to-night. I can’t let -Alsop flunk me to-morrow, after this.” - -“I’m going,” said the visitor. He held out his hand with his best, most -flattering smile. “Good-by, Sammy. You showed yourself the right sort -of a friend to-night. I shan’t forget it.” - -“Nor I,” thought Sam, as he gave back a feeble pressure and muttered a -return good-night. - -When Mulcahy was gone, Sam sat down by the lamp with his books spread -out before him. For a long time, however, he let his eyes stray past -them to the shaded corner of the room, while with tight-pressed -lips and wrinkled brow he considered his experiences since he came -to Seaton, and pronounced himself a fool. He had not been a fool in -every respect, it was true; he hadn’t been fresh, or boastful about -himself, and he had not done things flagrantly wrong, but he saw -clearly that many of his judgments had been mistaken. Strangely enough, -the irritating incident of the evening did not so greatly depress him. -He felt a certain satisfaction in the superiority of his behavior as -compared with Mulcahy’s, which served to offset the uneasiness caused -by the teacher’s error. But he did wish that he hadn’t committed -himself so far to intimacy with Mulcahy, and he regretted that he had -invited him home for Sunday. - -In the distractions of the evening, Sam overlooked one part of the -French lesson for the next day. Mr. Alsop had given notice of a test -on vocabulary, a comparatively easy matter to prepare if he had only -remembered to study it. He was unpleasantly reminded of this omission -at the recitation next morning, when Mr. Alsop announced that all those -who failed to write correctly the English equivalents of twenty of -the twenty-five French words on the paper, must come to a “make-up” -on Saturday at five. Sam had forgotten to study his vocabulary. He -struggled over the list, and succeeded in getting but eighteen of the -twenty-five. On Saturday morning Mr. Alsop read his name among those -doomed to the five-o’clock make-up. - -To be present at five o’clock on Saturday meant a late train home and -the evening spoiled. Sam had secured out-of-town permission from the -office, and had arranged to escort his mother to a meeting of his old -school athletic association in the evening. It seemed hard--unjust--to -be cut off from this prearranged visit, in order to take an exercise -which involved hardly five minutes and could be as well taken at some -other time. So the boy, having fretted and reviled for an hour, called -at Mr. Alsop’s room, and after explaining that the make-up would -prevent his going home, offered to take it in the instructor’s room -immediately after his return. - -“I don’t see why you should have a privilege which the others have not; -and I don’t see why I should sacrifice my time to save a student from -the results of his own neglect,” said Mr. Alsop, tartly. Like many -a serious but narrow-minded pedagogue, he was taking the wholesale -failure of the class as a personal affront. He felt his dignity struck -at almost as if the boys had deliberately refused to learn. To Sam -Archer, moreover, he owed no favor. - -“It’s a slight matter,” pleaded Sam, foolishly, “and it’s going to keep -me from going home. I got permission from the office three days ago.” - -“It is _not_ a slight matter,” declared Mr. Alsop, sharply. “I beg to -differ with you. Neglect of work is never a slight matter. Permissions -from the office are always provisional. You will come with the rest. I -have no extra time to give you.” - -Sam withdrew, crestfallen and indignant. He understood that he was -paying the penalty for the misunderstanding of the evening before, -and also for the morning’s shock to the teacher’s self-esteem. The -unfairness of it rankled deep. The loss of thirty-six hours at home, -the breaking of the engagement with his mother, the abandonment of -his plan of reunion with his old mates--all counted as nothing in -the balance when weighed against Mr. Alsop’s five minutes and ruffled -dignity. The worst of it was the fact that there was no appeal. The -principal was away on leave of absence for six months. Every teacher -was autocrat in his own courses. To resist would be to collide with the -whole machinery of government of an institution which prided itself on -expelling annually more boys than any other school in the land. Between -enduring in silence, and resorting to entreaties and flattery,--the -only alternatives,--Sam did not hesitate a moment. The one he could -bear, the other he would not stoop to. - -On the way down to the telegraph office, where he sent a brief message -to his mother, announcing that he could not get away, Sam drew an angry -comparison between Mr. Alsop’s methods and those of certain other -instructors: Dr. Leighton in Greek had discovered his pupil’s weakness -on the verb and offered to give special help at any time the boy chose -to call at his room; Mr. Howe in mathematics, finding him well advanced -in geometry and algebra, had voluntarily suggested that he slight those -subjects and apply the time thus gained where it was more needed; -Professor Towle in English roughed him in the class when he got things -wrong, but Towle had a heart of gold and was square as a brick. On the -way back he dwelt on Mulcahy’s treacherous selfishness of the evening -before, which had set Mr. Alsop against him and had made him forget -that wretched vocabulary. “There’s one consolation,” he muttered to -himself. “I shan’t have to take him home with me now.” - -But Mulcahy had no wish to be cheated of his visit to the Archers. -“I’ll fix that up,” he promised eagerly, when Sam informed him of the -change of plan. “Let me go and see Alsop. I’ll tell him a yarn that’ll -bring him round in five minutes.” - -“What yarn?” - -“Oh, I don’t know; any old thing that’ll go--something about a family -party, or your mother’s being sick and sending for you and your being -so overcome by losing his respect that you didn’t dare explain. It’ll -be dead easy.” - -“Easy or not, you won’t do it!” replied Archer, savagely. “I won’t have -any one sucking round Alsop for me. You’ve told him lies enough, as it -is.” - -“Don’t be a fool!” said Mulcahy, sharply. “Don’t you want to go?” - -“No, I don’t. I did, but I don’t want to any more.” - -Mulcahy, disappointed here, had other forms of amusement. That -afternoon Sam dropped in at the Sedgwicks’ to call, and allowed himself -to be persuaded to stay to dinner, at which meal he proved to his -own satisfaction that the disasters of the day had not affected his -appetite. Afterward he lingered in the society of Mrs. Sedgwick and -Miss Margaret as long as it seemed decent, and departed for his room -reasonably comforted in mind. As he crossed the street, in the rear of -the Academy buildings, two familiar figures appeared opposite him under -a gaslight and got away quickly into the darkness. They were John Fish -and Mulcahy, each with an overcoat on his arm. - -The next day John Fish was at church, wedged into the corner of a pew. -He slept during most of the service. Mulcahy stayed in his room; his -report next day informed the authorities that he had been suffering -from an attack of indigestion. Fish took a long nap in the afternoon. -He told Mr. Alsop, as they walked to dinner together, that he liked -to pass Sunday quietly. Mulcahy was well enough to be present at the -Christian Fraternity in the evening. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE CHALLENGE - - -The Christmas vacation brought Sam a chance to consider his school -experiences away from the school atmosphere. He did this in part -deliberately, in part by an unconscious process of comparison of school -standards with home standards, the hard facts of student life with -the fine and high ideals of his father and mother. Certain phases of -schoolboy morality he talked over with Mr. Archer, who, pleased to -receive the confidence of his son, met frankness with frankness and -cleared Sam’s mind of many a harassing doubt. The quiet trust of his -parents braced the boy strongly against the influence of evil. - -Sam went back to school resolved that if he could not have the intimacy -of the best he would at least not associate with the worst; if he could -not be popular with those whom he respected, he would not seek the -favor of those whom he could not respect. He was convinced that he -was not marked for great distinction in his school career. He might, -by keeping eternally at it, in course of time make a fair showing as a -hurdler; he could always get good marks in mathematics and history; he -could maintain friendly relations with a good many fellows. More than -this, however, was not to be hoped for. He could not, if he would, go -on a still-hunt for honors after the calculating fashion with which -Mulcahy was scheming to gain possession of the Yale Cup. He was not -made that way. - -The work of the winter was for Sam uneventful and plodding. He toiled -with sullen aversion on his French, with devotion on his Greek, with -calm satisfaction on his mathematics and history, with resignation on -his other subjects. In the gymnasium he practised pole-vaulting; and on -the wooden track outside, with Collins’s assistance, he struggled with -dashes and starts and hurdles, and met discouragement with a laugh. He -managed also to find free intervals for a little reading. On the whole -the laborious life proved not unpleasant, and time slipped rapidly -away. - -Besides himself, Jones and Mulcahy were the chief exponents of the -art of pole-vaulting. Jones was the star of the school, brilliant and -unapproachable. He could do ten feet whenever he wanted to, and was -deemed capable of very much better performances. Mulcahy started with -nine feet, and Sam with eight feet six. After a month’s work, Mulcahy -had climbed to nine three and Sam to nine feet. They practised at -different times, but each listened greedily to reports of the other’s -progress, and while openly depreciating his own powers, hoped from day -to day to discover the precious knack of combining spring and throw, -which would put him well ahead of his rival. Mulcahy was handicapped by -his weight, Sam by his length and slowness. - -The intimacy between the two was lapsing. The process was slow, -because Sam was too good-natured to quarrel openly and Mulcahy too -thick-skinned to be sensitive to ordinary chilliness of treatment. Sam -put himself to some inconvenience to be absent from his room when he -thought Mulcahy might call; he likewise cultivated a friendship with -Kendrick, whom Mulcahy disliked. In time Mulcahy awoke to the fact -that Archer’s neglect was intentional, and accepted the rebuff as he -would have accepted the final refusal of an expected purchaser to -take a book. While there was no open break between them, Sam shrewdly -suspected that to reject Mulcahy as a friend was to invite him as an -enemy. - -“Where’s your friend Mulcahy these days?” Peck asked, one evening early -in February. “You don’t seem to be so thick with him as you were a -while ago.” - -“No,” answered Sam, indifferently. “I don’t seem to be.” - -“What’s the matter?” pursued Peck. “Been scrapping?” - -“No. We just don’t see as much of each other as we used to.” - -Duncan fidgeted about a little, and then blurted out, “Of course it’s -none of my business,--except as I’ve a little claim in the room and -have some interest in knowing whom I’m likely to find here,--but I’d -really like to be told whether you’re just taking a vacation from him -or have got through with him for good.” - -“Well, I guess I’m through with him for good,” confessed Sam. - -Duncan’s face broke into a smile. “Glad to hear it! Only you ought to -have done it long ago. When you ran up against him in the pole-vault, -you probably began to see what sort of a fellow he is.” - -“I haven’t run up against him in the pole-vault,” replied Sam. “We -don’t practise together. It was something that happened last term that -opened my eyes.” - -“Oh, it was!” said Peck, in a tone between a question and an -exclamation. He waited a little to see whether Archer was going to -explain, but as Sam volunteered no information, he continued: “It’s -about time for me to begin to work, if I’m going to pass off those -exams in June. I couldn’t study here with that fellow hanging round.” - -“I’m sorry if I drove you out,” said Sam, rather stiffly. - -“Oh, that’s all right. I didn’t have to go unless I wanted to, and you -had just as good a right to have your friends round as I did to have -mine. I couldn’t really expect you to take up all my prejudices.” - -“There was prejudice all round, I’m afraid,” responded Sam. “I had my -share. I thought you were down on Mulcahy just because he was a poor -fellow who was pushing his way up, and it made me so mad I couldn’t see -anything wrong with him. It wasn’t till after he’d played me a dirty -trick with Alsop that my eyes began to open. Then I thought it all over -during vacation, and made up my mind that he wasn’t a safe person to -fool with.” - -“I didn’t hear anything about any trouble with Alsop,” said Duncan, -with evident curiosity. - -Sam saw that he was committed, and told his tale. Peck listened with -deep interest and frequent exclamations. “I don’t think I should have -taken that as sweetly as you did,” he said at length. “No fellow has a -right to put you in that position. Why didn’t you say: ‘Mr. Alsop, I -told you the truth. I don’t smoke,’ and let Mulcahy get out of it as -well as he could?” - -“I didn’t like to do that,” replied Sam. “It didn’t seem honorable.” - -“I don’t know but you’re right,” said Duncan, thoughtfully. “You -couldn’t play the mucker because he did. It wouldn’t have done any -good, either. He’d have lied you right down.” - -“Perhaps so. I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make it -worse.” - -Duncan nodded agreement. “I suppose it would. You’ve got a lot more -sense than I thought you had.” - -Sam smiled grimly at the dubious compliment. - -“Look here,” went on Duncan, taking up a brown-covered book from the -table. “You’re a shark in geometry, aren’t you?” - -“I got B plus for a term mark,” said Sam, complacently. - -“Well, I wish you’d explain this formula. I can understand equation 3, -but how you get 5 from it, as the book says, is beyond me.” - -It wasn’t a difficult thing to explain, nor was Duncan as stupid about -geometry as he thought himself. Sam turned the clean white pages of the -book. - -“New?” - -“Yes!” ejaculated Duncan, with indignant emphasis, “the third I’ve -had this year. It’s a scandal the way books disappear in this school. -You might as well throw ’em away as leave ’em out on the hall racks. -The last one I had, I put my initials in at the bottom of the next to -the last page. If you ever see a book with ‘D. P.’ in it, confiscate -it--it’s mine.” - - * * * * * - -Duncan stopped that afternoon for a few minutes at the room of Fuzzy -Woods in Odlin House. - -“How’s Shirley?” he asked in the course of gossip. “Done anything queer -lately?” - -“I guess not,” drawled Woods. “He’s got two or three duels on.” - -Duncan giggled. “What for?--insults?” - -“Yes,” returned Woods. “It’s always for insults.” - -“Will they fight?” - -“Naw, the duels never come off--at least none has so far. They think -it’s a great joke till he gets fierce as a pirate and asks ’em which -they’ll take, swords or pistols. Then most of ’em try to sneak out of -it. He told Lauter he’d shoot him anyway, and scared the life out of -him.” - -“Has he challenged you?” - -“Naw, I let him alone.” - -“What’s the matter with the fellow?” - -“He was in school a long time in France and Switzerland; he got a lot -of crazy ideas there about honor and insults and settling things by -duels.” - -“Can he really fence?” questioned Duncan. - -“How should I know!” answered Fuzzy, indifferently. - -Just then some one knocked and was yelled at to come in. It proved -to be Shirley himself, a slender, well-groomed boy with an English -accent, who had come to borrow a translation. On Woods’s invitation he -stayed. Duncan fell to asking him questions about foreign schools and -schoolboys. The two got on finely until Duncan wanted to know what kind -of athletics they had in these foreign places, and Shirley confessed -that there were no regular sports. - -“What do they do for exercise?” - -“Oh, they walk and fence and play tennis a little.” - -“No track athletics, or football, or baseball, or rowing?” - -“No. Football wouldn’t be allowed.” - -“Why not?” - -“It isn’t a gentleman’s game.” - -Duncan sniffed. “It isn’t a lady’s game. Don’t they even have cricket?” - -“No, they don’t know any more about cricket than they do about -baseball.” - -“I suppose they all go to walk two and two, like the girls in a -convent. They must be a choice lot of little mollycoddles!” - -“I shouldn’t advise you to call one of them by that name!” declared -Shirley, warming up. - -“Why not?” - -“You’d have a duel on your hands.” - -“Rats!” said Duncan, contemptuously. “No one but a barbarian fights -duels these days.” - -“That shows how little you know about it,” said Shirley, stiffly. - -“Would you fight a duel?” demanded Peck. - -“Certainly, if honor demanded it.” - -“Then you’d be a barbarian. Don’t you think so, Fuzzy?” - -“I don’t think anything about it,” answered Woods, who had been vainly -trying to catch Duncan’s eye and warn him that he was entering -dangerous ground. - -“Half barbarian and half fool,” continued Peck. - -Shirley rose and stood erect, gazing straight at the visitor, with -indignant eyes and reddening cheeks. - -“I am not used to being called a fool!” he said solemnly. - -“Who called you a fool?” asked Duncan, coolly. “I didn’t.” - -“You said a man who would fight a duel was a fool and a barbarian,” -repeated Shirley. - -“Half a fool and half a barbarian,” corrected Peck. - -“But I said that I would fight a duel.” - -“Then you must be it,” asserted Duncan, with nonchalance, stretching -himself out in his chair and putting his hands in his pockets. - -“Those are insulting words to apply to a gentleman. You will take them -back!” cried Shirley, hotly. - -“I didn’t apply them--just made a general statement. You took ’em -yourself. Perhaps you felt they fitted.” - -“That’s quite enough!” said Shirley, slowly, taking a step forward. -“It’s evident that you mean to insult me. We will settle the point of -honor in a gentleman’s way. Name your weapons and the place of meeting. -Shall it be swords or pistols? The choice is yours.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -AN AFFAIR OF HONOR - - -“Swords or pistols!” echoed Duncan, sufficiently aroused to sit up in -his chair. “What have swords and pistols to do with it?” - -“They are the recognized weapons for settling affairs of honor. Perhaps -you were ignorant of the fact.” Shirley spoke with scornful dignity. - -“This isn’t an affair of honor, it’s a mere difference of opinion,” -protested Duncan. “You wouldn’t fight over that, I hope.” - -“I’d fight over insults!” - -Duncan laughed aloud, reckless of the fact that his laugh added to the -affront. - -“What good does fighting do? If you should wound me with a sword, it -wouldn’t make the truth of what I said any less true, and if I should -put a bullet into you, it wouldn’t drive out the insult. I say that -the man who fights duels is a barbarian. If I fight, I make myself a -barbarian.” - -“Swords or pistols!” insisted Shirley, with a dogged indifference to -logic. - -“Neither,” answered Peck. - -“Then you are not a gentleman, and are a coward. You have my contempt.” - -“Hold on there!” exclaimed Peck, dropping his smile and his air of -pleasantry. “Who’s calling names now?” - -“They are names usually applied to a man who insults you and won’t give -you satisfaction.” - -“If you think I owe you satisfaction for our difference of opinion, you -must owe me something for calling me a contemptible coward,” announced -Duncan, in serious tones. “I’ll propose--” he hesitated, and approached -a step nearer Shirley; “I’ll propose bowie-knives!” - -Shirley recoiled. “I am not used to bowie-knives.” - -“Nor I to swords and pistols,” said Duncan. - -The fairness of this answer appealed to the man of honor. “Then we must -find some other way,” he said. “Insults can only be wiped out with -blood. We’ll play chess, and the one who’s beaten will commit suicide.” - -At this proposition Duncan stared hard. For a moment he harbored the -suspicion that Shirley was chaffing him, not he Shirley. But the boy’s -solemn face and tragic manner immediately dispelled this illusion. - -“I don’t play chess,” Duncan answered with plausible earnestness. -“Let’s make it golf, and leave to the one who’s defeated the option of -committing suicide or not. We can consider him dead anyway.” - -“I don’t play golf.” - -At this point Woods, seeing a chance to bring the deadly affair to a -bloodless conclusion, interrupted with a shrewd proposal. - -“Why not run it off? Both of you can run. Make the course a certain -number of times round the wooden track, and let the fellow that’s -beaten set up fudges and stuff for the principals and seconds. I call -that a very honorable arrangement.” - -“It isn’t quite regular,” remarked Shirley, doubtfully. “Properly there -ought to be some blood shed.” - -“If I’m beaten, I’ll apologize,” said Duncan. “How does that strike -you? I suppose on a pinch I might produce a little blood. I don’t want -to neglect any formalities.” - -“I think I can accept without that,” said Shirley, with magnanimity. - -“The one that’s beaten sets up for the crowd; don’t forget that!” Woods -interposed. “Whose second am I going to be?” - -“You can have him and I’ll get some one else, or I’ll take him and you -can have some one else.” Duncan was truly generous. - -“I’ll take him,” said Shirley. - -“Then, sir, I will send my second to wait upon yours and arrange for -the details of the combat. I have the honor, sir, to wish you good -afternoon. We shall meet again!” This grand peroration safely and -pompously delivered, Duncan stalked solemnly away. - -So much time had been consumed in this highly interesting interview -with Shirley that Duncan postponed until after recitation the pleasure -of retailing the whole story to Bruce, and giving him the chance to -act as second. On the way home he remembered that Bruce was to be in -Boston the following day, but this did not dampen his spirits. Seconds -for such an occasion could be obtained by the squad. He flew upstairs -to his room chuckling and stumbling, nodded absently to Archer, who was -moping over a Greek lesson, and took up an algebra with the intention -of utilizing the fifteen minutes remaining to gain some idea of the -methods of the review chapter which was the lesson for the four-o’clock -flunkers’ class. Through the carelessness of inattention he ran on a -snag in the first explanation, and had to call on his room-mate to help -him off. Then he worked out two problems near the beginning and one -near the end of the exercise, threw the book on the table, looked at -his watch, rose, stretched, and burst into a hearty laugh. - -“I never saw anything so funny as that in the algebra,” remarked Sam, -observing his merry room-mate over his reading glasses. - -“It isn’t in the algebra, it isn’t in any book,” cried Duncan, -gleefully. “Nothing like it ever happens in a book. I’m engaged in an -affair of honor; I’m going to fight a duel!” - -“A duel!” exclaimed Sam, aghast. “With whom?” - -“Oh, a fellow you don’t know, in Odlin House.” - -“When?” - -“To-morrow, on the running track behind the gym. Will you be my second?” - -The invitation was due to a momentary impulse of friendliness. Archer -was a track expert and a decent fellow; why not let him in? - -Duncan stood with hands in trousers pockets, smiling roguishly and -watching the expression on Archer’s face. Appalled by the grim picture -called up by the word “duel,” and puzzled to reconcile this conception -with Peck’s evident gayety, Sam knew not whether to accept or refuse. -Then there recurred to his mind the serious incident of the last term, -when Kendrick had sprung instantly to his help, and he answered in -Kendrick’s own words, “Sure I will!” - -“That’s right,” said Peck. “There’ll be no end of sport. You see--oh, -hang that bell!--I’ll tell you all about it after class.” - -At half-past two the next afternoon, when the outskirts of the -gymnasium were clear of idlers, the duel was fought. It was agreed -that Archer should be starter and Woods judge at the finish; the course -was three times round the track. Shirley took the lead at the start, -running in quick, short steps, with Peck pounding away in eager strides -behind him. Shirley tripped past the judge on the first lap, ten yards -ahead of his pursuer, and went pattering around the curve and up the -back stretch as if his legs were driven by a gasoline engine. At the -lower end, however, his pace began to tell upon him; the pat-pat of the -striking soles became slower, the steps shorter. Duncan perceived that -the time for his spurt had come, but he was twelve yards behind when he -crossed the line the second time. - -The third lap proved fierce beyond all expectation. Shirley, game to -the last, clenched his fists and lashed himself on. Duncan, stung by -the fear of an ignominious end to his adventure, plying his legs to -the limit of his strength, with dry mouth and dizzy head panted after -his rival. He gained but slowly. On the back stretch he was still five -yards behind. As they came down toward the finish line, two wobbly, -tottering figures with set eyes and strained, twisted features, one -close to the shoulder of the other, Sam, seized with the fear that -both would drop before the finish, reached forward eagerly to catch -Duncan as he touched the line. Duncan, keeping his feet to the end, -plunged helplessly into Sam’s arms. At the same time Woods received -the quivering, gasping Shirley, who lay upon him for a few seconds, an -inert dead weight. Presently Shirley opened his eyes and looked up. -“Who--won?” he breathed rather than spoke. - -“I’m blest if I know!” answered Woods. “I forgot to see. Who got it, -Archer?” - -“I didn’t notice,” said Sam. “It wasn’t my business to judge the -finish. I was getting ready to catch this fellow.” - -“They were right together anyway. We’ll have to call it a tie,” decided -the judge. - -“That means we don’t get anything,” observed Archer. - -“We’ll run it--over again--” panted Shirley, over his shoulder, as -Woods led him away to the gymnasium. - -“No, we won’t!” whispered Duncan in a broken undertone into his -second’s ear. “I’d rather take my chances with swords or pistols. Catch -me running any more races without training. I’ll bet we made a new -record.” - -It developed in the course of the afternoon that there had been unseen -witnesses of the spectacle, and these witnesses not only spread highly -colored versions of what they had seen, but also asked rude, saucy -questions of the actors. The fellows in Odlin House cleverly pried -certain admissions out of Shirley, guessed at what they did not know, -and put in circulation a tale which was received with greedy ears and -grinning faces. Duncan bounced into 7 Hale in the middle of the evening -and planted himself, an outraged victim of treachery, before Archer’s -chair. - -“What did you want to go and blab all this thing for?” he began, -glowering fiercely at his room-mate’s startled face. - -“I didn’t,” replied Sam, quickly. “I haven’t said a word about it.” - -“It’s all over school. Some one’s been giving it away. They say it was -you.” - -Sam tossed his book upon the table with a spiteful jerk. “They lie, -then. I haven’t even told who won the race. I’ve referred every single -fellow to you.” - -Duncan’s wrath gave way to gloom. “Some one’s done it, anyway. They’re -all joshing me about it.” - -“I can’t help that,” said Sam. “What do you care? Laugh it off.” - -“I’ve been laughing it off. I’ve laughed till my face aches, but that -doesn’t make me any happier. Do you know, I could have sworn I was -ahead of that fellow at the finish. Why didn’t you keep your eyes open?” - -“I was thinking of you, not of the race. You looked as if you were all -in, ten feet before you got to me. I expected to see you drop.” - -Sam waited for Peck to reply, but Peck offered no comment. - -“As a matter of fact,” continued Sam, frankly, “the last time I _did_ -notice your positions, Shirley was a good yard ahead.” - -“I’m dead sure I beat him at the finish,” said Duncan, obstinately. “I -wish I’d had Bruce there!” - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -SAM’S FIRST RACE - - -One result of the Shirley-Peck duel was to check the developing -friendship of the inmates of 7 Hale. Duncan felt that Archer ought to -have been on the watch when he passed Shirley at the finish--he took -most indignantly the suggestion that Shirley was really ahead after -all. Sam, having performed his part to the best of his ability, was -disgusted with the childish obstinacy with which Duncan cherished his -sense of injury. Coldness again marked the relations of the room-mates. - -Another consequence of the bloody fray was the appearance of Shirley -among the track men. Bruce got him out--no one could long resist -the spell of Bruce’s winning manner--and Collins appointed him his -proper task. They tried him at first on the longer stretches, but six -hundred yards and even three hundred were soon found to be distances -for which Shirley’s quick stride was not adapted. Then Collins set -him to sprinting, and rubbed his hands with delight over the result. -“Frenchie” took to starting and sprinting as a hound to a rabbit trail. -In a week his starts were instantaneous, and his legs twinkled along -the forty yards like the feet of a running mouse. Duncan was out too -for the three hundred, and doing well, his friends said, though with -old Chouder in the event, second place was the best he could hope for. - -Mulcahy’s attitude toward Sam was changing. There had been no -outward break in their relations, but Mulcahy had become distant in -his greeting, and only showed his old cordiality when he had some -special object to attain. He was busy now with what Duncan called “a -new graft”--getting members for the Harvard Club, of which he was -secretary and treasurer. Every boy who was preparing for Harvard was -pressed to join in order to prove his loyalty. Every new member paid -one dollar for a printed shingle signed by the secretary. The club had -no meetings, except to elect officers and to be photographed. It had -no expenses except the price of the shingle plate with fifty cheap -prints, and the cost of inserting a group photograph in the school -Annual. - -“Easy money!” said Duncan in disgust, when Sam reported that he had -joined. “He’s got my dollar too.” - -“You don’t think he keeps the money, do you?” asked Sam, surprised at -the implied charge. - -“You don’t think he gives it back, do you?” retorted Duncan. - -“No, but there must be miscellaneous expenses.” - -“You can call it that if you want to. The account stands something -like this: twenty-five shingles sold to new members at a dollar each, -twenty-five dollars; twenty-five shingles bought at a dime each, -two-fifty; picture in the Annual, five; miscellaneous, seventeen-fifty; -balance in treasury at the beginning of next year, nothing. Conundrum: -who got the seventeen-fifty? Your friend Mulcahy is a slick one!” - -“He isn’t my friend!” declared Sam, stoutly. - -“He is if he can get anything out of you; if he can’t, he’s your -enemy.” - -Vexed at the slur at his simplicity implied in Duncan’s words, yet -half inclined to acknowledge that the senior was right, Sam took his -geometry and departed for the Academy. It lacked still fifteen minutes -to the time for recitation, but he hoped to find among the few steadies -who often came early either Phipps or Entstein, the sharks of the -section, and get an idea from one of them as to the last original in -the lesson. He had solved four out of the five. - -No sooner was he seated at a desk than Mulcahy came in, glanced round -the room, made quick estimate of the possibilities offered, and slipped -into a seat beside Archer. - -“Hello, Archer!” he exclaimed, his voice ringing with cordiality. “I -haven’t seen you for a week. How’s the pole-vault going?” - -“Not very well,” responded Sam, coldly. - -“If you’re doing no better than I am, you’re rotten!” went on Mulcahy, -amiably. “I can’t make nine feet any more--seem to have lost the knack. -I hear you did nine four the other day.” - -“Nine three,” corrected Sam. - -“I can’t touch that. I see where I come out at the bottom in the -Shield Meet. How many originals did you get to-day?” - -“Four.” - -“You’re a shark! What kind of figure did you have for 213?” - -Sam opened his papers and showed a neatly drawn diagram with his proof -carefully indicated beneath. Mulcahy studied it silently for two full -minutes. “That’s the way I did it,” he said. “I wasn’t sure it was -right. Did you get 214?” - -Sam handed over another sheet, to which his companion gave as close a -scrutiny as to the first. “I don’t understand that,” he said, pointing -to a statement. “How do you get that?” - -“That’s easy,” replied Sam, proud of his achievement. “I’ll show you.” -He looked about for a loose sheet of paper. - -“Use this,” offered Mulcahy, turning to the blank page at the end of -his book. “I can rub it out afterward.” - -Sam took the geometry and quickly jotted down on the fly leaf the -omitted intermediate steps. “I see that,” said Mulcahy, and devoted -himself once more to the study of Sam’s diagrams. Sam turned back the -leaves of the geometry. On the margin of the page next to the last he -found the two letters D. P. - -This discovery effectually occupied Sam’s mind during the few minutes -that remained before the recitation bell sounded. His papers went -unnoticed through Mulcahy’s hands. While the bell was ringing, Mulcahy -asked a last question, and Sam leaned absently toward him to follow the -questioner’s finger upon the page. At this moment, while their heads -were close together, some one called sharply from the door at their -side, “Archer!” - -Sam turned and beheld Duncan Peck grinning at him in the doorway. - -“What did I tell you!” Peck threw at him in a jeering undertone, and -disappeared behind the entering class. - -“There’s one thing I could tell _you_,” thought Sam, grimly, as he -faced front again, “but I won’t. You can find your missing books -yourself!” - -When the instructor asked how many had succeeded in proving the whole -five originals, Phipps alone put up his hand. Three, including Archer -and Mulcahy, averred that they could do four. Others professed three -and two and one, and some none at all. Mulcahy was sent to the board -and returned in triumph, sure of a good mark for the recitation. He had -made excellent use of Archer’s solution. Sam was not called on. - - * * * * * - -To the blasé attendant from the town, the Faculty Shield Meet of that -year would have seemed little different from a dozen other events of -the kind which he had witnessed. Collins and Bruce, testing it by -a standard of their own, called it satisfactory. The old boys who -came back from the colleges in fine attire to act as judges spoke of -it with patronizing interest as a success. For two contestants, at -least, it was the most important event that the school year had as -yet developed. Shirley, the duellist, won his trial heat in the forty -yards, though some derisive remarks were made about him as he crouched -on the starting line. These remarks ceased when he took his second -heat, an easy yard ahead of his nearest rival. In the third heat he was -again the leader. In the final he was matched against Gay, the best -hundred-yards man in school. - -Sam and Taylor stood together near the finish line. - -“I wish Shirley would beat that Gay, even if Gay does belong to my -class,” remarked Taylor, maliciously. “Since he won the hundred last -year at Hillbury, he wears a hat four sizes bigger. I don’t suppose -there’s any chance for Frenchie.” - -“Lots of chance,” returned Archer, wisely. “Shirley strikes his stride -in the very first yard. He may get put back, of course.” - -There was a false start, but it was Gay who went back a foot; another, -and Fairmount joined him. All four hung on the next set, and the pistol -cracked. While the others were still rising, Shirley was shooting -forward with his feet well under him. He was a yard ahead at the end of -ten yards; at the forty no one was within five feet of him. - -“Bully for Frenchie!” cried Taylor. “That’ll take down the swelling on -Gay’s head an inch or two. What’s the time? Four and three-fifths? Why, -that’s the record!” And Taylor ran off to have a hand in the boisterous -congratulations which the lower middlers were lavishing on their -unexpected champion. - -Sam was on his way to the starting line for the forty-five-yard -hurdles. He had no chance against Fairmount, he knew well, but -Fairmount was not in his heat, and he hoped to survive the first trial -at any rate. If he could only get his long legs to swinging faster! -He crouched for his start, a little white around the lips, but cool, -waited while Somers was put back, and got off reasonably well. Somers -was ahead of him at the second hurdle, but he caught him on the third, -and breasted the tape a foot ahead. In the finals, Fairmount was -outside him and Edmands and Foote inside. This time he was slower. All -three got off before him, but Foote stumbled at the first hurdle and -fell behind. Edmands he overtook as he passed the second. Together they -ran for the third, but Archer cleared with less waste of time, and was -close behind Fairmount at the finish. It was not victory, but he was -fully satisfied with second place. - -After that Sam had nothing to do but sit content in his warm bathrobe -and watch the other races. Bruce, of course, took the six hundred -yards, and Weatherford the thousand, both veterans who surprised no -one. Then old Chouder’s race, the three hundred, was called. Duncan -was in the pack that chased at Chouder’s heels, gradually scattering -behind as the pace told. Duncan was not the last by any means, nor -quick-stepping Shirley, who held the pole behind the leader, and after -gaining fifteen yards on the first round, kept himself in the van -during the second. Both Peck and Richmond spurted to pass him on the -final stretch, but neither could quite reach him. Shirley fell across -the line two feet behind Chouder, with Peck a yard farther back. - -“I wonder what he’ll say now!” thought Sam, gleefully. “He can’t -pretend he beat Frenchie this time!” - -But alas! Sam’s complacency was soon to receive a shock. In the -indoor pole-vault, which Jones won at ten feet four amid great -applause, Archer did his expected nine feet three. Mulcahy, however, -who had pretended two days before that he could no longer reach -nine feet, vaulted nine six with ease! And when Sam taxed him -with the inconsistency of his words and his performance, he smiled -contemptuously, and “guessed he had got back his form!” - -That night Sam waited a sleepy hour beyond his bedtime to catch Peck, -who spent the evening out. - -“What about Shirley now?” he demanded, as soon as the door was closed -behind the truant. - -“He can run,” answered Duncan, coolly. - -“He licked you to-day, right and good, didn’t he?” - -“Yes, he did,” conceded Duncan. - -“What about the day of the duel,” pursued Sam. “Didn’t he beat you -then, too?” - -“Perhaps he did and perhaps he didn’t. Who can tell?” - -“I wasn’t so far out, anyway,” growled Sam. And Duncan thought so too, -but not being wholly ready to acknowledge the error, he deferred his -admission to a later time. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -HE TRIES AGAIN - - -On the Saturday after the Faculty Shield day, Sam ran in the -forty-five-yard hurdles again, in the handicap meet which regularly -follows the scratch contests. The handicapper thought one yard about -the right allowance for the long-legged upper middler; Somers got two -and Foote three. Fairmount ran from scratch. It was a hot race, with -every contestant hoping to cross the line first, the man in front -driving himself that his advantage might not be wrested from him, -the pursuers confident of superiority and struggling to secure the -positions which belonged to them. Sam felt the presence of Somers and -Foote ahead pulling him forward as the magnet attracts steel; his legs -followed each other faster than they had ever gone before; the three -hurdles were but three exhilarating bounds in his course. Forgetting -Fairmount, who was behind, he ran down Somers, pressed on after Foote, -and passed him by a convulsive straining effort at the finish. Never -before had he felt what it was to _fight_ his way in a race; to mark -his adversary and beat him, as one throws his opponent in a wrestling -bout, or as the tackier downs his man, surely and hard, on the football -field. In his struggle to pass Foote he had kept ahead of Fairmount, -who finished two feet behind him. - -Collins was pleased, as much with the new spirit of the hurdler as with -his success in the event. “He’s slow,” he remarked to Bruce, “but he’ll -come in time.” - -“This year?” questioned Bruce, closely. It was “this year,” the year of -his captaincy, that interested Bruce. - -“I can’t say,” answered Collins, thoughtfully. “It may take a long -while. He’s a good, steady boy; he’ll come all right sometime.” - -Duncan Peck, too, seemed to be influenced by Sam’s modest success in -the handicap meeting. He confessed one day in a burst of confidence, -after Sam had led him through the maze of a foolish algebra problem -about two men who rowed past each other up and down stream--each, -apparently, with a stop watch and a log line--that his duel joke -with Shirley had proved a boomerang. In return Sam told him of the -initials--D. P.--in the back of Mulcahy’s book. - -“It’s mine all right,” remarked Duncan, “but I’ve got another now, and -it isn’t worth while to make a row about it. I can’t prove anything -against him. He’d say he bought it at Moran’s or of one of those -fellows who were fired last week. It shows you what he is, though.” - -“I know what he is,” said Sam, blushing. “I don’t need any more -lessons.” - -Another person with whom Sam hoped that he might gain some influence by -the prestige of his improvement in the hurdles was his second cousin, -Wally Sedgwick. Wally was a lower middler, active-minded and ambitious. -Athletics would have given a natural scope to his energy, but he was -too small and immature to have any chance in Seaton sports. He had -fallen in with a set of idle boys of not the highest standards, who -appealed to Wally’s imagination as gay young bloods; they knew things -and were up to date. None of these was in the class of John Fish, a -reprobate, and callous to the opinion of his associates; nor in that of -Mulcahy, whose ambition led him to conceal his wrong-doing, but could -not prevent his determined selfishness from pushing to the surface. -The wickedness of Wally’s friends lay mainly in talk and swagger, but -they had already suggested to him that the code of morals taught in his -home was goody-goody, and that the proper way to show his spirit was -to do “what everybody did.” Wally was popular with many of the older -boys because he was the brother of Margaret Sedgwick. They bestowed -attentions on him in the hope of “making themselves solid” with Miss -Margaret, caring little whether these attentions were good for the boy -or not. - -The track team were going to Boston to compete in the schoolboy games -of the Boston Athletic Association. For the first time in his school -career Sam was to be a member of a Seaton team in contest with other -schools. He was to wear the significant red letters on his shirt, was -to see his name on the big official programme as a representative -of Seaton, was to be trusted to do a part in gaining public honors -for the school. He thought of it by day, dreamed of it by night, and -longed, as only an inexperienced tyro can long, to do credit to those -who trusted him. Mr. Archer, who sympathized with his son in all -innocent interests, that he might wield the stronger influence when -great questions of conduct came up for settlement, ordered a ticket and -promised to be present at the contests. Sam wrote the usual disclaimer -of any expectation of getting a place, but his secret hopes ran high. -Why shouldn’t Fairmount win first and he second, as they had done at -Seaton? - -Then came the trip in pleasant but orderly company, the lunch in town, -the dressing in confused, cramped quarters, the facing of tier on tier -of partisans encircling the huge room, the disorderly jumble about the -starting lines, the hurried calling of contestants, the uproar of rival -cheers--and at last the all-important summons. Few looked upon that -particular heat of the forty-five-yard hurdles with special interest. -Occasional friends of runners scattered through the benches, Mr. Archer -straining his eyes at the long, lank figure crouching in the outside -course, Collins ever calmly observant of his protégés, the little -batch of eager Seatonians watching the red letters, a noisy squad -cheering the wearer of a big W--these were the real audience. - -The pistol cracked. The line shot forward, over hurdles, through -hurdles, stampeding for the tape. Sam stumbled, caught his step again -and dashed blindly on. He sprang for the last hurdle as another was -leaving it. A blue N was first, the W second, Sam an unplaced third. -The starters were calling the sixth heat. - -It was all over in ten seconds--the set, the start, the struggle, the -finish, Sam’s dream of achievement. He slipped into a corner by his -schoolmates and tried to forget his disappointment in watching the -efforts of his friends. He saw Kilham of Hillbury beat out Fairmount -by a foot in the finals of the hurdles. He cheered vigorously when Gay -took the forty. He groaned in dismay as Bruce was pocketed on the curve -of the track in the six hundred and forced behind. When Weatherford -won the thousand yards and Brewster the mile, and Jones soared a -handbreadth above the bar after all rivals had failed, he exulted with -pure delight. At such times the sight of the success of his school -almost comforted him for his own failure. But when unfamiliar letters -were in the van, when the Seaton runners were lost in the field of -pursuers, then the fruitlessness of his own effort recurred to him -afresh, and the folly of his hopes. Abashed, he glanced up at the -indistinct face in the distant gallery and wondered whether his father -felt himself the victim of false representations. Exactly what his -father did think he had no opportunity to discover. When Sam looked -for him after the pole-vault, his place was empty; Mr. Archer, having -stayed to the limit of his time, was hurrying for his train. - -The next day Sam approached the groups of chattering acquaintances with -some dread of sarcastic comment. His fears were needless. Kendrick -and Taylor and a few others remarked sympathetically on his “hard -luck”; Duncan Peck made a creditable effort to be encouraging; but the -majority showed no concern whatever in his failure. This contemptuous -indifference on the part of the many, this assumption that he didn’t -count or that nothing was expected of him anyway, stirred Sam’s -fighting blood. He did not need the consolation which Collins gave -when he spoke of the event as “just practice,” nor the inspiration of -Bruce’s gay derision of himself for being blocked off on the track. The -public disdain was stimulus enough to a proud spirit. Sam’s resolution -to brook no discouragement until time had fully proved his incompetency -dates from that day. - -But there were other interests in Sam’s daily life besides hurdling. -His lessons were going, some well, some tolerably, some ill. In French -he did not get ahead, and consequently he did not gain in favor with -Mr. Alsop. In truth, it is to be feared that Sam did not try his very -best for the lord of his entry. The experienced had informed him that -if one did well enough with two or three teachers to make himself solid -with them, they would defend him against those with whom he did ill. -As Sam’s schedule was a full one and some neglect was inevitable, he -followed his inclination and neglected Mr. Alsop. That gentleman did -not relish neglect; it offended his dignity and cut through the smooth -coating of his self-satisfaction. Mr. Alsop would never have struck an -enemy whose hands were bound, but he did not hesitate to assail in the -classroom with personal flings and stinging sarcasms the luckless boy -who incurred his displeasure. Unable to strike back, the boy endured -in silence and nursed his sense of unjust treatment with sullen, -unforgiving wrath. Mr. Alsop meant well, but he lacked the instinct of -fairness. - -In the dormitory entry there were troubles for which Sam and Birdie -Fowle were generally held responsible by Mr. Alsop,--Sam as the -accessory who was too clever to be detected, Birdie as the criminal -occasionally caught in the act. Some one, supposed to have been Birdie, -had thrown water out of a window in the vain attempt to reach a boy -who was hurling taunts from below. Mr. Alsop had called up Fowle and -charged him with the offence. Birdie had acknowledged his sin. The -teacher, instead of welcoming this frankness as an encouraging symptom, -and by tact and kindness inspiring in that careless youth the desire to -keep the peace, read him a harsh to the indignant satisfaction of the -boy that the fellows were right when they said that honesty was not the -best policy in dealing with profs. Injustice being the rule, one might -as well be actually bad, as good and always suspected of badness. - -Soon after this the day’s collection of waste paper in the wire grate -in the basement was set on fire, causing small damage, but much -excitement throughout the well and great chagrin to the official -regulator thereof. Fortunately for Birdie, his presence at recitation -at the time enabled him to prove a complete alibi. Right upon the heels -of this act of vandalism some miscreant, in the middle of the evening -study hour, set off a cannon cracker in the entry. Mr. Alsop, who was -at home, tore open his door and rushed savagely up the stairs. Through -a dense cloud of smoke he descried John Fish standing in his doorway. - -“What is it, Fish?” Mr. Alsop demanded angrily. - -“Some one’s set off a cannon cracker, sir,” answered Fish. “I was just -coming out to see if I couldn’t catch the fellow.” - -Doors were open now about the stairway, heads peered over from above. - -“Could you tell where it came from?” - -“No, sir.” - -“Did you have anything to do with it, Booth?” - -“No, sir.” - -“You, Rand?” - -“No, sir.” - -“You, Moorhead?” - -“No, sir.” - -“You, Taylor?” - -“No, sir.” - -“You, Fish?” - -“No, sir.” - -Mr. Alsop went upstairs, called out every occupant of every room, and -put to all the same question. Fowle and Archer he asked twice. Peck -was out, and so was Lord’s room-mate. Otherwise the entire well was -canvassed. After the cross-examination was concluded, the teacher -gathered the whole company into his room. - -“Some one has told me a falsehood,” he began solemnly. “I do not know -who it is, but I can guess. To that person I want to say that I -consider a lie as much worse than setting off crackers, as crackers -are worse than an ordinary rough-house. The one who is responsible -will do well to come to me and confess the truth. The rest of you who -are shielding the guilty one should remember that by keeping silent -you assume a share in the guilt. If I can’t have order in this well by -any other means, I’ll put the whole well on study hours, and if that -doesn’t answer, it will have to be cleaned out altogether. The school -has no use for rowdies.” - -This last threat Mr. Alsop did not really mean, as it would have -involved firing the studious Moorhead, the good John Fish, and the -cherub Rand,--the sweetest, most friendly, most diligent little boy -that Mr. Alsop had on his list. But instances were known of whole -dormitory wells ruthlessly swept clear at an indignation meeting of -an offended faculty. Fowle and Archer as the scapegoats of the well -foresaw trouble for themselves, at any rate, whatever punishments -were inflicted. They got together soon after Mr. Alsop’s audience was -dismissed, and held wrathful council. At the end they picked up Taylor -and moved down on John Fish, who opened his door a crack to see who -was knocking, and then opened it wide because a big foot prevented its -being closed. - -“I’m getting popular,” he said, smiling feebly at his visitors. - -“Not with this gang!” said Taylor, as he shut the door behind him. - -“You set off that cracker!” blurted Sam, with suppressed fierceness. - -“I didn’t.” - -“You lie! You did,” retorted Sam. “You know you did. We want to give -you warning that this funny business has got to stop. You know that -Fowle and I get the credit if anything happens here, whether we’re -in it or not. If we get soaked by Alsop for anything that’s done -hereafter, we’ll maul you so that you can’t stand!” - -Fish looked at the trio in apprehension. Archer’s fight with Runyon -had passed into dormitory history; he was regarded as a dangerous man. -Fowle and Taylor were solid fellows, the latter a member of his class -football team. Fish himself, though easily superior to the smaller -occupants of the well, would have shrunk from single combat with any -one of the militant trio. His chance against them all would have been -very poor indeed. - -“What do you want?” he asked sullenly. - -“We want you to cut it out, that’s all,” answered Fowle. - -“Cut it out entirely,” added Taylor. - -“Well, I will,” answered Fish, in a sour tone, “but I can’t be -responsible for everything that happens.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -A FOOLHARDY ADVENTURE - - -The inhabitants of the east well of Hale became lovers of peace. -Mr. Alsop had not full confidence in the change, scenting something -ominous in the unnatural calm. The rumor that had spread among his -colleagues that Alsop was having a sad time in his dormitory touched -that gentleman in a sensitive spot. Ability to get on with pupils -is considered a most desirable quality in a teacher, even in an -institution like Seaton, in which the headsman’s axe is the chief -disciplinary weapon, and the fear of it the great persuader to the -quiet life. Trouble with his boys meant that Mr. Alsop was not in all -respects a success; and the teacher, while forced to confess this -fact to himself, did not wish it unpleasantly noised abroad. He was -suffering for his own conscientiousness and keenness of perception; he -knew Fowle and Archer as dangerous boys, while other teachers were -still dull-witted or misguided enough to defend them. - -One morning, as Mr. Alsop, thinking gloomy thoughts about the waste of -himself which a talented man commits when he takes up the life of a -teacher, swung sharply round the corner of his dormitory, he beheld a -most exasperating sight. - -Wally Sedgwick had been loafing in 7 Hale that morning, keeping both -Sam and Duncan from work which neither wanted to do. Wally’s hat lay -on the window seat. Duncan, concluding that Wally had overstopped -his leave, lifted the window and pushed the hat gently from its -resting-place. Then he calmly informed Wally that his “dip” had fallen -out. Both peered over the sill to see where the hat had fallen. - -John Fish, in the room below, had caught sight of the object falling -past his window, and leaned out to investigate. It occurred to him -immediately that (as the physicians say) water was indicated; so he -brought his pitcher and began pouring upon the hat. Duncan, observing -this manœuvre from above, was seized with a bright idea. He too -fetched a pitcher and poured his libation upon John Fish’s unprotected -head as it projected from the window below. It was this spectacle of -pitchers and streams of water and heads and an all-suffering hat which -greeted Mr. Alsop’s gaze and outraged his sense of propriety as he -emerged into view before the front of Hale. - -Fish did not pour long. The chilling grip of the water upon the back of -his neck quickly reminded him that his conduct was unbecoming. Duncan -stopped when Fish stopped, but neither before the teacher got a good -view of the offenders. - -“Gee, there’s Alsop!” cried Duncan, jumping back into the obscurity of -the room. “My name is mud.” - -“I guess I’ll go,” said Wally, quickly, “before some one pinches the -hat.” - -Wally scuttled downstairs, dashed past the teacher at the door, seized -his hat and sped away from danger. Mr. Alsop mounted directly to Number -7, and knocked vigorously. Sam opened the door. - -“Peck, it was you who were pouring water out of your window upon the -head of a boy below?” - -[Illustration: THIS SPECTACLE OF PITCHERS AND STREAMS OF WATER AND -HEADS GREETED MR. ALSOP’S GAZE.--_Page 164._] - -“Yes, sir,” said Duncan, promptly, “but it was in self-defence. You -see, the hat fell out, and before we could get it, some one downstairs -began to dump water on it. I had to do the same thing to him to make -him stop.” - -“I suppose there was no other way of stopping him,” answered Mr. Alsop, -with angry sarcasm. “You knew very well that all throwing of water from -dormitory windows is forbidden. I shall report you at the office as on -study hours.” - -“That’s a pretty note!” said Duncan in disgust as soon as the enemy was -out of hearing. “Put me on study hours for that! It was nothing at all. -Fellows do it all the time in Sibley and Wentworth and don’t get even a -call-down. That’s a way to run a dormitory, isn’t it? He probably won’t -do anything to Black Hand Fish!” - -Therein Duncan was wrong. Mr. Alsop stopped on his way downstairs to -give Fish the same punishment, but he did it with reluctance, in fact -almost apologetically, and he took the penalty off at the end of a -week. Duncan, being of a proud spirit and showing evident resentment -in his manner, the instructor disciplined by a longer period of -restraint. During this season of penance, when Duncan was at home -morning, afternoon, and evening, cut off from all visitors, the two -room-mates were inevitably much together. Some of this time Duncan -wasted in maledictions on his unjust fate and on all those whom he -held responsible for his sufferings; some he spent profitably in -studying, and in getting acquainted with his room-mate. The experience -of this period, which proved effectively the value of Sam’s friendship, -destroyed the last shreds of the prejudice which Duncan had nursed so -long. He signalized his conversion by suggesting to Archer that it was -time they addressed each other by their first names. He made atonement, -not by falling on his friend’s neck and beseeching his pardon for -misjudging him, but by treating him with frank cordiality at home and -commending him abroad. - -“Black Hand” Fish, released from the ban at the end of a week with a -gentle recommendation that he restrain his sprightliness, returned -most subservient thanks and went his old way. Fish’s old way was not -a good one from the point of view of morality or of the happiness of -his neighbors. He was the “bad boy” of the well, a natural Ishmaelite. -His hand was against every one. He borrowed money without the slightest -intention of paying; he rough-housed recklessly in the rooms of those -not strong enough to eject him, smashed furniture, threw books, spilled -ink, played hair-dresser with the shoe-brush. And withal, so strong -was the code of honor among his victims, so suave and respectful was -his demeanor toward Mr. Alsop, so craftily did he choose his hours of -molestation, that the teacher had no suspicion of his character. When -Mr. Alsop passed Fish’s room on a visit of reproof to Fowle, and saw on -the door a threatening demand for money emphasized by the drawing of a -black hand, he reflected sadly upon the persecution which an orderly -student must suffer at the hands of the disorderly. Indeed, he felt -tempted to call a meeting of the well to protest against the cowardice -of anonymous threats. - -Fish himself was not greatly disturbed by the sight of these -manifestoes. He was not to be frightened into disgorging by the threat -of a Black Hand. When, however, a similar notice appeared on the -blotting-paper on his desk, he began to suspect his long-suffering -room-mate Moorhead, and made him the special object of his attentions. -Moorhead was a studious youth, an honor man, very ambitious to keep -his rank. Fish hid his books, poured away the water from his pitcher, -pulled his bed to pieces, inked his exercises. A favorite diversion was -to sing Moorhead to the verge of madness when the boy wanted to study. -This was especially effective when a “dec” had to be learned, or lines -memorized for English. - -With the occupants of Number 7 Fish took no liberties. They “wouldn’t -stand for it,” and they were capable of defending themselves. The -weaker inhabitants of the well safeguarded themselves and their -possessions as best they could by keeping their doors locked. Even with -this precaution there were times when the pest found admittance. Being -debarred from outside disturbance by the serious threats of the trio, -he was in a way thrown back upon the rooms for amusement. - -Spring came, if a muddy windy March has any right to the name of -spring. Sam, whose reputation was better with other teachers than -with Mr. Alsop, sometimes got permission to go off with his gun. He -returned one Wednesday night, empty-handed, as usual, but eloquent of -the grandeur of the heavy surf as it broke over the rocks at the foot -of Great Boar’s Head. He wrote a theme on the subject before he went to -bed, and read it to Duncan. - -“Gee! but it must be worth seeing!” exclaimed Duncan. “If that beast of -an Alsop hadn’t put me on study hours, I might go down and get a look -at it.” - -“Why don’t you ask him to take you off?” - -“Ask him to take me off!” repeated Duncan, indignantly. “I wouldn’t ask -him to take me out of a pit, if I were dying of thirst!” - -“He probably wouldn’t do it anyway,” remarked Sam, recalling the -humiliating refusal which he had himself received when he asked for a -special make-up on French vocabulary. - -Thursday and Friday the wind blew hard from the east. Saturday was -clear. At nine, after his first recitation, Duncan came dashing in with -the signals of exciting news flaming in eye and cheek. - -“Alsop’s gone to Boston to-day to tell the Modern Language Profs how to -do it. He won’t get back until to-morrow night.” - -“What of it?” asked Sam, calmly. - -“I’m going to take a holiday. I’m going to see the surf, that’s ‘what -of it’!” - -“You’d better not. You can’t get permission; and if any of them see -you, they’ll report you, and it’ll be all up with you.” - -“I’m not going to stay cooped up here all the time. I did nothing to -be put on probation for, not as much as John Fish, and he was let off -a week ago. I’m going to see the surf!” - -“Supposing they see you?” - -“They won’t see me. I’ll get something to eat early down at McLane’s; -then I’ll take the one o’clock car outside the town. Nobody would leave -as early as that, and if they do, Brucie, who’s got permission to go, -will take the same car in town, and signal me at the right place if -there’s any danger. Then I’ll jump off at Leavitt’s, skip over to the -rocks, have a look at the waves, and take the same car back. I’ll be -here by three.” - -“It’s risky,” said Sam, thoughtfully. - -“I’ll take the risk!” - -All that morning, Duncan’s foolhardy scheme troubled Sam’s mind. There -was danger in it--a danger quite out of proportion to the pleasure to -be gained. The boy who leaves town without permission goes permanently. -That was a rule to which the faculty rarely made exceptions. It was -useless to expostulate with Duncan; he had made up his mind, and -the resolution of a boy who had studied the ins and outs of Academy -discipline for four years could hardly be expected to yield to the -objections of a newcomer. And yet there was an objection which appeared -to Sam to be serious. - -“What are you going to do about the two o’clock car going down?” he -asked Duncan, as the chums came together again at twelve o’clock. -“There’s sure to be some one on that who would recognize you; it will -pass you at the power-house.” - -“That’s easy!” answered Duncan, confidently. “I’ll duck down when we -pass the cars, going and coming. If you’re trying to scare me out of -this, you’re wasting your breath. I’m going, anyway.” - -This ended Sam’s attempts at interference. He hung around the room -for a while after Duncan had gone, then hunted up Dr. Leighton and -asked permission to go to the salt marshes or elsewhere, shooting. Dr. -Leighton knew Mr. Archer and believed in the boy. As a result, we may -say by way of parenthesis, the boy believed in Dr. Leighton, and, what -is more to the point, strove to earn his esteem by honest work for him. -Dr. Leighton’s permission was quickly obtained. - -Sam boarded the two o’clock car in his shooting togs, without any -clear idea as to his purpose. He didn’t care much about shooting that -afternoon, and he did want to help Duncan, but how he could help -Duncan he had but the vaguest notion. If there were teachers aboard, -he might engage them in talk at the critical time, and so divert their -attention. Two teachers did get in at the square, Professor Towle and -Mr. Snow, both elderly men above the temptation of spying--the fault of -overzealous youth--but quite as rigid in their sense of duty as their -younger colleagues. If Duncan showed himself, his head was forfeit. - -The car bowled rapidly along the desolate, water-soaked highway. Sam -left his seat and went forward with the motorman to catch the first -glimpse of the waiting car at the turnout. As they bore down upon -the power-house, they saw ahead of them a group of workmen gathered -about a heavily loaded service car which appeared to have broken down, -obstructing both main track and turnout. - -“Looks like a block,” observed the motorman, as he crowded down the -brake. - -“What will they do?” asked Sam, quickly. - -“Probably swap passengers with the up car when it comes, and send us -back.” - -The car came to a stop. The motorman opened the door of his vestibule -and leaned out. Sam peered over his shoulder. - -“You’ll have to go back, Jim,” said an official to the conductor. -“Transfer your passengers.” - -Sam seized his gun, pushed by the motorman, and strolled along the -track past the obstruction. As soon as he felt himself sheltered by the -derailed car from the argus eye of the faculty, he jumped the wall, and -in its shelter ran headlong for the curve round which the up car was -expected. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -MR. ALSOP BARKS - - -Two minutes later a youth in khaki, armed with a gun, stopped the up -car just around the curve beyond the power-house, called out a startled -passenger, and let the car go on. Those who were curious enough to look -back--including a shrewdly grinning conductor--saw the pair disappear -over the fence into a clump of trees. - -“What’s up?” demanded Duncan, as soon as his foot touched the ground. - -“They’re going to transfer passengers at the power-house. Towle and -Snow are there--” Sam stopped for breath; his run up the hill had -winded him. “You’d have been caught like a rat in a trap.” - -Duncan whistled, and gave vent to a variety of exclamations prompted by -a variety of feelings. Sam cut into them abruptly. - -“You can’t show yourself until after the car passes here. By that time -the other one will have gone, and there isn’t another for an hour.” - -“And some one is likely to be on that,” said Duncan, gravely. - -“Yes, and on the one after. If you want me to, I’ll stay down and watch -to see who’s aboard, and give you a signal. Or--” - -“Or what?” - -“You might walk back. It’s only five miles.” - -“In all this mud?” cried Duncan. - -“It isn’t so bad on the track; and it’s the safest way. If any one sees -you walking, it won’t hurt, because you’ve got a right to walk where -you want to.” - -“That’s true,” said Duncan. “Well, I guess I’ll walk. What are you -going to do?” - -“I got permission for the marshes. I suppose I ought to go.” - -“Go ahead!” answered Duncan. “There comes your car. I’ll see you when -you get home.” - -Sam vaulted the fence, stopped his car, and got in. Professor Towle -fastened on him a questioning glance as he sat down. - -“We were wondering what had become of you,” said the teacher, kindly. -“You went on ahead?” - -“Yes, sir,” answered Sam, demurely. - -“Rather unpleasant walking,” remarked Mr. Snow, looking at Sam’s muddy -feet. - -“I don’t mind the walking,” Sam hastened to say. “When you’re out with -a gun, you go through so much mud that a little more or less doesn’t -count.” - -“I suppose so,” responded Mr. Snow. Professor Towle was thinking in a -half-interested way that it was a queer freak for a boy to go ahead -of a car on a day like this, and wondering vaguely what prompted the -impulse. He did not wonder long. When one has been guessing more or -less unsuccessfully at schoolboy conundrums for a quarter of a century, -one gives up easily before a casual new one. - -When Sam came back to 7 Hale that night, with game bag empty as usual, -he found Duncan stretched out in an easy chair before the fire, arrayed -in bath robe and slippers. His shoes, brown with mud and bleached at -the tips with water, sulked, neglected, in a corner. - -“Been to dinner?” inquired Sam, as he opened the door. - -“Not going,” Duncan answered laconically. “When I got back about five, -I was so dead hungry I couldn’t wait for dinner, so I filled up at -McLane’s. You see I didn’t stop for much luncheon this noon. I had a -whopping big steak with two orders of French fried, and half a lemon -pie. I sha’n’t want anything more to eat this week.” - -“What do you think about it now; was it worth while or not?” Sam talked -from his bedroom, where he was busy peeling off his soaked clothes. - -“No, it wasn’t,” responded Duncan, slowly. “I didn’t see much of the -surf, and I came near getting into trouble.” He waited a minute and -added as an afterthought, “From one point of view it was.” - -“What’s that--exercise?” - -“No. I found out what a good fellow I’ve got for a room-mate!” - -A thrill of delight ran through Sam’s chilly limbs as he heard this -unexpected acknowledgment. His own heart had long since declared -itself. Yet an instinct of self-repression, inbred by many generations -of Puritan ancestors, combined with the aversion to sentiment common to -all boys, forced an almost flippant answer to his lips. “You’d better -wait till the end of the year before you say that. Your opinion of me -may slump.” - -“I’ve waited long enough--too long. You got me sour on you at first -when you turned me out of my room; then the way you let Mulcahy work -you, made me sore.” - -“I was pretty slow about Mulcahy,” confessed Sam, “but that was partly -your fault. I thought you were unfair to him, and that made me hang on -to him.” - -“How did you come to go down there this afternoon?” asked Duncan, with -an abrupt change. “You didn’t say anything about going when I started -off.” - -“I thought I might as well go,” Sam answered carelessly. He shied at -confessing the real reason. - -“You saved my neck, all right,” remarked Duncan. “I believe you went on -purpose. I’m going to think so, anyway.” - -Sam hurried his shower and his dressing and got over to dinner before -the doors were closed. On his way back he stopped at Dr. Leighton’s -rooms to tell him that he had returned within the time set. Dr. -Leighton invited him in, and they talked together intimately for an -hour, not as teacher and pupil, but as friends. They fell ultimately -upon the subject of injustice in the school life; of boys who trotted -and cribbed and got C, while boys who plugged and were honest got E; -of lies that secured immunity when the truth brought punishment; of -Duncan Peck kept on pro for three weeks when Fish got off with one for -the same offence; of the troubles of mischievous Birdie Fowle, who, -though by no means a bad boy, was considered a monster, while others -were thoroughly corrupt and yet enjoyed an immaculate reputation; of -hypocrites who joined the Christian Frat because it would help them -with the faculty, yet showed no respect for the principles of the -organization. Dr. Leighton did not deny the facts of injustice; he -did not undertake to absolve either himself or his colleagues from -all mistakes in their estimates of the boys. But he did try to show -that injustice is not intentional or permanent, that immorality and -dishonesty are sure to work their way to the light of day and receive -their reward; that no boy can escape the responsibility for his own -character and influence. Sam went home feeling that his own unimportant -life, if lived cleanly and honorably, might have a value in the school -world. - -Mr. Alsop returned Monday morning, his sensitive and suspicious soul -agitated by a dire discovery. He had distinctly seen, as he walked -along a Boston street on Saturday evening, Duncan Peck with another, -unrecognized boy entering a theatre--Duncan Peck, whom he himself had -put on probation, and who could not, save by misrepresentation, get -leave of absence from any one. He went immediately to Peck’s boarding -place--Duncan had long since wearied of Alumni--to make inquiries, and -learned that Peck had not been present at dinner Saturday night nor -at breakfast Sunday morning. He visited the matron of the dormitory, -and was told that the maid who had gone in to take care of Number 7 -on Sunday had reported Peck sleeping soundly at nine o’clock, with -shoes standing before the fireplace still wet, and muddy trousers -hanging over a chair. Remembering the heavy downpour of rain which had -occurred early that morning, Mr. Alsop felt that his case was complete. -The rascal had broken his probation, had taken a six o’clock train to -Boston Saturday night, attended the theatre in the evening, spent the -rest of the night--no one knew how--and returned in fancied security by -the paper train very early in the morning. It was a piece of tragic but -most successful detective work. The circumstantial evidence supporting -the testimony of his own eyes was complete. - -Yet before he laid the scandal in all its appalling details before -the faculty, Mr. Alsop decided to question Peck, and incidentally -Archer. It should never be said that he had condemned a boy without -a hearing. From Archer he expected no confirmation of his own true -account of Peck’s movements on that fatal night, for in accordance -with the notions of loyalty prevailing among the students, a room-mate -would feel bound to hide the facts, however heinous the guilt of the -offender. Peck, of course, would not hesitate to lie, when he found -himself trapped. - -The two boys rose as the instructor walked solemnly into the room. He -dismissed the offered chair with a wave of the hand and a chilly “Thank -you,” and entered straightway upon his business. - -“Peck, I have come to ask you about your absence from town on -Saturday,” he began. - -Duncan threw a look of dismay at his chum. “My absence from town!” -he exclaimed, striving to appear wholly surprised, yet conscious of -a traitorous blush suffusing his cheeks and a well-nigh irresistible -inclination to avoid the instructor’s stern eye. - -“Yes, from town,” repeated Mr. Alsop, with slow and distinct emphasis. - -“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” said Duncan. - -It would have been an interesting problem for a mediæval casuist to -determine the moral character of this statement; whether a black lie, -a white lie, or no lie at all. Duncan used it merely as a means of -drawing the teacher out. He suspected that he knew only too well -what the instructor meant. Yet, as a fact, he knew nothing. Mr. Alsop -recognized it at once as the first of the expected chain of falsehoods, -and sharpened his wits to detect its successor. - -“Where were you on Saturday afternoon?” - -“Knocking around,” answered Peck, vaguely, sure now that he saw Mr. -Alsop’s meaning, and wondering how he had been found out. - -“Were you out of town?” - -Duncan was silent. - -“Where were you in the evening?” went on the inquisitor, triumphantly. -The weak line of defence was already breaking. - -“Here,” replied the defendant, puzzled to understand the bearing of the -question. - -“Are you quite sure, Peck?” said the questioner, solemnly. - -“Yes, sir.” - -Sam stepped forward and opened his lips, “Mr. Alsop--” - -He was interrupted by an uplifted hand. “I am questioning Peck, if you -please.” Sam retired, abashed. - -“Were you not in Boston Saturday evening, Peck?” - -“In Boston!” Into this three-syllabled explosion Duncan compressed a -heavy charge of wonder and relief. - -“Yes, in Boston!” returned Mr. Alsop, with sharp emphasis. “You are -doubtless an excellent actor, Peck, but please do not answer my -questions with exclamations. Were you in Boston Saturday night or not?” - -“Not!” replied Duncan, his eyes twinkling, and the corners of his mouth -twitching in an incipient smile. He had recovered his self-possession -completely. - -“This is not a fit subject for jest, Peck.” Duncan’s face sobered -immediately. “It is a very serious matter. I repeat my question once -more and demand a frank answer. Were you in Boston last Saturday -evening?” - -“I was not,” answered Duncan, in a low voice, with his eyes fixed on -the floor. - -“It would be better to confess honestly than to persist in a lie, -Peck,” continued Mr. Alsop, in a judicial manner. - -Duncan did not reply. His head was turned away. - -“The fact is bound to come out, whether you admit it or not.” - -“What fact?” - -“The fact that you were in Boston Saturday night. I saw you there with -my own eyes just as you were entering the Colonial Theatre!” - -Duncan drew a long breath, and waited an artistic interval before -replying. “I suppose if you saw me--” he began. - -“If I saw you, what, Peck?” prompted the teacher, gently. - -“If I should confess, should I get off any easier?” - -“I can make no promises. The faculty would doubtless give the fact -consideration. You have been a long time in school.” - -“Why, he has nothing to confess!” broke in Sam. “He was here Saturday -evening. I can testify to it.” - -To Sam’s surprise, Duncan turned roughly upon him. “It’s no use for you -to say that. You’d better keep your fingers out of it.” - -Mr. Alsop nodded approval. “I respect your desire to help your friend, -Archer, but false testimony will only serve to hurt you without -benefiting Peck.” - -This calm assumption that he was prepared to act the part of a false -witness wounded Sam’s self-respect and stirred his indignation. For the -instant, however, he was dumb with astonishment. Before he could gather -his wits to make protest, Duncan had turned away from Mr. Alsop and -shot at his chum a beseeching look, emphasized by a vigorous side jerk -of the head, that closed the boy’s opening lips. - -Again silence, broken by Mr. Alsop. - -“It is better to make a clean breast of it, Peck,” he said, in a -persuasive voice. - -Peck drew another long breath and lifted his eyes to the instructor’s -face. He had evidently taken a deep resolution. - -“Tell me everything frankly,” encouraged Mr. Alsop. - -“I wasn’t in Boston at all,” declared Duncan, lapsing suddenly into a -sullen manner. “I haven’t been in Boston for five weeks.” - -Mr. Alsop’s face hardened. “You insist on that story, do you?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“So much the worse for you, then. The faculty will consider the case -on Tuesday evening. I will give you until that time to come to your -senses.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -UP THE WRONG TREE - - -Mr. Alsop closed the door of Number 7 behind him, more than ever -convinced that he had caught an experienced and clever offender. Peck’s -confusion when suddenly taxed with an absence from town which he had -supposed totally unknown, his theatrical attempt to bluff, his apparent -conflict in mind over the wisdom of confessing and throwing himself -on Mr. Alsop’s mercy, his pains to keep an over-loyal room-mate from -committing himself to a falsehood, his final decision to abide by the -original denial--all this was the natural behavior of a conscious -culprit. The unfortunate boy had been given an opportunity to confess -and gain a possible mitigation of penalty. The instructor’s conscience -was clear. - -Inside Number 7 Duncan was dancing in transports of merriment. “Did you -ever hear anything like it!” he cried. “Oh, but it’s great! If some -fool doesn’t butt in and spoil it all before to-morrow night!” - -“You’re a fool yourself!” said Sam, in disgust. “Why didn’t you let me -tell him the facts? I could have cleared you.” - -“Because I didn’t want to be cleared,” declared Duncan, joyfully; -“because this is the chance of a lifetime to get back at him for -all his spying at keyholes and sneaking round. If you’d blurted out -everything you wanted to say, you might have made him doubt, and I -don’t want him to doubt.” - -“Do you want to be fired for what you didn’t do?” demanded Sam. “You -weren’t in Boston. You were here.” - -“I know I was here, but he doesn’t. He’ll bring it up before the -faculty--and then!--” - -“And then what?” - -“He’ll get a fall, a nice, hard, dizzy fall that’ll make him see stars. -He’ll rise a better man.” - -Sam stared for some seconds and meditated. “I don’t see why you’re so -sure about that,” he said at length. “I’m the only one who can prove -you were here. If he doesn’t believe me, why should the rest?” - -“You’re not the only one!” - -“Were you out that night? If you were, you broke your probation.” - -“I wasn’t out.” - -“If you had fellows in here, you broke your probation just the same.” - -“I didn’t have fellows in here. The laundryman brought my bundle and -collected a dollar twenty. Better than the laundryman, Mr. Sedgwick -came to invite you there Sunday night--I forgot to tell you about it.” - -Sam’s face showed deep disgust. “You’re a fine man to leave a message -with, aren’t you? Here it is Monday morning. They’ll think I’m a chump!” - -“Never you mind! She’ll forgive you. You can go this afternoon and tell -them how it happened. Maybe you’ll get another invitation. Anyway, Mr. -Sedgwick makes a second witness. Alsop might suppose I’d fixed the -laundryman, but they’ll have to believe Mr. Sedgwick. Then there’s -Don.” - -“What has Don to do with it?” - -“Sammy, you’re positively thick. Who do you suppose Alsop really saw in -Boston?” - -“How should I know?” - -“He saw Don!” - -Then a light suddenly broke upon Sam’s slow mind. He had met Donald -Peck, Duncan’s twin, on the morning of the Hillbury football game, and -had been amazed at the close resemblance between the two brothers. -Since then, various anecdotes of the pair, current in the school, had -come to his ears, and Duncan himself had told him much about their -experiences together. - -“That’s just what happened!” Sam cried. “Don came in from Cambridge to -go to the theatre, and Alsop saw him. I wonder why he didn’t think of -Don.” - -“He wouldn’t think of anything except that he’d caught me,” said -Duncan. “He wasn’t looking for ways of proving me innocent.” - -“What are you going to do about it?” - -“Nothing. Oh, yes, I am! I’m going to telephone Don, and if he says he -went to the Colonial Theatre that night, I’ll get him to write me a -letter.” - -The routine business of the faculty meeting on Tuesday had been -disposed of. Petitions from various misguided students for an extension -of the approaching spring vacation had been refused. It had been -decided that the Mandolin Club might not give a concert in Haverhill, -and that the Assembly Club under certain conditions might hold a dance -on the evening of a certain Friday. The secretary was reading the -alphabetical list of students to refresh the memories of those members -of the faculty who had come to the meeting with questions to ask or -charges to bring. Halfway through the catalogue of seniors, at the name -of Peck, Mr. Alsop interposed. - -“Stop there, please! Did any one give Peck permission to go to Boston -on Saturday night?” - -Silence effectually answered the question. “I thought not,” continued -Mr. Alsop. “He is on special probation. I was in Boston over Sunday, -and on Saturday night, a little after eight, I saw Peck just entering -a theatre on Boylston Street with a companion whom I did not know. As -soon as I returned I made inquiries at his boarding place, and learned -that he was absent from dinner on Saturday night and from breakfast -Sunday morning. The chambermaid reported him in bed at nine o’clock -on Sunday, his shoes standing before the fireplace still wet. There -was a heavy rain early Sunday morning, as you perhaps remember. I am -convinced that he left town by the six o’clock train Saturday and -returned by the paper train Sunday morning. I questioned him about -the matter and told him where I had seen him. He was confused in his -answers, and at one time seemed on the point of confessing, but he -finally decided to take the other course, and faced it out to the end.” -Mr. Alsop paused. - -“If you saw him,” said Mr. Moore, who was presiding, “I should say that -it is a case for immediate dismissal.” - -“I saw him distinctly.” - -“Who is his room-mate?” asked Professor Towle. - -“Archer.” - -“What does Archer say?” - -“Archer would probably pretend that Peck was in his room on Saturday -evening. He was about to say something to this effect, but Peck, -who evidently wanted to keep him from committing himself to a false -statement, objected to his testifying.” - -“That seems a strange proceeding,” remarked Professor Towle. “A boy -who would run away from school for a night wouldn’t be likely to care -whether his room-mate lied or not as long as the testimony was in his -favor.” - -“I should myself be very unwilling to believe either that Peck would -leave town without permission or that Archer would lie about it -afterward,” said Dr. Leighton, for the first time taking part in the -discussion. - -“It is a question of fact, not of opinion,” replied Mr. Alsop, tartly. -“It might not seem to you so unlikely, if you had seen as much of the -pair as I have.” - -“Might it not have been Donald Peck whom you saw?” asked Dr. Leighton. -“He is in Cambridge, and might very well have been in Boston that -night.” - -The effect of this question was first to stagger and then to anger Mr. -Alsop. In his zeal to bring the guilty Duncan to punishment, he had -put aside all thought of error in identification. This reminder of the -existence of Duncan’s double came to him as a shock. He entertained -the suggestion but a moment, however, dismissing it immediately as -reflecting on the accuracy of his observation. - -“I can only repeat,” he said with frigid dignity, “that I saw Duncan -Peck in Boston Saturday night. The suggestion that the evidence of my -own eyes is not trustworthy will not explain his two absences from -meals, nor the condition of his room on Sunday morning, nor his very -noticeable confusion on being questioned.” - -“I am afraid we are spending time unprofitably,” broke in Mr. Moore. -“May I suggest that the case be left to a committee, with full power to -dismiss the boy if he is found guilty?” - -Professor Towle moved that Dr. Leighton, Mr. Alsop, and Mr. Snow -constitute such a committee. The motion was passed and the august -body continued its review of the list, putting six boys on special -probation for an excess of five chapel cuts during the term, voting -that notice be sent to three fathers that their sons must be withdrawn, -ordering A. Jones to retire from the Assembly Club, and B. Brown to -give up either French or German, and C. Smith to pay before Thursday -for the damage done in his room or be suspended,--and so on for a -ruthless hour of house-cleaning. - -After his first recitation next morning, Dr. Leighton got to work on -the task of his committee. He found Duncan and Sam together in 7 Hale. -Sam retired at the suggestion of the teacher that he wished to talk -with Peck alone. - -“Was I fired?” asked Duncan, when Dr. Leighton had stated his errand. -Duncan’s manner showed plenty of curiosity, but little deep concern. - -“Your fate is in the hands of a committee,” replied Dr. Leighton. “If -it is true that you were in Boston that night, I couldn’t keep you here -if I would, and you may be sure that I should not try to do so. The -question is one of fact. At present the presumption is against you. I -want first your own word. Were you in Boston Saturday night?” - -“No, sir,” responded Duncan, promptly, looking frankly into the -teacher’s serious face. The boy’s expression was serious too, except as -to the eyes. In them gleamed but half suppressed a glint of fun. - -“Where were you?” - -“Here.” - -“Did any one see you here?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Who?” - -“Sam Archer.” - -“His evidence might satisfy me, but not others. It is conceivable that -a room-mate should feel in duty bound to defend his friend at the -expense of a lie. Did no one else see you?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Who?” - -“The man who delivers for Jetteau’s laundry, a short, red-faced fellow. -We call him Pete.” - -Dr. Leighton wrote in his book: “Pete, Jetteau’s laundry.” “I wish it -had been a better witness,” he said regretfully. - -“There was a better witness,” said Duncan, his satisfaction now -breaking forth into a broad grin, “Mr. Sedgwick.” - -Dr. Leighton closed his notebook with a snap. “Did he see you here?” he -demanded eagerly. - -“Yes, sir. He came a little before eight to invite Sam to supper the -next day.” Duncan’s face took on a rueful look as he added, “I forgot -to tell Sam until this morning.” - -“You ought to have given me his name in the beginning.” Dr. Leighton -spoke reprovingly, but with evident relief. - -“Mr. Sedgwick came last,” answered Duncan, demurely. “I was giving the -witnesses in exact order.” - -Dr. Leighton laughed, a frank, natural, unprof-like laugh. “You always -were a joker, Duncan, but take care how you joke with the faculty. Some -of us don’t understand jokes.” - -Duncan grinned in silent comprehension. - -“But why didn’t you tell this to Mr. Alsop?” pursued Dr. Leighton, now -serious again. “It Would have saved all this misunderstanding.” - -“He didn’t give me any chance,” said Duncan. “He spent all his time -trying to make me confess I’d done what I hadn’t done.” - -“But you prevented Sam from testifying.” - -“Yes, I did,” declared Duncan, stoutly. “As Alsop was so sure I was -bad, I thought he might as well find out the truth himself. I hoped it -would come hard, for he’s treated me dirty mean.” - -“How has he treated you meanly?” asked Dr. Leighton, quietly. - -“Lots of ways. For one thing, he’s kept me on probation three weeks for -throwing water out the window, when the fellow who started the thing -only got one.” - -“Go and get Archer,” commanded Dr. Leighton. - -“Was Peck here Saturday night?” asked the instructor, as the two boys -returned. - -“Yes, sir,” answered Sam, eagerly. “He was here the whole evening from -the time I came in a little after eight. We both went to bed about -eleven. He was no more in Boston than I was.” - -“One thing more, Peck,” said the teacher, turning abruptly on Duncan. -“Where were you on Saturday afternoon?” - -Duncan’s countenance fell. “Knocking around,” he answered cautiously. - -“That’s indefinite. You were not at dinner.” - -“No, sir. I got my dinner at McLane’s at about five.” - -“And before five?” - -Peck hesitated, looked at his room-mate, then out the window, then at -his room-mate again, and at last into Dr. Leighton’s face. - -“I’d rather not tell you; that is, officially. I’ll tell you -personally, if you like. I didn’t do anything bad.” - -“Personally then, if it must be,” said the instructor. - -“I went to Hampton Beach to see the surf.” - -“What!” - -“I went down on the one o’clock car and came back on it. I walked up -from the power-house.” - -Dr. Leighton was silent, while Duncan shifted nervously from foot to -foot, and wondered wildly whether he had made the great mistake of -being confidential with an untrustworthy prof. Dr. Leighton, however, -understood clearly the distinction intended; he had agreed to receive -Duncan’s confession, not as a member of the faculty, but as a friend of -the confessor. Officially he could take no cognizance of the affair. He -must speak as a friend and adviser, or not at all. - -“Duncan,” he said with slow seriousness, “in going to Hampton you -were leaving town without permission just as much as if you had gone -to Boston, as Mr. Alsop thought you did. That Mr. Alsop treated you -unfairly, or that your visit was for an innocent purpose, is no excuse -whatever for the act. You broke a rule on which the school wisely -insists, and the punishment for which you well knew. In that you were -totally wrong.” - -“Yes, sir,” said Duncan, humbly. - -“You understand that if your absence is discovered and the fact brought -before the faculty, I cannot say a word in your defence?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Now I want you to promise, and promise honestly, that for the rest of -the year you will try to keep well within the school rules.” - -“I will, sir.” - -“Good!” Dr. Leighton held out his hand, and turned to go. At the door -he spoke again. “One more word of advice--as a friend. You have the -advantage over Mr. Alsop in this Boston affair. Use it to come to a -better understanding with him, and not to annoy him. Remember that -there is a very weak spot in your own armor.” - -When the teacher was gone, the two boys remained for a time in silence. -Duncan’s malicious joy in the prospect of Mr. Alsop’s humiliation had -given place to a serious mood. “Leighton’s a square man!” he said at -length. “You’d do right for a man like him when you’d rather do wrong; -while as for Alsop, why, you’d do wrong for him when you’d rather do -right, just to spite him.” And therein Duncan Peck showed a knowledge -of the essential traits of an inspiring teacher which is rarely -possessed by school trustees. - -Later in the day Mr. Alsop came to apologize for his error, and the -interview left a pleasant impression with both participants. Duncan -had special reason to be satisfied with it, as the instructor, to make -amends for his false accusation, removed the annoying probation. -Through Dr. Leighton’s influence the special committee made no report -to the faculty, and Mr. Alsop was spared the pain of an official -verdict on his blunder. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -THE SOCIALIST - - -For a few days after Duncan’s acquittal, Mr. Alsop seemed really to -have profited by his lesson. It is no slight humiliation to make a -theatrical charge of falsehood against two boys, and then be compelled -to eat one’s words in sackcloth and ashes. The tale circulated among -the students in a variety of versions, none of which was inferior -to the truth in picturesqueness. Members of the faculty smiled -significantly as they passed on the word that the committee on Peck -would not report, even while they deplored their colleague’s misfortune -and expatiated on his devotion to duty. The discomfited instructor -had to draw on his whole fund of self-esteem to save himself from -confessing that some of his methods needed mending. As he treated Sam -with unwonted consideration in recitation for the next few days, and -Sam, as a result, made more conscientious preparation of lessons, it -began to look as if Sam, at least, was to be the gainer. - -Birdie Fowle was left alone to bear the weight of Mr. Alsop’s -particular suspicion, and Birdie dropped as naturally into trouble, -as a fly into the milk-pail. Taylor and Sam, with Birdie, had one -evening been enjoying a most exhilarating game of ball in Birdie’s -room. They used a baseball and a bat. Sofa cushions piled in the corner -constituted the field. To hit the Harvard cushion was a base hit, the -Yale cushion counted for two bases, the pillow with the girl’s head on -it three, and the S cushion a home run. To miss the cushions altogether -was an out. The sport was great; the cries of the trio floated out -through the open windows, and the floor trembled with the lunges of -the players. Mr. Alsop, who had latterly resolved not to interfere -with the boys in their rooms unless the disturbance was serious, -growing impatient under the strain, tramped his study, nervously asking -himself, with each crescendo from above, whether the time had not now -come when he really must interfere. Then the noises ceased, and he -went back to his work relieved. - -The game was at its height when a knock at the door sent the guests -scurrying to the closets. Poor Birdie, bound to obey the summons, -tossed the cushions back upon the sofa, ran his fingers through his -disordered hair, threw on his coat, and hurried to open the door. -Without stood Brantwein with his basket of “hot dogs.” - -“You old fraud!” exclaimed Birdie. “I thought sure it was Alsop.” - -“You ought to be so glad it isn’t that you’d want to buy me out,” -observed Brantwein, as he pushed in. “I’ll sell you the whole stock for -an even dollar.” - -“Come out!” yelled Fowle. “It’s only Brandy!” The hidden players -emerged. “Who wants a dog?” - -“I’ll give you a dime for three,” offered Taylor. “That’s all they’re -worth.” - -“They’re the best I ever sold, specially fine breed of dog,” returned -Brantwein, seriously. “They’re really worth ten apiece, but I’ll let -you have ’em for a nickel.” - -“Hot?” asked Sam, thrusting his hand into the basket. - -“Two hundred twelve degrees,” answered the vendor, as he pulled his -basket well out of Sam’s reach. “Don’t handle the pups.” - -Fowle treated the crowd, and the three were soon munching the -sandwiches and crying down their quality. - -“How’s socialism, Brandy?” asked Fowle, winking at his nearest -neighbor. “I hear it’s a back number nowadays.” - -“The socialists are the party of the future,” said Brandy, solemnly. -“The time is coming when the government will own and operate all -railroads and public utilities, together with all mines and great -industrial plants, and the product and advantages derived from the -resources of the country will be enjoyed by the people, to whom they -belong, not by the few greedy monopolists who sit with their feet in -the trough at home--and send their fat-witted sons to Seaton Academy.” - -“Good!” cried Taylor. “That’s me! But look here, Brandy, will the -government run the hot-dog business too? If it does, where’ll you be?” - -Brandy threw at the interrupter a glance which was meant to express -pity for Taylor’s ignorance. - -“Those that are qualified will hold the important positions, not those -who have a pull. I shall be chief government inspector of hot dogs.” -Brantwein turned again to his main audience. “The United States is -to-day fifty years behind Europe in the matter of socialism, but we’re -learning fast now. We must make a beginning with the coal mines and the -great trunk lines--” - -“That’ll be bad for you,” cut in Birdie. “You can’t beat your way from -Chicago to Boston, then.” - -“I shan’t need to,” retorted Brandy. “The state will pay for every -man’s education. Fellows like you, of course, the state won’t waste -much time on. You’ll be used for road-menders and crossing-sweepers.” - -“Hear! hear!” cried Taylor, lacking for the moment a more effective -reply. - -“It will be another golden age, won’t it, Brandy?” interposed Sam, -“like that one Virgil tells about, when the pastures were speckled all -over with sheep of different colors, each one producing wool of just -the right tint, so that there was no need of dyeing it. All the lazy -will become hustlers and all the crooks honest, and everybody will have -what he wants to eat and go to the theatre every night.” - -“Once a term was more than enough for Duncan Peck,” said the socialist, -most irrelevantly. “That was a hot old bluff he put up on Alsop, wasn’t -it?” - -“It was no bluff at all,” answered Sam, warmly. Just then the door was -pushed open and Fish lunged in, gave a general nod that was meant to -include all present, and made a dive for Brandy’s basket. The socialist -proved quite able to defend his property. He met Fish’s onset with a -hard shove that sent the intruder into the desk, then picked up his -stock in trade and made for the door. “I can’t waste any more time on -you fellows,” he said. “Fish has come to make a rough-house and there -are about twenty starved Alumni Hall boarders to be warmed and fed out -of this basket. So long!” - -Fish took a newspaper from the desk, punched a hole through it, and -proposed that Fowle wear it as a collar. - -“Get out, won’t you!” pleaded Fowle. “I don’t want any rough-house -here.” - -“We’ll put him out, if you say so,” offered Sam. - -“No, don’t!” expostulated Birdie. “That’ll make a row and Alsop will be -down on us. He’ll go.” - -Sam and Taylor drifted home to save the balance of the evening. Fish -seized the long-handled hearth brush which Birdie’s mother, in the -trustfulness of her heart, had sent to her son with admonition that -he keep his fireplace tidy. “Let me brush your hair,” urged Fish, -advancing on his unwilling host. - -“Keep away with that!” Birdie commanded, but Fish persisted. Each -clutched the handle of the brush and struggled against the other, Fish -to accomplish his purpose, Birdie to ward off the attack. In the fracas -the stick parted; Fish retained the handle end, Birdie the brush. - -“Now see what you’ve done, you hoodlum!” cried Fowle, indignantly. “Get -out of here!” - -As Fish showed no inclination to yield to this order, Birdie threw wide -his door, got inside his enemy, and with a hard buck, given suddenly -and low, tried to rush him out the door. Fish caught by the casing, -pulled himself back, and ultimately escaped, with a jeer of defiance, -to the farther side of the room. Here Fowle attacked him again, and by -superior strength dragged him to the door, where Fish by the skilful -use of hands and feet once more blocked his opponent’s game. By this -time Birdie had undeniably lost both temper and caution. He grasped the -interloper’s wrist with one hand, his neck with the other, and twisting -the wrist and pressing the neck hard between thumb and fingers, urged -him to the door. - -“Stop! stop!” cried Fish, quickly. “I’ll go.” - -“I won’t trust you,” shouted Fowle. “I won’t let up an ounce till -you’re outside that door!” - -Fish stood not on the order of his going. Outside Birdie gave him a -final push and paused, panting and dishevelled, in the doorway. Fish -had hardly stretched his cramped neck and shaken out his aching -wrist, when he suddenly lifted his head in an attitude of attention, -and darted up the next flight of stairs. While his ascending head was -still visible over the banisters above, the angry visage of Mr. Alsop -appeared from below. - -“At it again, Fowle! Disturbing the whole well for your own amusement, -regardless of the rights of others and my repeatedly expressed wishes! -There’s a limit, I wish you to understand, even to my patience.” - -“Yes, sir,” stammered the boy, “but this time it wasn’t my fault.” - -“It never is, according to your statements,” declared the instructor. - -“What would you do if a fellow came into your room, tried to brush your -hair with a hearth brush, broke your things, and refused to leave? You -wouldn’t stand round and let him rip the room to pieces, would you?” - -“Who was it?” - -“I can’t tell you, sir.” - -“If you prefer to shield him, you can’t blame me for holding you -responsible. Whoever the others may be, you are certainly one. If boys -trespass on your room, you should keep your door locked.” - -“I do, usually,” answered Birdie. “Sometimes I forget.” - -“For the rest of the term you are on probation,” continued the -instructor, severely. “At the next faculty meeting I shall report your -case and ask that a notice be sent to your parents that unless you can -come back to live an orderly, quiet life in the dormitory, we do not -wish you back at all.” - -Overcome by a deep sense of injury, Birdie next morning confided his -troubles to Sam. In consequence, feeling that the fuel for Mr. Alsop’s -ire must have been provided by the ball game in which they had had a -share, and grasping at a vague hope of bettering the condition of the -luckless boy, Sam and Taylor visited the teacher and tried to deflect -to themselves some share of Birdie’s punishment. - -“Which of you was the one that forced himself into Fowle’s room and -broke his fire brush?” - -“Neither of us,” said Sam. - -“But you both played with bat and ball in his room?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Then you may both write out for me before Saturday night ten pages -of French. I ought to put you on probation, but I will reduce the -punishment in consideration of your confession.” - -Sam and Taylor withdrew in gloom. “That’s what you get for being -honest!” groaned Taylor. “Write out ten pages! That means five hours’ -work!” - -“And we didn’t help Fowle any, either,” commented Sam, sadly. - -Sam was so depressed by the erratic course of school justice that he -went over to Dr. Leighton’s that evening and told him the whole story, -in which Fish figured only as “a fellow in the well.” Dr. Leighton -listened with sympathy and gave what comfort he could. A certain amount -of injustice, he said, is inevitable in our lives; when we can’t -prevent it, it is better to bear it bravely than to whine over it. Sam -went home resolved to take his punishment without grumbling, and to -hope for better things. - -After the boy left, Dr. Leighton drew out his catalogue of students and -ran rapidly down the list to discover who belonged in the east well of -Hale. At the name of Fish his pencil rested. “That’s the black sheep,” -he said, as he put away the pamphlet. “I’m afraid he’s not what Alsop -thinks him.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -HONK! HONK! - - -The day after Birdie Fowle reached home for the spring recess, a letter -arrived from the Seaton authorities containing a printed blank, filled -in with an alternation of D’s and E’s. There was likewise enclosed a -short note from the school secretary, giving the startling information -that the boy’s conduct in the dormitory had been so reprehensible that -he would not be permitted to return except on trial from day to day; -and that any further complaint from his dormitory master would be -followed by immediate notice to withdraw. - -The Fowle household was burdened with sorrow during the six days -which Birdie spent at home. Mr. Fowle was taciturn and grave, Mrs. -Fowle wept, and Birdie (properly named James), after a day or two of -aggrieved expostulation, settled into a mood of deeply despondent -fatalism. He knew that he was not a bad boy; he did not follow the -evil ways of some of his schoolmates; he did not drink nor play poker -nor run in debt nor cut recitations. Other fellows who did these and -worse got off clear, while for a little rough-housing, much of which -had been forced upon him by others, he was to be branded as a criminal. -Of what use was it to try to be good, if he got the punishment of the -worst? He might as well be bad and have the fun of it. - -So Birdie returned to school, his ears still tingling with the stern -warnings of his father and the tearful entreaties of his mother, his -heart saddened by a presentiment of failure. He was like an unwilling -soldier marching to expected defeat. - -Sam and Duncan came back in a very different state of mind. They had -spent the week at the Archers’ in Portland, where Duncan, who was on -his best behavior, by his deferential politeness and open-hearted -cordiality made amends to the parents for his early churlish treatment -of the son. The family were charmed with him. - -“We are so glad to have had you here,” Mrs. Archer confided to Duncan -on the day of their departure. “We always like to know Sam’s friends, -and we have been interested in you since Sam first wrote about you.” - -At this Duncan looked a trifle conscious, and shot a swift glance at -Sam, whose face was turned away. “It’s very good of you to let me -come,” he said politely, trying to escape the unpleasant reminder of -the past by dwelling on the agreeable present. - -“He used to write us, you see,” went on Mrs. Archer, smiling, “that he -liked you, but that you had other friends and did not care for him. I -knew it would be different when you got to know each other.” - -“Was the carriage ordered, mother?” broke in Sam, most abruptly. - -“Yes, for two o’clock,” Mrs. Archer rejoined, and turned again to her -guest. “I was disappointed when Sam proposed to bring down Mulcahy, -whom I did not know at all, and not you whom I had met and wanted to -see more of. Is Mulcahy one of your friends, too?” - -“Not a very intimate one,” replied Duncan. - -“He must be a very remarkable young man.” She addressed herself again -to the uneasy Sam. “But you haven’t said much about him lately, Sam. -What has become of him?” - -“Oh, he’s around,” answered the son of the house, unpleasantly -reminded of the superlatives which he had used in his early letters in -describing Mulcahy. “Didn’t you say you were going to hand over some of -that cake to take back with us, mother?” - -“Katy’s doing it up now. Shall I tell her to put in some strawberry -jam?” - -Mrs. Archer rustled out on her errand, leaving the boys alone. Sam -picked up a magazine which lay on the table, and turned the pages of -advertisements. - -“I did treat you pretty rocky that fall term,” remarked Duncan, as if -their differences during Sam’s first months in school had been the -topic of conversation. “I acted like a mick.” - -“Don’t think of it,” returned Sam, without looking up. “I was a fool.” - -And this was all the reference ever made to their early disagreement. - -Birdie Fowle’s melancholy fatalism lasted about a fortnight. By the -end of that time, having been successful in keeping his door locked and -having received two C’s on half-hour exams, he began to feel better. -His old cheerfulness returned, and with it a measure of carelessness. -Sam, who was trying to help him, had urged him to avoid John Fish and -give the dormitory scourge no excuse for enmity. It was clear, even to -our inexperienced young man, that Fish’s cunning was not keeping pace -with his effrontery. Success in deceiving his dormitory master had -stimulated the fellow’s audacity to the point of recklessness; sooner -or later he would expose himself. - -Birdie, though accepting readily this rule of conduct, was hardly -capable of carrying it out. On April first, the day of fools, he -was tempted and fell. It happened in this wise. As he started down -toward the post-office after his morning recitation, he saw John -Fish sauntering in the same direction a dozen yards ahead of him. -Obedient to the advice of his counsellor to keep out of Fish’s way, -Birdie checked his own pace and trailed along behind. In front of the -post-office stood a dozen fellows gossiping and looking out upon the -street. When Fish was two-thirds across, Birdie’s good resolution -yielded in an instant to the inspiration of the opportunity. He opened -his mouth, hardened his throat muscles, and forced out two harshly -resonant syllables. - -Birdie’s “honk! honk!” was a masterpiece of mimicry for which he was -justly famous. No one in school could perpetrate anything approaching -it in effectiveness. Barney and Litchell had developed a fair imitation -that would deceive the inexperienced; Fowle could frighten the elect. -Fish, whose mind was intent on the question of how best to spend a -certain expected check--if he repaid the money he had borrowed from -various boys, he would have nothing left--gave a great clumsy plunge -forward, like a startled dray-horse. His cap flew from his head; his -books dropped from his hand. Safe at the curbstone, he turned to throw -a malediction on the reckless motorist, and looked into Fowle’s gleeful -face. - -“April fool!” sang Birdie, cheerfully. - -The fellows on the sidewalk hooted. Fish went back to gather up his -property. “You’re a clever child,” he said, smiling contemptuously. -His look was more significant than his words. - -In five minutes Birdie was aware that he had committed a sad error. -Fish in good-nature was always a menace to peace; Fish offended would -be an unscrupulous enemy. Disheartened, Fowle took his troubles again -to Sam. - -“You were a fool to do that,” expostulated Sam. “I told you to let him -alone.” - -“I tried to,” mourned Birdie, “but it was such a slick chance!” - -“Well, as long as you can keep him out of the room, it’ll be all right. -You aren’t afraid to tackle him in the open.” - -“I guess not,” returned Fowle, emphatically. “If I could get him -outside, I wouldn’t put up with anything from him!” - -“Then if he gets in, order him out; if he won’t go, tell him you’ll -hold him responsible for everything he does in the room, and get out -yourself.” - -“A lot of good that will do! He’d plug the gas jets, pour water in the -bed, write things on my collars, and spoil things generally. And if I -stayed, he’d be likely to do something to make me mad, and I’d wade -into him. Then rough-house, noise, and home I’d go.” - -It was indeed a hard problem that poor Birdie faced: if he defended -himself against aggression, he committed _lèse-majesté_ against Mr. -Alsop by having a rough-house, and the sentence hanging over him would -be executed; if he endured in patience, his possessions would be -wrecked before his eyes; if he reported the facts, he transgressed the -one law of which all schoolboys, good and bad, despise the breaker. - -“Come down here the next time he gets in,” proposed Sam, at length, -“and let me go up and settle him. You can prove an alibi if anything -happens, and I’m not on probation.” - -A fortnight passed. Sam, busy with studies and track practice, had -ceased to think of Birdie as in immediate danger. Moorhead, Fish’s -unfortunate room-mate, had proposed to room with Sam the next year, and -Sam, feeling that it would be better for him to live with the quiet, -studious scholar than with some more lively but less helpful chum, -had consented. The interests of the present and plans for the future -absorbed his attention. He was gaining in French and in Mr. Alsop’s -esteem; he was really beginning to hope for a recommendation in the -subject for the college preliminaries. Collins kept him encouraged -in the hurdles. Unless some better man appeared, he seemed sure of a -place on the track team as Fairmount’s understudy. Altogether he felt -satisfied with himself and at peace with the world. - -But it is hard to keep at peace with the world, if the world makes -unjust war upon one’s friends. Fowle, returning to his room from Greek -one morning, neglected to secure his door. He hadn’t been in his desk -chair ten minutes when some one pushed the door open, looked in, and -cried, “Honk, honk!” It was Fish! - -“Keep out!” called Fowle. “I’m on pro.” - -“That don’t scare me,” said Fish, as he shut the door behind him and -sauntered across the room. - -On the table lay the first sheet of a theme, neatly copied. Fish dipped -a pen in the ink, and shook a blot on the outspread page. - -“Oh, excuse me,” he said. “I was going to correct it;” and he dropped -another blot beside the first. - -“Look here, Fish!” spoke Fowle, sharply, “I don’t want you here. Clear -out!” - -“You’re not very polite,” returned the visitor, unabashed, as he threw -the pen, point downward, at the table, and picking up a couple of -magazines and a book, began rearing a triangular steeple on the lamp -chimney. - -Birdie’s ire was waxing. He felt that he could not control himself much -longer. “Will you go or not?” he demanded hotly. - -“I’ll go when I get ready,” answered Fish, watching closely to see how -high Birdie’s temperature was rising, taking care meanwhile to keep the -table between them. He did not want to get Fowle into a dangerously -pugnacious state; he merely wished to incite a good lively rough-house, -in which the smashing of a few trifles would be unavoidable. - -Instead, however, of reaching over the table for his tormentor or -chasing him round it, Fowle took an unexpected course. He turned and -walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -HOW THE FISH WAS CAUGHT - - -Fish stood gazing with stupid astonishment at the closed door for some -seconds after the sound of Birdie’s footsteps had died away. He was -alone, with no check whatever upon his Hunnish craving for mauling and -smashing. Yet mauling and smashing _in se_ were not what delighted the -heart of John Fish. He liked to stroll about a room when its occupants -were at home, and goad them gradually into a destructive fray. He liked -to do accidental damage under the eyes of the sufferers. In the corner -near the door of Fowle’s bedroom had once stood a handsome and solid -chair. By sitting in this chair whenever he came in, by tipping it back -on its hind legs and wrenching it and twisting it with silent disregard -of the protests of its owner, he had at last brought it to complete -collapse--of course, unintentionally. In the embroidered scarf which -hung from the mantelpiece were two big scorch-rimmed holes; here he had -accidentally held a lighted cigarette behind him as he stood in front -of the fireplace. He had enjoyed himself in this room, but always in -the presence of spectators. The pleasure of laying waste dwindled to -nothing, if the victims were not on hand to expostulate and mourn. He -really was at a loss what to do with his liberty. - -While he was still ruminating, the door flew open and Sam Archer rushed -in. The new-comer threw his coat into a corner, turned up his cuffs, -and opened the door. Then he spoke, briefly and to the point, “Get out!” - -Fish looked across the table into Archer’s face and recognized there -an expression different from that worn by the challenger to an -amicable rough-and-tumble. He had no mind for a serious set-to with -the vanquisher of the redoubtable boxer Runyon, neither did he wish to -retire tamely before a mere threat. - -“Get out yourself!” he answered. “It isn’t your room.” - -“No, it’s Fowle’s room, and he wants you out of it. You know well -enough that rough-housing will fire him. I’m here in his place. Now, -beat it!” - -“I’ll go when I get ready,” growled Fish in return. - -They began circling the table. As Fish passed the door, he slammed -it to. When Sam reached it, he opened it again and shoved a heavy -arm-chair against it. Then he removed the lamp to the mantelpiece, and -made another half turn round the table. This movement brought Fish near -the door again. He stooped over to swing aside the arm-chair which kept -the door open, and at the same moment Sam vaulted the barrier. - -As Fish beheld his assailant’s long legs swinging over the edge of -the table in a hurdler’s leap, and the sinewy body bearing down upon -him, it flashed into his brain, and from his brain with instantaneous -impulse into nerves and muscles, that by dodging the frontal attack and -delivering an immediate rear charge, he could put Archer himself out of -the room and close the door upon him. His dodge, however, was not quite -quick enough. The hurdler came down with long arms flying, and one -of these flying arms, or the clenched fist attached to it, as it swung -up, caught the ducking Fish under the eye. It was an unintentional -blow, but it had force, and Fish went back against the door-post, for -a moment dazed. When he got to his feet again, he found himself in the -entry. The door was locked behind him; over the banisters he beheld the -head of the descending Archer. - -[Illustration: AT THE SAME MOMENT SAM VAULTED THE BARRIER.--_Page 228._] - -On the second floor at the foot of the stairs Mr. Alsop was standing, -peering suspiciously upwards. “Another disturbance in Fowle’s room, I -judge,” he said, frowning. - -“I’ll explain, sir, if you’ll let me,” said Sam, breathing hard. “Won’t -you come in here?” - -He threw open his door and let the teacher pass in ahead of him. - -“Now, what is it?” said Mr. Alsop, when they were inside. - -“It’s this,” responded Sam. “Fowle has been trying his best to keep his -probation and live up to the faculty’s orders. This morning a fellow -came into his room to stir up a rough-house, and Fowle, knowing that -he couldn’t keep out of it if he stayed at home, cut out and left the -fellow there. He’s over in the library now.” - -“Who is, Fowle or the fellow who came to rough-house?” asked Mr. Alsop, -sarcastically. - -“Fowle! He stopped on his way down and told me about it; I went up -and--” - -“And what?” - -“Threw the fellow out,” continued Sam. “I had to, or he’d have smashed -everything in the room.” - -Mr. Alsop smiled with an air of incredulity. Sam drew himself up to his -full six feet. The look of wounded self-respect that he flashed into -the teacher’s face was unmistakably real. - -“I suppose you don’t believe me,” he said proudly. “If you will go to -the library, you’ll find Fowle there. He’ll let you into the room, and -you’ll see my coat just as I dropped it.” - -“I have not said that I don’t believe you. I do believe you,” -interposed Mr. Alsop, hastily. “You probably would not care to tell me -who this intruder was?” - -“No, sir, I couldn’t,” returned Sam. “I don’t believe he’ll come -again,” he added, looking ruefully at his knuckles, still numb from -the blow which had felled the audacious Fish. “I didn’t mean to -say anything against anybody. I just wanted to have you know that -Birdie--that Fowle--wasn’t in it at all.” - -Mr. Alsop felt no disposition to discuss Fowle. Having frequently -proclaimed the young man to be the pernicious influence in his domain, -he did not like to acknowledge that he had erred. He therefore -contented himself with repeating certain hackneyed sentiments as to the -responsibility for order in the well and the offended spirit of the -school,--and withdrew. - -As far as his dormitory master was concerned, Fish certainly possessed -a charmed life. When he appeared the next day with the darkly obvious -marks of a bruise about his right eye, he had no difficulty in drawing -upon Mr. Alsop’s sympathies by his explanation of the flying ring which -had struck him in the face in the gymnasium. It did not occur to the -instructor to put together the fact of the black eye and Sam’s account -of the forcible expulsion of a trespasser. - -This example of the unique way in which order was maintained in -his well, Mr. Alsop repeated with satisfaction to several of his -colleagues, among others to Dr. Leighton. - -“And you have no suspicion as to who this rough-houser was?” asked Dr. -Leighton. - -“None whatever.” - -“Have you noticed Fish’s black eye?” - -“Yes; he got that in the gymnasium from a flying ring. Bad bruise, -wasn’t it?” - -“There seems to be a different version about that eye going round the -school. They charge it up to some fracas with another boy.” - -“They would anyway,” replied Mr. Alsop, sagely. “Boys always joke over -a black eye. Fish told me all about it himself.” - -The comment on Dr. Leighton’s lips remained unspoken. He had his own -opinion as to Fish, formed from investigations which were not yet -complete. He did not wish to hazard his plan by setting Alsop to -pounding along the trail. If his suspicions were well founded, Fish -would sooner or later betray himself. - -Fish had grown incautious. Of late he had taken to keeping liquors in -his room. He had found an excellent hiding-place, the pedal compartment -at the bottom of Moorhead’s piano. It was closed by a lid which swung -down on hinges set at the lower edge. Moorhead came in one day just in -season to find Fish closing the door of this borrowed cupboard. - -“What are you doing to my piano?” he demanded sharply. - -“Nothing, just seeing how it works.” - -Moorhead went straight to the piano, and opening the compartment, -discovered Fish’s two bottles and a glass. - -“Do you call that nothing?” he asked, reddening with anger. - -“Yee-up, I do,” answered Fish, complacently. “The faculty might not.” - -“I don’t want them there, do you hear?” announced Moorhead. “I don’t -want to be mixed up with the things at all.” - -“They won’t do any hurt. Nobody ever opens the place.” - -“I don’t care!” retorted Moorhead. “I won’t have them there.” - -“Oh yes, you will,” Fish answered complacently, and went about his own -affairs as if the matter were settled. - -A few hours later Fish discovered his precious bottles on the floor in -the back of his closet. He restored them to their appointed place in -the piano, and lay in wait for Moorhead. - -“You dirty little scut!” he shouted, as the rebel appeared. “Didn’t I -tell you to leave those bottles alone?” - -“I said I wouldn’t have them in my piano,” faltered Moorhead. - -“And I said you were to leave ’em alone. You might as well have handed -’em over to Lady Jane while you were about it. If you touch ’em again, -you’ll find your pretty music box there scratched from top to bottom.” - -And Moorhead, who knew what Fish was capable of, gave heed to the -threat and held his tongue. - -It was not long after this that slow-moving justice at last overtook -Mr. John Fish. One morning when Moorhead was just starting for -breakfast, he noticed that the lid of the piano compartment was down. -Feeling under no obligation either to replace the lid, or to remove -the chair which screened it from the casual observer, he took his book -from the top of the piano and went his way. At the clang of the first -chapel bell, Fish crawled forth from bed and for the next seven minutes -devoted his energies exclusively to the task of throwing on his clothes -and getting into chapel before the second bell ceased to ring. He had -no leisure to waste in idle contemplation of his study. - -The chambermaid, making her rounds, observed the bottles and called the -matron. The matron came, closed the lid, and reported to Mr. Alsop. Mr. -Alsop, scandalized and incredulous, made an examination of the premises -and demanded an explanation separately from each occupant of the room. -Each disclaimed ownership of the bottles. Fish declared, in addition, -that he did not even know that there was any such cupboard in the -piano; Moorhead acknowledged that he knew that the bottles were there, -but would give no information as to their owner. As the piano belonged -to Moorhead, Mr. Alsop was inclined to hold him either the criminal or -an accomplice. - -But this time the truth proved stronger than the lie. When the matter -came before the faculty, every individual teacher to whom Moorhead -recited conducted himself like an attorney engaged to defend him. After -Dr. Leighton brought forward the report of his investigation into -Fish’s manner of life, the august body voted that Fish be dismissed; -and the yea vote was so overwhelming that Mr. Alsop did not venture to -raise a dissenting voice. The evidence that came to light a few days -after the disgraced student left town, evidence which showed that Mr. -Alsop had been shamelessly imposed on since the beginning of the year, -was a severe blow to that gentleman’s self-esteem. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -LESSONS IN HURDLING - - -With the departure of Fish, the east well of Hale ceased to be a scene -of mysteriously fomented disturbance. Mr. Alsop, having been wofully -betrayed through blind following of his own prejudices, resolved to -be more cautious in forming opinions in the future, and less hasty in -the performance of duty. He had yet to learn that a teacher may make a -reputation in a week which he cannot live down in the whole subsequent -school life of his pupils. - -For Sam now began the busiest, most exciting period of the year. The -college examinations were near enough to render devotion to lessons a -matter of personal advantage; the outdoor school meet and the track -contest with Hillbury challenged his zeal and ambition. Besides -these serious interests, May and June offered their usual lavish -opportunities for innocent but distracting amusement, ranging from -tennis and scrub ball games and long walks, to the convention of wags, -wits, and philosophers, which gathered every pleasant evening after -dinner on the high steps of Carter, and intermittently sang songs and -discussed men and things--mostly men--to the vast entertainment of the -listeners. Here Brantwein, released for the time from the burden of the -peanut basket, was a protagonist, with socialism as a general theme -and every exposed head as a target for his verbal shillaleh. The crowd -yelled applause for every crack he gave, and lavished double measure on -every telling return. - -Good practice in the high hurdles amounts to something more than daily -exercise in starting, running, and jumping. The course is one hundred -and twenty yards over ten hurdles, with fifteen yards clear before the -first, and fifteen more after the last. Between each pair of hurdles -lies a distance of ten yards; each barrier is three feet and six inches -high. The runner must clear the barrier in such a way as to interrupt -his advance as little as possible, by rising neither too high nor too -low, by taking his jump neither too long nor too short, by landing -in the right position, by adjusting his inter-hurdle strides to the -distance and to his own powers. It has been known since the race was -first practised that the average man must take three strides between -hurdles; but the length of the jump, and the proper arrangement of -short and long strides, are even now matters of dispute. - -Collins’s theory, which of course Sam followed, was that the jump -should be short rather than long. He insisted that to prolong the -distance covered while in the air on the force of previous effort -is to cut short the opportunity to use the legs; to overjump is to -introduce into the race a series of dead periods when the runner is -passively waiting for his feet to touch the ground before he can become -active again. So the trainer labored with Sam to bring him over the -hurdle to the ground at the earliest possible moment; to teach him -the quick rotary whirl of the legs that neither drags nor interferes -with the step, the forward leg doubled and slightly swung, the other -brought quickly around after it in a wide arc; to force him to take -the landing step short--in order to bring his feet under him--and to -stretch the other two strides. Sam’s handicap was his slowness and a -tendency to make his strides too long. His advantage lay in staying -power; he could do twelve hurdles as well as ten. So the clever trainer -worked him day after day on starts and over two or three hurdles, and -once a week sent him over eleven. - -“You don’t put me over the course enough, it seems to me,” complained -Sam, one day. “I’m tired of that everlasting thirty-five yards.” - -“If you can do two hurdles right, you can do ten,” answered Collins, -calmly. “If you can’t do the first two, you can’t do any.” - -“I should say that it’s speed between that I lack,” pursued Sam. “I get -over the hurdles pretty well, but I lose momentum somewhere between -jumps.” - -“You take your first step too long, as I keep telling you. Four to five -feet is all you ought to cover in that first stride after the hurdle. -If you come down right and take the first step right, you can put speed -into the other two and get just the right take-off to drop you over -the next hurdle. Speed will come in time.” - -“I wish it would!” lamented Sam. - -“It isn’t all in fast running,” said Collins, “nor half. Taking the -hurdles is the main thing. There’s really only two running steps -between, if you throw out the short step. And what a fast runner makes -in those two steps, he’ll more than lose on the hurdles, if he doesn’t -do ’em right. Three feet lost on a hurdle is thirty feet on the race, -a good second and a fifth. No one wins a race by that much. The work -that’s cut out for you is to get your jump so near perfect that you -don’t lose anything in going over. Then just steady, hard running will -put you ahead of the fellow who hasn’t your staying power.” - -“We all seem to have about the same amount of that.” - -Collins hesitated. His first impulse was to deny Sam’s statement; -his second to let it go unchallenged. After all, there was nothing -so important for Sam’s progress as that he should continue to think -that everything depended on hard, steady work. Sam was one who could -stand work. While he was occasionally discouraged, he never became -despondent; he did not grow irritable under defeat nor refractory at -criticism. He disclaimed high expectations, smiled at discomfiture, and -plodded on. - -The school meet came and went, bringing little glory to the name -of Archer. That Fairmount would beat him in the hurdles, Sam fully -expected. The start was fairly even, but Fairmount was in the air -above the first hurdle when Sam was leaving the ground on his first -spring; at the fifth Fairmount was yards ahead. Yet at the tenth, -strange to say, Sam had almost caught him. Archer finished less than -two yards behind the leader, and fully six ahead of Sanderson, his -nearest pursuer. Fairmount’s time was sixteen and four-fifths. So Sam, -according to Collins’s estimate, had come close to seventeen seconds, -a gain of at least a second by a year’s work. From this result, with -which the trainer was fully satisfied, Sam was at least inclined to -draw more consolation than discouragement. He had still another school -year before him. - -It was his defeat in the pole vault which caused him the most chagrin. -Jones, of course, rose like a bird soaring against the wind; his -light, lithe body arched the rod gracefully at ten feet, six. Sam -surmounted nine feet, six--but Mulcahy reached nine feet, ten. It was -not jealousy that beset the defeated vaulter, nor wounded pride, nor -the mean ill-will that grudges success to a rival. Sam’s heart had -harbored only feelings of congratulation towards Fairmount, who had -beaten him in the hurdles; his enthusiasm over Jones’s achievements -was genuine and whole-souled. These two were sportsmen through and -through, to whom the joy of the contest, the delight of winning, the -promise of gaining points for the school in the meet with Hillbury, -constituted the whole stimulus and reward. Mulcahy cared for none of -these things. At heart it mattered not two straws to him whether the -blue or the red triumphed, as long as his own advance was assured. -To Mulcahy, athletics were but a ladder by which he could mount, the -means necessary to a desired end. He wanted prominence in school, -distinction, prizes. He wanted the Yale Cup as the crowning honor -of his school career. To win this, he professed an enthusiasm for -athletics, as the unscrupulous politician professes the principles that -win votes. - -Ten days later Sam took part in his first contest with Hillbury. In -the interval he did some work in preparation for the event which is -not set down in the coaching directions. When Collins received from -the secretary of the Academy the list of those whose work was “up” -and who were therefore allowed to compete, the names of Fairmount -and Chouder were missing. There was a hurried consultation with the -faculty, resulting in the announcement that if the backward work were -made up to the satisfaction of teachers by the day before the games, -the prohibition on the two men would be removed. Bruce called upon -Mulcahy, who was known to have had experience in tutoring. Mulcahy -could not possibly find time for extra work. Then Sam undertook the -case of Fairmount, and Moorhead volunteered to coach Chouder. Both -tutors labored early and late to bring their charges into a condition -acceptable to the authorities. Moorhead had the more difficult task, -for Chouder was behind in two subjects, and learning came harder to -his slow, unreceptive mind than chopping wood or running races to -his sinewy body. It was Moorhead’s first opportunity to do something -tangible for the school athletics, and he gave the best that was in -him, freely and patiently, hour after hour, oblivious to the fact that -there could be no public recognition of his service, no personal glory -in victory. Fairmount triumphed over his geometry with a C, while -Chouder, to his infinite satisfaction and the relief of his anxious -tutor, scraped through his examinations on a brace of D’s. - -So it happened that Moorhead, as he perched high on the cheering -section at the Hillbury games, felt that he had more part in the -contests than those who sat about him, mere longing hearts and -vociferous units in the chorus. When Chouder took the two-twenty yards -from Merton of Hillbury, running from the start like a predestined -victor, Moorhead thrilled with the consciousness that it was in part -his race and his victory. In the low hurdles his candidate was not so -successful, as the redoubtable Kilham of Hillbury led at the finish, -though Chouder pressed him hard. Fay and Shirley had to content -themselves with second and third places in the hundred yards, but -Bruce won the quarter in a grand burst of speed that cut the time down -close to fifty seconds, and Weatherford made sure of the half-mile. -Jones sailed deftly over the vaulting bar at ten feet, seven, with -Mulcahy a safe third at nine feet, eight. And old Brandy Brantwein, -feeling unusually free from the trammels of society by reason of the -absence of the peanut basket, showed what socialism will do for a man -by throwing the hammer four feet beyond the best cast of the Hillbury -individualist, and putting himself into second place in the shot -contest. - -The general issue was already decided when the high hurdles were -called. Seaton had won. Under the inspiration of victory, Sam felt that -he, too, might achieve something worth while. His start was good, but -at the second hurdle the two outside men, Kilham and Fairmount, were -already ahead of him. At the fourth they were still farther ahead, but -he pressed steadily on, clearing his hurdles by two inches, dropping -short and driving himself forward with the routine pace. At the -seventh hurdle only Kilham kept his distance; Fairmount was nearer. The -tenth he passed at Fairmount’s side, with Kilham but a stride beyond. -In the finish, Fairmount sprinted better and gained a yard, but was -still behind the leader by the thickness of his body. - -“If you hadn’t coached up Fairmount so that he could pass his -condition, you’d have been second in that race instead of third,” -remarked Duncan, as they discussed the events of the day, after the -celebration. - -“And we should have lost one point,” answered Sam. - -“One point wouldn’t have made any difference in the result. You -deserved second, anyhow, by the way you’ve worked. Fairmount will be -gone next year, and then you’ll have things your own way.” - -“There’s Kilham,” said Sam, wistfully. “He’s only an upper middler. -He’ll be in Hillbury next year and beat me out again; then he’ll go to -Yale and I to Harvard, and he’ll beat me four years more. That’s what -I’m up against!” - -“Oh, cheer up!” returned Duncan. “You’ve improved a lot this year. You -may beat him all to pieces next year. They said that your race to-day -was in mighty good time, and you weren’t much behind Kilham.” - -Sam shook his head with a smile of resignation. “I haven’t won a thing -this year, and I probably shan’t do any better next, but I’m going to -keep right on. I’m too much used to losing to mind, and there’s always -a chance that by a fluke I may win something.” - -“It’s a shame!” thought Duncan to himself. “I’d never coach a fellow up -just so that he could take a prize from me, if the school never won an -extra point.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -ROBERT OWEN, FRESHMAN - - -On the Monday following the Hillbury games, Duncan rushed in with a -letter in his hand, and an eager look on his face. - -“Look here, Sam! Bob Owen’s sent me two tickets to the Harvard-Yale -Freshman ball game on Wednesday. Do you suppose they’d let us off to -go?” - -“Who’s us?” - -“You and me.” - -Sam’s eyes sparkled. “Wouldn’t it be great! Good seats?” - -“Right behind the back-stop. Just think of seeing Owen bucking against -McPherson and Hayes! O’Brien, who used to pitch for Hillbury, is going -to be in the box for the Harvard Freshies, and several old Hillbury men -are playing with Yale. It’s a queer jumble; Seaton catcher and Hillbury -pitcher against a mixed mess,--half of them old Seaton and Hillbury -fellows.” - -“I shouldn’t think you’d care much who wins,” observed Sam. “You’ve got -friends on both sides.” - -“I do care,” answered Duncan. “I’m with the Harvard lot every time, and -you are, too, only I’ve got more reason for my stand than you have. -It’s Don’s class and Bob Owen’s class, and old Bob’s captain.” - -“Well, I hope his nine will win. The Yale fellows beat ’em in football, -didn’t they?” - -“Yes, and Bob was on the eleven. He’s aching to get back at them. It’ll -be a hot old game, all right. The only question is whether we can break -away to see it. Who’s the most likely prof for you to tackle? You’ll -have to get the permissions. I haven’t a pull with a single man in the -faculty, worse luck!” - -It was decided that Sam should try to win Dr. Leighton to the cause, -and through the strong influence of the teacher float Duncan’s -uncertain craft across the bar. Duncan suggested various subtle methods -of appealing to Dr. Leighton’s favor, but Sam preferred a simple, -straightforward course,--which was unquestionably the best one. He -called on his patron saint of the faculty that afternoon, explained -to him with eager enthusiasm the special opportunity which had been -offered, urged that neither had had out-of-town leave for a long time, -and promised, if they were allowed to go, not only exemplary conduct -while absent, but compensation in diligent work on their return. Dr. -Leighton smiled a little mournfully at this conception of diligence in -school work as a favor granted to a teacher, and promised to think the -matter over and do what he conscientiously could. Sam departed, greatly -encouraged. - -Two circumstances counted in favor of the boys’ request: the fact that -the invitation came from Robert Owen, for whom Dr. Leighton cherished a -sincere regard, and his full confidence in Sam. He believed, moreover, -that an honest petition for a legitimate purpose from an honest boy -should receive at least as much consideration as some fictitious -excuse of necessity trumped up to satisfy a formal rule. More than -once, as he was sadly aware, had A’s candid request been refused by -the authorities, when B, who followed with a lie on his lips, obtained -a permission which was used for precisely the same purpose. Dr. -Leighton’s commendation carried weight at the office. - -They boarded the eleven o’clock train, jubilant in spirit as any -schoolboy released for a lark, but self-contained as conscious -Seatonians, who pride themselves on being above the “kiddishness” of -minor schools. In Boston they snatched a hasty lunch and took a car -for Cambridge. The car filled quickly. The Harvard track meet was to -be held in the Stadium at the same time with the Freshman game on the -ball field, and many outsiders were tending Cambridgeward. On Boylston -Street a large, serious-faced young man climbed upon the running board -of the car, and looking calmly over the crowded seats to spy out an -unoccupied place, winked solemnly at a familiar face. - -“Look, there’s old Brandy!” exclaimed Sam, nudging Duncan sharply in -the ribs. “How did he get here?” - -“How does he get anywhere?” retorted Duncan. “On his cheek, of course.” - -Brantwein swung himself along to the seat occupied by Sam and Duncan. -He was dressed in his best, and carried himself with a noticeable air -of importance. - -“Going out to the game?” he asked coolly. - -“Yes, are you?” - -“I’m going to something, I don’t know what. Either the track or to see -the freshmen play.” - -“How did you get off?” questioned Sam. - -“I had business in Boston.” - -“Buying peanuts?” - -Brandy smiled. It was his regular armor-plated smile against which all -personal jokes fell dead and harmless. “No, buying a peanut farm and a -burying-ground for fools. I’ve got to lay out about a dozen up there at -Seaton before I leave. You fellows are feeling lively to-day.” - -“Yes, we’re going to see Owen beat Coy again.” - -“Do you expect to see that?” - -“We hope so.” - -“I don’t know but I’ll go there, too,” said Brantwein, meditatively. - -“You may not be able to get a seat now.” - -“I don’t care about seats.” - -The three approached the entrance to the grounds together, but there -in the crowd Brantwein disappeared. Our friends gave little heed to -the movements of their eccentric schoolmate, being taken up with the -pleasant excitement of the quest of places. Duncan hailed several -fellows whom he knew, and pointed out several others whom he knew -about. While they were waiting for the nines to appear, with Duncan -still busy over his search for familiar faces, Sam’s eyes fell upon a -well-known figure seated on one of the benches reserved within the side -lines for coaches and old players. - -“Look there, Duncan,” he cried, “on the first bench on the side line! -Isn’t that Brandy?” - -“As sure as guns!” returned Duncan. “How did he get there?” - -“Search me!” returned Sam. “He has the most colossal nerve! He told -me once that with a two-foot rule in his hand he could get into any -building going up,--construction work, he called it,--even if a man -stood at the door to keep people out. Perhaps Owen let him in.” - -“Owen nothing!” retorted Duncan. “He’s worked one of his bluffs on the -ticket-taker. One of these days his nerve’ll carry him inside a jail.” -Duncan did not fancy Brantwein, even as an amusement. - -But the players were appearing, and Brantwein and his arts were -forgotten. - -“That’s Owen, the solid fellow with the white sweater, and the mask on -his arm,” cried Duncan; “and the tall fellow behind him is O’Brien, the -Hillbury man. The one just going out to left field is Latter. He played -on our nine last year.” - -He paused to watch the men taking their positions for practice. - -“There come the Yale fellows!” exclaimed Sam, whose gaze was wandering -over the field. “Now, which is McPherson?” - -Duncan hesitated for some time; the unfamiliar uniforms confused him. -“I think that’s McPherson over by third base,” he said. The man at -third took a short bound and shot it underhand to a companion. “Yes, -that’s Mac. I should know that twist of the shoulder in California. -Isn’t it a shame!” - -“What?” - -“Why, that he should be playing under Coy against Bob Owen. In the -Hillbury game last year Coy came near assaulting Mac for tagging him -too hard at second. Now they’re pals.” - -“I don’t see anything strange in that,” rejoined Sam. “He’s playing for -his college as Owen’s playing for ours.” - -So they chattered on, till the Harvard men took the field for the game -and a businesslike pair of blue-stockinged legs appeared beneath a -bat at the plate. Then they watched with straining eyes, their talk -running to brief exclamations, sighs for the discouraging gains of the -visitors, vain cries of exultation when the Harvard men made promising -plays. - -Three innings passed without a run on either side. Then Coy, the first -man up in the fourth, hit a bounder which the Harvard third baseman -found too hot to handle, and Coy beat the ball to first base. The next -man waited while O’Brien tried to tempt the runner to steal, and thus -got his base on balls. His successor hit to third again, and while -Manning hesitated and tried to touch Coy, likewise made first. Number -four went out on a long fly to right field, but the speedy Coy got -safely across the plate on the return throw, with score number one. -McPherson now made a lucky single over shortstop’s head, which brought -in a second run. Then O’Brien caught the Yale man playing off too far -from second, and the next batsman struck out. - -[Illustration: “THAT’S OWEN.”--_Page 255._] - -“Bad!” said Duncan, sadly. His unhappiness was not relieved when the -three Harvard men went out on a fly and two easy infield hits. - -“They’re finding the ball, anyway,” remarked Sam, trying to be -courageous; “the game’s young yet.” - -“It’s nearly half grown,” rejoined Duncan, gloomily; “and you can see -what kind of a beast it’s going to be. Two runs is an awful handicap.” - -He was depressed still further in the fifth inning, when the first ball -pitched yielded a hit that put a Yale man again on first. The Yale -coachers took a risk and bade their man steal second. It was a poor -risk, for Owen shot one of his perfect throws down ahead of the runner, -and Williams, the Harvard shortstop, thumped him with the ball as he -slid gallantly into his fate. - -“What a daisy throw!” cried Sam, ecstatically. - -“He can do those by the dozen,” remarked Duncan, airily. “He has a -special wire to second base.” - -Manning now captured a foul off third, and Latter took a long fly in -left field. A Harvard man got as far as second base and was left there. -The sixth inning profited neither side. - -The seventh began with another shock to our friends’ nerves. Bryant -made a two-bagger. His two successors, however, went out on hits to -O’Brien, and presently Bryant himself, working too far from his base, -was cut off by a sudden throw to second, and run down ignominiously -between second and third. - -“Now, Mr. Owen, do something!” muttered Duncan, as the Harvard -catcher came to the plate. Owen responded to the unheard appeal by -a hot bounder over second which the Yale centre fielder allowed to -bounce past him, thus helping the runner to second. Williams drove -a troublesome ball into McPherson’s hands, and while the old Seaton -second baseman was struggling to get hold of it, Owen reached third and -Williams crossed first. The Harvard freshies now tried a squeeze play, -and Manning not only met the ball, but made a pretty little hit over -Bryant’s head, that would have brought Owen in, if he had not already -crossed the plate. A sacrifice now advanced Williams and Manning to -third and second. Then Gooding, the Yale pitcher, got three balls on -his first three pitches to Silverton, and the Harvard man, waiting for -his good one, drove a long single out between right and centre fields -that let in Williams and Manning with scores two and three. Two easy -outs followed. - -“Three to two!” cried Sam, joyfully. “Two more innings!” - -“It’s too close for comfort yet,” said Duncan, nervously. “I’d give a -month’s allowance to see the game end now. That’s Coy up, isn’t it?” - -But Coy swung three times in vain at his old pitcher’s curves. One of -his successors reached first, but two others went out and left him -there. The Harvard men fared no better. - -“Three more outs. It ought to be dead easy,” muttered Sam, as the ninth -began. The first Yale man at the bat drove a ball into left field that -looked good for two bases. But Latter got in front of it and sent it in -to second in season to scare the runner back to first. A big bony chap -followed at the plate. - -“That’s Kleindienst. He used to play with Hillbury. He can hit. They’re -going to do us right here. I feel it in my bones.” Duncan jerked out -his words in curt explosives. “There! he’s done it!” he groaned, as the -batsman drove the ball in a long sweep over third base. - -“No, it struck outside the foul line!” cried Sam, eagerly, as the -applause on the Yale side died suddenly away. “See! he’s gone back to -the plate!” - -“And got a strike for it, too,” said the reviving Duncan. “That’s where -the foul strike rule hits ’em.” - -While he spoke O’Brien sent in another pitch. Kleindienst hit another -foul. This time the ball careened over towards the stands opposite -first base. Owen tipped off his mask and ran headlong in pursuit. He -took the descending ball with hands outstretched; and while the howl -of applause was yet at its beginning, he turned sharply and threw to -first base. The Yale man scrambled wildly back, but the ball was there -before him. Williams fielded the next man out at first. - -“Come on! Let’s find him!” sang out Duncan, and dashed down the aisle -before the rising crowd got under way. Sam followed. They rushed out -into the field and made for the close circle gathering rapidly round -the catcher. - -“I’ll wait for you,” said Sam. “He won’t care anything about me.” - -“Won’t he!” cried Duncan. “Come and see!” And dragging Sam along behind -him, he screwed his way into the cluster at the centre of which Owen -was fighting off the vehement attentions of admirers. At the sight of -Duncan he broke through the circle and pulled the boy in. - -“Duncan Peck! I was wondering whether you were here. Didn’t we have -luck! Glad to see you, Archer. How are things at Seaton?” - -But before the question could be answered, the questioner was rushed in -another direction, and Sam and Duncan found themselves whirled to the -outside of the circle. - -Sam looked at his watch. “There’s just forty-five minutes before the -train leaves. We’ve got to hustle to catch it! We promised to take it, -you know.” - -“I suppose we did,” sighed Duncan. “I hate to leave now. I haven’t seen -Don at all. Go ahead!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -JUNE TO DECEMBER - - -It was well for our young men that they could share Owen’s victory, -for Patterson, their school captain, gave them none of their own to -enjoy. A pitcher cannot win a game alone; and Patterson’s cleverness -availed only to keep the Hillbury score down; his followers balked his -efforts with errors, and only O’Toole hit the Hillbury pitcher with any -readiness. - -After the Hillbury game, Sam focused his interest on the college -examinations. Mr. Alsop had at the last moment, with much misgiving, -granted him a provisional recommendation in French; and Sam, eager no -less to vindicate himself than to get rid of the troublesome subject, -hammered away at it during the last few weeks with a determination -worthy of a great cause. He was sure of his history and mathematics, -and reasonably confident in Greek and Latin; but English, the -crank-ridden, and French, the elusively easy, mocked him with promise -of failure. - -Duncan likewise yielded himself to the spirit of industry which was -turning 7 Hale into the workshop of scholastic cyclops. The latch was -kept down perpetually during these days of preparation. Only Duncan’s -tutor, the useful Moorhead, and occasionally the irresistible Bruce -found entrance. Duncan was at last serious; actually confronted by the -alternative of passing certain examinations and going to Harvard, or -failing and going to work, he understood that the time for trifling was -past. It is safe to say that Sam Archer’s example and encouragement, -and Moorhead’s patient readiness to explain and help, were of more use -to Duncan in his weary battle than class instruction or tutor’s drill. - -Duncan did pass his examinations,--he fell sprawling, but across the -line,--and Archer got every point he had worked for. He missed an honor -which he had hoped to get, but he triumphed in Mr. Alsop’s subject with -a C, which, boy-like, he regarded as a decision awarded him against the -teacher’s doubts, not as a proof of good instruction. There followed -for Sam an untroubled summer of loafing and tennis, rowing and sailing; -of reckless squandering of time on pure play; of reading books that -were not required and dreaming dreams of triumphs that would never come -to pass. He took back with him to school greater physical vigor and -clearer comprehension of his own personal problem. - -Sam settled with Moorhead very comfortably in his old room, and entered -upon the tasks of his senior year with the quiet purpose of making it -count. To accomplish this, he understood vaguely but sufficiently that -he must keep himself, physically and morally, under good control, must -work steadily rather than frantically, and pursue a sane ambition. This -sane ambition, so far as athletics were concerned, lay along the hurdle -path. Unless some phenomenon unexpectedly appeared, he could reasonably -count on becoming the school champion in the high hurdles. To be school -champion, however, was but a half-success. The Seatonian grudges honor -to a man who leads merely because there happens to be no one better. -The Seaton champion must prevail over the champions of other schools, -if he is to have the credit of achievement. - -Sam knew this quite as well as any one else; he appreciated its -personal bearing as no one else could. In the background of every -picture called up by a hopeful imagination, hovered the figure of -Kilham of Hillbury. Wherever Sam foresaw a chance of distinction, there -was Kilham to contest it with him. At the winter competition in Boston, -at the interscholastic games, in the Hillbury-Seaton dual meet, he must -struggle against this quick-starting, strong-running rival, who was at -least half a second better on the high-hurdle course. Should he ever -be able to beat that fellow? Sam considered his own vain endeavors to -put speed into his long legs, and confessed frankly that the odds were -heavy against him. But none the less, being of the smilingly persistent -kind, he went on with his practice undaunted, as if he had battles to -win instead of to lose. He also gave close attention to his school -work. Birdie Fowle informed him one day that he was no good any more; -Moorhead had made a grind out of him. Sam’s laughing comment was that -he wanted to get into college decently if possible, with a point or -two to the good. This was true, but it was not the fundamental reason -for his devotion to his studies. - -During the summer Archer had run across a Hillburyite named Denton, -at the seashore. When he inquired of this Hillburyite what kind of -a fellow Kilham was, Denton declared him the very finest sort of a -fellow. Later Sam chanced to ask how Kilham did in his studies, and -Denton returned a report distinctly favorable; he was not the very -best, of course, but much better than the average. Sam considered these -facts a full week. At the end of that time he had made up his mind -that if he had to run second to Kilham in the hurdles, he wouldn’t -fall behind in the classroom, too. This secretly nourished ambition -to maintain a rank that he need not be ashamed to have compared with -that of his Hillbury rival, increased rather than diminished as the -year slipped away. Certain teachers who grew from month to month more -complacent over their stimulating influence on Archer, would have been -much surprised to learn that the steady up trend of his rank line was -due to an unacknowledged, unreal competition with a student in another -school. - -Sam’s fall hurdle practice was interrupted by the summons to class -football. Before the season was far advanced, the captain of the -senior team was promoted to the first eleven squad, and Sam was chosen -captain in his place. With the care of his eleven and the class games -and the duty of punting to practise the school backs, Sam found small -opportunity to play with his pair of hurdles. - -The season was a fortunate one for the school eleven, and still more -fortunate for Mulcahy, who stepped in mid-season into the shoes of -a big tackle who had ignominiously succumbed to the measles; and he -kept his place through half the Hillbury game. He was thus a member -of a victorious school eleven, in a position to reap the glory of the -successful efforts of others. As a matter of fact, the game was won by -Kendrick, or by Kendrick and Illerton, the new end, together, after the -line had been ignobly crowded to and fro, up and down the field, for -three quarters of the playing time. But a victory is a victory, and -Mulcahy retained his good share of the prestige which the members of a -winning team enjoy. - -He made immediate use of this prestige to attain a long-cherished -ambition. In the fall of the previous year, and again in the spring, -he had been balked in his efforts to become president of the Laurel -Leaf, largely through the influence of Duncan Peck and his following. -Duncan Peck was now gone and many new fellows had come. This time -Mulcahy adopted less open methods of soliciting. Swan was his manager, -a natural politician who loved the excitement of a campaign. Swan cared -nothing about Mulcahy, but was down on Archer, who had scorned an -invitation to join the Mu Nu, Swan’s fraternity, which ranked as the -“yaller dog” of school societies. Sam and Moorhead tried to persuade -Kendrick to run for the Leaf, and failed. Then they fell back on -Blankenberg, a substitute on the eleven, who possessed solid qualities -and would have filled the office with dignity. Then it was that Swan -whisked into the field to the support of the candidate whom Archer -opposed. - -The contest was uneven. On the one side Mulcahy, football player, -editor of the “Seatonian,” ready-tongued, of imposing personality, -offering a fine show, both of talent and of school spirit; on the other -Blankenberg, plain, honest, conscientious, modest. Mulcahy triumphed -with votes to throw away. He came over to Blankenberg after the affair -was over with a very pretty display of personal sympathy. - -“I’m sorry you didn’t get it, really I am,” he said. “I shouldn’t take -it if so many hadn’t voted for me.” - -“I’m glad you won, if the majority want you,” returned Blankenberg, -honestly. - -“I think your manager lost you votes,” Mulcahy went on, pretending to -joke, but avoiding Sam’s eye. “I wouldn’t trust him again.” - -Blankenberg and Sam walked out together. “Isn’t he the limit,” exploded -Sam, when they were alone, “for pulling the wool over people’s eyes! -He’s got everybody on the string from the faculty to Dunbar Hall, and -he hasn’t a principle to his name. The school’s training that fellow -for a political boss.” - -“He didn’t need to be unprincipled to win to-night,” remarked -Blankenberg. “It was too easy. I rather think he’ll find some way of -getting ’most anything he wants.” - -Sam struggled with an impulse to quote Mulcahy’s statement that his -supreme ambition was to win the Yale Cup; but the feeling that Mulcahy -had spoken in confidence prevented his mention of it. It seemed quite -reasonable now that this ambition should be attained. - -“There’s one thing he can’t get,” he said with pardonable bitterness, -“class day offices. The class knows him too well.” - -But therein Sam was mistaken. The Omega Omicron clashed with the Alpha -Beta Gamma over the election of President of the Day, neither being -willing to give in to the other. As a result, the unfraternified, -moulded into a temporarily coherent force through the influence of the -vengeful Swan and the despised Mu Nu, united on Mulcahy and swept him -into office. - -“There seems to be nothing that that fellow can’t rake in if he tries,” -Sam grumbled to himself, as he swung moodily homeward from the class -election. “Of course you’d expect the faculty to be fooled, but here’s -half the class voting for him when nine out of every ten know he’s a -rotten fakir. Think of our bringing all our relatives to class day, and -that fellow sitting up on the platform as the representative man of the -graduating class of Seaton Academy! The Yale Cup?--Mulcahy, of course! -Anything he wants. He’s our color-bearer, sure enough! Rah, rah, rah, -Mulcahy!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -JANUARY TO MAY - - -The hurrying weeks brought Sam once more face to face with his rival of -Hillbury. Again one of thirty-odd numbers, he mingled with the confused -throng of candidates near the starting line of the forty-yard hurdles -in Mechanics’ Hall. - -“Who’s that fellow with the blue stripes across his shirt?” asked a boy -at his elbow, who wore the colors of a Boston school. - -Sam gave his benighted neighbor a sharp glance of surprise. “That’s -Kilham of Hillbury!” - -“Any good?” - -“Good enough to beat me!” returned Sam. - -“I guess it lies between Sage of Worcester and Doane of Noble’s,” said -the lad. - -Sam smiled grimly. He knew that it lay between Kilham of Hillbury -and--somebody else. - -The first heat was run: Kilham led at the tape; Sage of Worcester fell -out. In the second heat Number Eighteen was at the fore,--the programme -showed Number Eighteen to be Archer of Seaton. The third went to Doane -of Noble’s; the fourth to Jessop of Boston Latin; the fifth--but why -detail the process of sifting? The final heat was called. In it stood -Kilham, Archer, Doane, Whelan of the Boston High, and a nameless white -shirt from a small school, who by luck and good natural ability had -squeezed through the early heats. - -Kilham gave Sam a nod of recognition. “We’ve been up against each other -before.” - -Sam smiled assent. “Twice.” - -“And shall be again, probably. Don’t let those small school fellows -beat us, anyway. If I can’t win, I hope you will.” - -“The same to you,” answered Sam; but his voice was lost in the -starter’s call. - -On the “set” Doane tried to beat the starter, and was put back a foot. -All hung well on the next trial, and the pistol shot sent them away. -Doane flashed into the front rank at the outset, but he was clumsy on -the second hurdle and lost his advantage. Kilham and Archer rose from -the start together. Kilham reached the first hurdle a foot ahead, but -Archer gained on the hurdle jump. It was the same on the second. At the -third hurdle, four runners seemed to sweep the air abreast, but Doane -and Whelan lost a fraction of a second in clearing, and fell a foot -behind Kilham and Archer. On the final stretch the Hillbury man drove -himself to the front. Sam strained at his sluggish muscles with every -power of nerve and brain, but Kilham was the faster. Sam’s frantic -efforts, though insufficient to carry him past Kilham, at least enabled -him to hold a place ahead of his pursuers. He crossed the line second, -adjudged to have the better of Whelan by a few inches. - -“What do you honestly think, Collins?” demanded Sam, as the two talked -over the day’s happenings on the train that evening. “Shall I ever be -able to beat that fellow, or is he going to do me right along for the -next four years?” - -“I don’t know,” returned Collins, frankly. “Kilham’s a mighty good -hurdler for a schoolboy, but he isn’t the best there ever was. I’ve -seen him weaken a good bit on the last thirty yards of the one-twenty. -You’re about even on starting, and he’s faster, but you’ve got the -staying power. It’ll depend on how you learn to take the hurdles. -You wouldn’t have the ghost of a show on the low ones, but on the -high--well, I’ve seen a lot of good men beaten on the last twenty yards -of the high hurdles.” - -Such was the dubious form which Collins’s encouragement took. Collins -believed thoroughly in the efficacy of work; he was also convinced that -Archer was slowly “coming,” but he was not one to raise false hopes. - -“Then you really think I can improve on the hurdle work?” pursued Sam. - -“Of course. You jump too high, and that first stride when you come down -is too long. You bring your outer foot around well, but it goes out too -far. You ought to better that a good bit in the spring practice.” - -Whatever Collins may have expected from the spring training, he had -no reason to complain of Sam’s diligence. The average boy will work -with great zeal for the first and last weeks of his preparation for -an important contest. He usually starts with enthusiasm, allows his -ardor to ebb under the tiresome monotony of the daily drudgery, and -warms to his work again as the crisis approaches. And not infrequently -does it happen that the loss by this middle period of neglect proves -so serious that the candidate drops out discouraged before the test -arrives. It was one of Collins’s strong points as a trainer that he -tried to carry his charges all the way. He did not trust all reports -or accept every excuse. He strove to know what his boys were doing, -how they were spending their time, what they ate and drank, where they -went. He made no apologies for searching closely into the lives which -the boys were leading. Unless they lived properly, played honorably, -worked faithfully, he would have none of them. - -If Collins had possessed a magic wand by the touch of which slow -muscles could be endowed with marvellous speed, he certainly would -have given Archer the benefit of the first application of it. Sam took -the privations of training, as well as the regular drill, as parts of -his normal day. While he longed to win, and still dreamed of the happy -moment when he should show his back to Kilham on the hurdle path, he -could laugh good-naturedly at his ambitions, and speak frankly of the -likelihood of failure. He did not worry and did not lose courage. He -played tennis, enjoyed his friends, did his school work as well as he -could, got good hours of rest, shunned the things that weaken,--and -grew hard of muscle and sound of wind, living his life with happiness -and zest. - -Toward the end of May he was sent with a batch of Seatonians to take -part in the inter-scholastics in Cambridge. In the final of the -one-twenty hurdles, he fell in once more with Kilham and Doane of -Noble’s. - -“Hello, Archer!” called Kilham, cheerily. “We meet again. It’s your -turn to-day.” - -“I wish it was,” said Sam. - -But luck turned against him. The starter held them a long time on the -set, and Sam fell over before the trigger was pulled. He was put back -a yard. On the next attempt he erred through overcaution, and lost -another yard on the start. Always slow in getting into his stride, he -saw his two rivals dash well ahead of him for the first two hurdles. As -Sam was topping the third, Kilham and Doane were close to the fourth. -Hopeless though the race seemed, he pressed on, taking his jumps in -his best form, driving himself in the inter-hurdles paces, as if each -were the finish of the race. And lo! he gained! With every hurdle he -drew up on the leading pair. At the eighth he was at Doane’s heels. The -tenth he crossed abreast of the second man and beat him out through -greater strength in the final dash for the line,--but Kilham as usual -was first, this time by only two feet. - -For a time Sam was disheartened. When he compared the two feet -advantage which Kilham had over him at the finish with the two yards -lost at the start, and realized that he had plenty of reserve force on -the last stretch while Kilham was running weak, he felt that fate was -indeed against him. But Collins soon got hold of him and altered the -hue of his thoughts. He had never before been put back in a race; it -wouldn’t happen again; he had run a yard farther than the victor and -finished but two feet behind him. He would have another chance at the -Hillbury meet; let him but keep up his courage and work hard, and he -would win out yet! - -Yes, keep up your courage and work! That had been Collins’s song these -two years. But what availed courage and work against fate and a better -man? - -“He’ll probably beat me,” thought Sam, as the day of the Hillbury meet -approached; “he’ll probably beat me, for he always has beaten me, but -I’ll run him harder than I’ve ever done before!” - -On the day before the meet, Sam dropped in at the Sedgwicks’ to offer -two tickets to the games, which his father had written that he could -not use. Margaret clapped her hands with delight at the prospect. “We -must go, mother, and see Sam win. It’s our last chance. Do go!” - -“It’s my last chance, all right,” said Sam, “but don’t go expecting me -to win. I always lose.” - -“You’ll have to win, if we go. And we are going, aren’t we, mother?” - -“We’ll see,” answered the cautious mother. “Sam had better stay to -dinner and talk it over with your father.” - -“Invite me next week, and I’ll come with joy,” answered Sam, ruefully. -“You have too many good things to eat for a fellow in training.” - -Mrs. Sedgwick and Margaret were on the Seaton special that carried the -school to Hillbury. Sam sat in the seat opposite them, and for the time -enjoyed complete relief from anxious thoughts of the contest. They -parted at the station, when Sam went forward to join the other members -of the team in the barge that was awaiting them. - -“You must show me your gold medal when we go back,” said the girl, -gayly, as she bade him good luck. “You know we’ve come on purpose to -help you win it.” Sam lifted his cap and ran smilingly away to quiet -the barge-load of impatients who were clamoring for Archer to quit his -“fussing” and get aboard. Miss Margaret’s blind confidence had driven -Sam’s fatalism to cover. Could it be his day after all? - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -ARCHER _versus_ KILHAM - - -It was clear, two events before the high hurdles came, that Hillbury -was to win the day. In four races Seaton had been beaten by feet and -inches in desperate finishes. It may have been luck that the leaders in -these four contests were Hillbury men; luck certainly had nothing to do -with the fact that in each of the four the third prize went to a wearer -of the blue. Kilham had taken the two-twenty hurdles; Hillbury with -Kilham in the lead had swept every place in the broad jump. Mulcahy -could crawl no higher than third in the pole vault. Collins took the -issue philosophically, as a man might well do who had toiled early and -late to work second-class material into a first-class product, and -who, incidentally, had accomplished more than any three members of the -faculty toward establishing throughout the school a standard of right -living and honest striving. - -But stoically as Collins took the issues of fate, his real feelings -broke through the mask of calmness when the one-twenty hurdles -were called, and Sam and Pearson, wearing Seaton colors, took the -places assigned them and dug their starting holes. Defeat may have -its consolations; and to Collins no consolation could be quite so -satisfactory as a victory for his long-legged pupil, who had done his -work month in and month out like a man of years and responsibilities, -and had come up smiling after every knockdown, with determination -unquenched. Miss Margaret, on the Seaton benches near the finish line, -strained her eyes to see the starting, oblivious to the fact that -her pulse was beating ten counts faster than it had any right to. -Sam himself, having something definite to do, and something definite -to think of, was less agitated than Miss Margaret, or even Collins. -The something definite to think of was the uncommon solidity of the -Hillbury hurdles. If he struck one, it would throw him--or at least -so he feared. He must be sure to clear, even at the waste of a few -inches; and unnecessary inches in the rise meant, he knew full well, -a fraction of a second in total loss. On the full extent of this -handicap he did not dwell. It was enough that he must keep well above -the hurdles. - -The start was even--at least for Kilham and Archer. They sprang for the -first hurdle in step together, like well-matched horses. Sam’s leap -was needlessly high; Kilham gained thereby a small advantage, which he -increased to a yard as the third hurdle was passed. Then Sam, becoming -less fearful of the rise, brought his jump down nearer the top of the -hurdle and began to regain lost ground. On the fifth they were together -again. After that Sam forged ahead, clearing every obstacle just in -front of his rival. As he struck the ground after the tenth he realized -that his hopes depended on his holding his advantage against a faster -sprinter for a distance of less than fifteen yards. He had been running -at full tension throughout the race; he could do no better now. - -As the runners swept past the seats where sat Mrs. Sedgwick and -Margaret, the girl uttered a trembling scream of joy which was drowned -in the disorderly cries of the Seaton followers. Archer was ahead! -The blue hurled shouts of encouragement at their struggling champion, -who tore along after his rival. Seaton yelled congratulations and -encouragement, and Hillbury encouragement and congratulations, for -Kilham did close up on Archer. The Seatonians thought they had it, and -then feared that they had lost it; while the Hillburyites feared loss, -and later exulted in the thought that they had won. It all happened in -the shortest possible time, and at first nobody knew the result, not -even the judges. Collins, who stood on a line with the finish, said it -was very close, but it looked like Archer; Bruce declared that it was -Archer by six inches; the Hillburyites capered about, shouting that -Kilham had it by a foot. One judge said Archer; the second Kilham; -the other wasn’t sure. Kilham ran off to his rub-down straightway; -Sam lingered, panting on Collins’s shoulder, to hear the decision. -Of course it was not for him to judge the race, but he had felt the -worsted thread tighten against his breast, and he knew that a beaten -man never brushes the finish cord. - -The judges conferred and reported to the announcer, who bellowed -forth the news: a tie! Whereat all hands applauded, except the special -friends of either contestant, who agreed in considering it “a steal,” -but disagreed as to the party whose rights had been stolen. Sam’s first -emotion was one of grievous disappointment. Kilham had beaten him -often--but this time! After all, it might have been worse. The judges -might have given the first place to Kilham, and adjudged him second. -Judges are but mortal. The thought of the fate escaped comforted him in -a measure for the disappointment. At any rate, he was not a loser. He -had won the race as much as Kilham had. - -An official appeared with the medals in his hand, pretty shining -things, one gold, the other silver, bedded on heavy ribbons marked with -the colors of the two schools. - -“You’ll have to toss for these,” he said in a businesslike way. -“Where’s the other fellow?” - -The other fellow had disappeared. Richmond Noyes, the Hillbury baseball -captain, pushed forward. “Kilham’s gone to get his rub-down,” he said. -“I’ll toss for him.” - -The official hesitated a moment as if uncertain as to the propriety of -the substitution, but a colleague reassured him. “All right! You call, -Archer!” he said, and his practised hand sent a coin spinning in the -air. - -“Tails!” cried Sam, who had drawn an induction from several experiences -that tails were luckier for him than heads. - -The official stooped and picked up the coin. “Heads it is!” he -announced cheerfully. - -Noyes clutched the gold medal and scurried away in quest of Kilham. -Sam took his portion of the spoil, and dodging alike compliments and -condolences, went his leisurely way toward the Seaton quarters. Could -anything be more symbolic than that toss! When after two years of -uphill work he was at last wholly ready to meet Kilham in a square, -even race, those heavy, clumsy hurdles had to turn up and lose him -three or four feet; of course! Kilham, actually beaten by some inches, -was considered by the wall-eyed judges to have led; of course! With -equal chance to draw the gold medal, he must needs get the silver; of -course! Did ever any one have such luck! - -“Archer! Oh, Archer! Hold on!” - -Sam turned in the direction of the unfamiliar voice and beheld trotting -toward him a bareheaded youth, whose chief article of attire was a bath -robe. Behind the bath robe strode Noyes, his blue-ribboned hat tilted -back on his head, wearing upon his face an expression of desperate -disgust. - -“Look here, Archer,” began Kilham, eagerly, while still a dozen feet -away, “I don’t want this thing. It belongs to you.” - -The “thing” in question was the gold medal, which Noyes had carried -off in a burst of delight but a few minutes before. “Give me the other -one and take this,” Kilham went on, holding out the first prize to the -astonished Seatonian. - -“Why?” asked Sam, blankly. - -“Because I won’t take it, because it doesn’t belong to me, because Rich -here had no business to butt in and get it. I didn’t want to toss for -the thing.” - -A look of eager joy flashed into Sam’s face, only to fade away again as -the character of the offer which Kilham was making came home to him. It -was generous of Kilham, who had lots of prizes, to refuse to deprive -his rival of the only good one which he had ever won. It was a fine -thing to do; but Sam could not profit by the pitying generosity of a -kind-hearted rival. - -“It didn’t make any difference who tossed for it,” said Sam. “We -accepted Noyes as your representative. The judges gave the race a tie, -and we tossed for prizes. That settled it.” - -“It didn’t settle anything,” returned Kilham, warmly. “Noyes had no -more authority to toss for me than that kid there. I didn’t win the -race and I’m not going to take the prize. You won the race. I almost -got you at the finish, but not quite. You touched that thread before I -did. I’m sure of it.” - -Sam stared and pondered. “The judges declared it a tie,” he said at -length. - -“Then it will have to be a tie so far as the official record goes. We -can’t dispute the judges, but we can divide the prizes as they ought to -be divided. I won the second prize. I’ll have that or none!” - -“Then I’ll take the gold one,” decided Sam, in a subdued voice. When -the exchange was effected, he held out his hand to his old rival, who -seemed to him at that moment more unreachable than ever, and blurted -out, “If there are many fellows like you in Hillbury, I wish I had gone -there!” - -So it happened that Sam Archer really did have a gold medal to show -Miss Margaret when he met her again at the train, and with it a little -tale to tell of schoolboy honesty and generosity.[1] - -[1] If this incident of the medal sounds like the invention of an -unpractical moralist, the author pleads innocent to the charge. It -is a fairly accurate account of an actual occurrence at a recent -Exeter-Andover contest. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -THE YALE CUP - - -With the passing of the Hillbury meet, Archer’s career as a school -athlete was at an end. He played tennis and scrub ball, but this -was play, not work. His training now was for quite another kind of -contest--the final wrestling match with the college examinations. He -shared as a helpless onlooker in the disaster of the annual ball game, -when Noyes’s nine after a hard fight took the Seatonians into camp. -The football men were the only victors of the year, since even in -tennis honors were divided. Sam smiled to himself somewhat grimly as he -considered how fortune had cooperated with Mulcahy in his ambitions for -the Yale Cup. Against the background of defeated teams, the football -men bulked large as athletes. - -Mrs. Archer came up to be present at the festivities of graduation -week. With Mrs. Sedgwick and Margaret, she started early for the -chapel exercises with which the school year formally closed. As they -crossed the yard, the seniors were forming in a long, uneven double -line that extended from the steps of the main school building across -the lawn toward the outer fence. Late risers were scurrying from the -dormitories, struggling, on the run, to work their arms into the -sleeves of their gowns and at the same time to keep their mortar-boards -safely balanced on their heads. The marshals were zealously and more -or less effectually ordering the jeering battalion. Sam, looking like -a giant in the ample gown that covered his bony length, raised his cap -over a face glowing with satisfaction as the three visitors passed the -head of the line, hurrying to reach their places before the procession -took the right of way. “He’s a dear boy,” thought the mother with -pride, “if he is not a genius. He does the best he can.” - -They were given seats on the side aisle, well to the front; the middle -section was reserved for the class. Before the platform stood a heavy -table. On it were the score of prizes to be assigned, piles of books, -impressive envelopes containing the money awarded, and in the midst, -towering in cold stateliness above two minor brethren, the shining -form of the Yale Cup. Solemn faces of benefactors and famous graduates -looked down disapprovingly from the walls; there had been no such -lavish display of prizes in the simple old days when they were members -of the school, reciting Latin and Greek by candlelight to austere, -dignified gentlemen who revered Cicero as the model for all language -and ignored French and German as the lingo of dancing-masters and -fiddlers. Flanking the platform and facing the audience, ran a long -line of chairs--“for the faculty,” whispered Mrs. Sedgwick, who had -been present on such occasions before. - -Presently the tramp of feet was heard, and the seniors filed in for -their last chapel service. They stood, when they reached their places, -waiting for the dignitaries, who were not slow to appear. The principal -entered with the president of the board of trustees, two clergymen -from abroad, others of the trustees who were in town, and a venerable -alumnus or two to whom the school would do honor. These took places on -the platform, in the alcove behind the reading desk. After them came -the faculty, a motley line, in which staid elderly men, of the wisdom -which is born of long intercourse with boys, touched shoulders with -youths fresh from the university--in whom self-confidence and zeal -must still do duty for ripe experience and sound judgment. When all -were placed, the visiting clergymen conducted the simple devotional -exercises, the hymns rolling with resonant vigor from two hundred -masculine throats. Then the president of the board of trustees, -encumbered by many typewritten sheets, came forward beside the desk for -the formal business of the day. - -He began by addressing certain neatly worded compliments to the -graduating class. In this task, which was in the line of his daily -work as an advocate before important courts, he acquitted himself with -dignity and impressiveness. When, however, he came to the reading -of the list of those entitled to diplomas, his experience in public -speaking availed him little. He waded on, undaunted, through fourscore -names, pronounceable and unpronounceable, drawn from all races and -all lands. As each name was read or attempted, its claimant rose in -response, until every wearer of a gown was on his feet. Then the -diplomas were passed out in bunches to chosen delegates, who delivered -them to their proper owners. - -With a feeling of relief the president laid aside the catalogue of -seniors, and took up the short list of honor men. After this he passed -to those of the school who had earned “honorable mention,” finding new -pitfalls in untried combinations of letters which stood for certain -deserving members of lower classes. With the next sheet began the -announcement of prize-winners. - -Here was the climax of the day. Many were the boys who listened with -quick-beating hearts, hoping to hear the sound of their names; and many -there were who listened in vain. The president announced the prize and -the award; the secretary of the faculty took the prize from the table -and handed it to the principal; the principal delivered it into the -hands of its owner. As one and another came forward, flushed with -happy embarrassment, and received the reward of his labor, the school -gave abundant applause, those who had nourished no hopes and those who -had hoped in vain uniting in generous congratulation of the victors. -So went the Latin prizes, the Greek prizes, the prizes in English -composition, in Mathematics, in Bible study, in History; the prize for -general excellence in studies and that for physical development. Sam’s -interest was keen in the result, for he hoped to see his room-mate -honored as a Latinist. He chuckled with delight as Moorhead was called -a second time to the gift table, and brought back a sample from the -pile of twelve large volumes of Shakespeare as a prize in English. - -There were but three or four awards still to be made when Sam, seeing -the secretary reach for the big three-handled cup that mounted guard -over the remaining envelopes and books, knew that the time for -Mulcahy’s prize had come. He glanced backward curiously over his -shoulder at the astute strategist who sat a few seats away, and marked -with amused interest the artful mask of indifference which the young -man wore. So fascinating was this study of Mulcahy the expectant, and -Mulcahy the ready-to-be-surprised, that Sam very impolitely kept his -eyes on the face in the row behind until the president had finished -the long description: “The Yale Cup, given by the Yale Club of Boston -to the Senior who best combines proficiency in athletics with good -standing in his studies.” As the reader paused, Sam faced front and -prepared to applaud the name of John Joseph Mulcahy,--but the name the -president read was “Samuel Wadsworth Archer”! - -The applause thundered forth sudden and sharp, no perfunctory service -of courtesy, but a burst of enthusiastic approval that swept the whole -student company. It rose and fell and rose again, vehement and long -drawn out. The boys in front twisted their heads around as they strove, -still beating their palms, to catch a glimpse of the winner; those in -the seats behind craned their necks with the same laudable design. -And Sam sat with downcast eyes and glowing cheeks, hearing but not -believing, stupidly delaying the exercises, yet hardly daring to answer -the summons; until Westbrook, who sat beside him, stopped clapping -long enough to dig him in the ribs with a sharp elbow and enjoin him: -“Go and get it, you fool. Don’t you see you’re keeping the whole -business waiting?” To this exhortation Sam gave heed. - -During the remainder of the exercises Sam sat with the precious cup -clutched beneath his gown, ecstatically demanding of himself again -and again how it could possibly be, and pitying the unfortunate whose -deep-laid plans had gone so wholly wrong. When the audience was -dismissed, he was at once overwhelmed by boys who insisted on shaking -his hand and slapping his shoulder and telling him that the award was -“just right,”--and, of course, handling the cup. - -Mrs. Archer, on her side, was a general target for congratulations. -She received them with the composure of a mother who is never wholly -surprised at any honor bestowed upon her son; but in her eyes burned -a light of happiness and excitement that belied her quiet manner, and -her gaze would wander to the group of gowns that thronged her tall son -and hid the white gleam of silver from the sight of the unprivileged -curious. - -“How did he happen to get it?” she asked Dr. Leighton, as the teacher -came to offer his compliments. “I’m sure he hadn’t the slightest -expectation of its coming to him.” - -“Of course he didn’t expect it,” returned Dr. Leighton. “The boy who -deserves such a prize rarely expects it. I can tell you how it came to -be awarded to him, because I was on the committee. He won it by good -honest work. It was what he accomplished, not what he chanced to do, -that turned the scales in his favor.” - -Mrs. Archer’s look indicated that she was not quite sure that she -understood; but before she could ask further, her son broke through -the circle of students, and came, sheepishly dangling the cup by one -of its heavy handles, to greet his mother. Sam was not sufficiently -experienced in prize-winning to take his honors easily, especially -when Margaret Sedgwick roguishly assumed a clean record of A’s as a -part of his title to the cup, and insisted on knowing all details. He -managed to escape these embarrassing attentions by calling up Moorhead -and presenting him as the banner prize-catcher of the class; and -presently, on the pretext of helping his room-mate carry home his load -of Shakespeares, he succeeded in getting safely away. - -The next morning when Sam called at the Sedgwicks’ to see his mother, -he found her on the garden piazza, with a Boston paper on her lap. - -“There’s a whole column here about the Commencement,” she said, as Sam -sat down beside her. “Don’t you want to see it?” - -Sam laughed contentedly. “I don’t need to read about it; I was there.” - -“And beside it is a report from the Hillbury Commencement, too. Prizes -aren’t so plenty in Hillbury. There seem to be hardly half as many as -are given here.” - -The prizes at Hillbury possessed small interest for Sam. He was -satisfied to lounge quietly in the comfortable chair, let his eyes -wander over the profusion of gay flowers in the old-fashioned garden, -and gloat in silence on the fact that school recitations were, for him, -forever finished. All at once he straightened up in his chair and -demanded:-- - -“Who got the Yale Cup down there? I wonder if it’s any one I know?” - -“In Hillbury?” answered Mrs. Archer, taking up the paper again. “Let -me see--the Orton prize, the Harper prize, the--oh, yes, the Yale Cup: -Winthrop Joy Kilham.” - -“Kilham!” cried Sam, in a sudden accession of spirit. “Kilham! That’s -great! The judges hit the bull’s-eye that time, for sure!” - - -[Transcriber's Note: - -Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.] - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Yale Cup, by Albertus True Dudley - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YALE CUP *** - -***** This file should be named 54996-0.txt or 54996-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/9/9/54996/ - -Produced by Wayne Hammond and The Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Yale Cup - -Author: Albertus True Dudley - -Illustrator: Charles Copeland - -Release Date: June 28, 2017 [EBook #54996] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YALE CUP *** - - - - -Produced by Wayne Hammond and The Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="table"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_i">i</span></p> - -<h1>THE YALE CUP</h1> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_ii">ii</span></p> - -<div class="bbox table"> -<div class="table" style="margin: auto 2em"> -<p class="caption">BOOKS BY ALBERTUS T. DUDLEY</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="caption large figcenter"> -<span class="antiqua">Phillips Exeter Series</span><br /> - -<span class="copy">Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth.</span></p> - -<p style="padding-left: 2em"> -FOLLOWING THE BALL.<br /> -MAKING THE NINE.<br /> -IN THE LINE.<br /> -WITH MASK AND MITT.<br /> -THE GREAT YEAR.<br /> -THE YALE CUP.<br /> -A FULL-BACK AFLOAT.<br /> -THE PECKS IN CAMP.<br /> -THE HALF-MILER.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="caption large figcenter"><span class="antiqua">Stories of the Triangular League</span><br /> - -<span class="copy">Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Charles Copeland</span>. 12mo. Cloth.</span></p> - -<p style="padding-left: 2em"> -THE SCHOOL FOUR.<br /> -AT THE HOME-PLATE.<br /> -THE UNOFFICIAL PREFECT.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p style="padding-left: 2em"> -THE KING’S POWDER.</p> - -<img class="figcenter" src="images/hr.jpg" alt="" /> - -<p class="copy">LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_iii">iii</span></p> -</div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img id="i004" src="images/i004.jpg" alt="" /> -<p class="caption"><span class="smcap">Sam forged ahead, clearing every obstacle just in -front of his rival.</span>—<i><a href="#Page_284">Page 284</a>.</i></p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="title_page"> -<span class="large"><i>PHILLIPS EXETER SERIES</i></span><br /> -<hr class="chap" /> - -THE YALE CUP<br /> -<br /> -<span class="large">BY<br /> -ALBERTUS T. DUDLEYM</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="small table">AUTHOR OF “FOLLOWING THE BALL,” “MAKING THE<br /> -NINE,” “IN THE LINE,” “WITH MASK AND<br /> -MITT,” “THE GREAT YEAR”</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="medium"><i>ILLUSTRATED BY CHARLES COPELAND</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<img class="figcenter" src="images/i005.jpg" alt="" /><br /> -<br /> -<span class="large table">BOSTON<br /> -LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_iv">iv</span></div> - -<div class="copy table"> -<span class="smcap">Copyright, 1908, by Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.</span><br /> -Published, March, 1908.<br /> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<i>All Rights Reserved</i>.<br /> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<span class="smcap">The Yale Cup</span>.<br /> - -<br /> -<span class="antiqua">Norwood Press</span><br /> -J. S. Cushing Co.—Berwick & Smith Co.<br /> -Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.<br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">v</span></div> - -<p class="copy table"> -TO THE MANY<br /> -<span class="large">PLEASANT YOUNG FRIENDS</span><br /> -WHO, CONSCIOUSLY OR UNCONSCIOUSLY, HAVE<br /> -ASSISTED IN THE MAKING OF<br /> -THIS BOOK -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">vi</span></p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">vii</span></p> - -<h2 id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> - -<table> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td /> - <td class="small tdr">PAGE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">An Expert Packer</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">1</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Archer Receives</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">9</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">First Impressions</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">21</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Bruce gives Advice</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">29</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Sport for Sport’s Sake</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">38</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">A Bone of Contention</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">47</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Mr. Worldly Wiseman</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">58</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Slow to Anger</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">68<span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">viii</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Fury of a Patient Man</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">76</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Duncan’s Disgust</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">86</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">A Revelation of Character</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">95</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Mr. Alsop’s Dignity</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">105</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Challenge</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">115</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">An Affair of Honor</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">127</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Sam’s First Race</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">137</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">He tries Again</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">148</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">A Foolhardy Adventure</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">162</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Mr. Alsop Barks</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">174<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">ix</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Up the Wrong Tree</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">188</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Socialist</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">204</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Honk! Honk!</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">216</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">How the Fish was Caught</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">226</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Lessons in Hurdling</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">237</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Robert Owen, Freshman</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">249</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">June to December</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">263</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">January to May</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">273</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Archer <i>versus</i> Kilham</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">282</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII</a></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Yale Cup</span></td> - <td class="small tdr">291</td> - </tr></table> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">x</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">xi</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="ILLUSTRATIONS">ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> - -<table> - <tr> - <td><a href="#i004">Sam forged ahead, clearing every obstacle just in front of his rival (p. 284)</a></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Frontispiece</i></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td /> - <td class="small tdr">FACING PAGE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a href="#i019">Donald caught the fastening at one end at the fourth attempt</a></td> - <td class="small tdr">4</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a href="#i061">“Referee! referee! they’re playing thirteen men!”</a></td> - <td class="small tdr">44</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a href="#i183">This spectacle of pitchers and streams of water and heads greeted Mr. Alsop’s gaze</a></td> - <td class="small tdr">164</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a href="#i249">At the same moment Sam vaulted the barrier</a></td> - <td class="small tdr">228</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a href="#i279">“That’s Owen”</a></td> - <td class="small tdr">256</td> - </tr></table> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xii">xii</span></p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">1</span></p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="THE_YALE_CUP">THE YALE CUP</h2> - -<p class="table"><img src="images/hr.jpg" alt="" /></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br /> - -<span class="medium">AN EXPERT PACKER</span></h2> - -<p>“All packed?” inquired Robert Owen, inserting -his head through the door of Number 7 -Hale and sweeping the scene of confusion with a -curious glance. Satisfied to accept the evidence -of his eyes in lieu of a definite reply, Owen was -just closing the door again when one of the -Peck twins, who inhabited the room, sang out: -“Hi there, Bobby! Come in here a minute!”</p> - -<p>Owen let himself in and set his back against the -door.</p> - -<p>“You call that packing, do you?” he asked, -looking with a grin of amusement at a big trunk -which gaped at him with wide-distended jaws, -the whole front of the tray showing like a flaunting -tongue. “Whose trunk is that?” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">2</span></p> - -<p>“Don’s,” replied Duncan.</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you take some of the things out -and put them in yours?”</p> - -<p>“Because he’s going straight home, and I’m -not,” retorted Duncan.</p> - -<p>“That lid will never go down,” said Owen, -who had been examining the overfed monster. -“You’ll have to repack.”</p> - -<p>“Repack! Why, what’s the matter with that -packing? That wasn’t done the way Blossom -does his—fill a pillowcase and hammer it down -with a baseball bat—that’s all hand work.” -He came nearer and whispered in Owen’s ear: -“I don’t want it repacked. I put in a couple -of old bottles that I picked up down back of -Porter’s. There’ll be something doing when -mother unpacks them.”</p> - -<p>Donald came out of his bedroom. “Do you -think it will go?” he asked of neither in particular, -gazing doubtfully at the problem.</p> - -<p>“Of course it will,” said Duncan, promptly, -“if you put weight enough on it. Try it, Bob, -and see what your hundred and eighty will -do.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">3</span></p> - -<p>“Hundred sixty-eight,” corrected Owen, as -he mounted the incline. The lid sank to within -four inches of its proper place.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid we’ve got to take some things -out,” sighed Donald.</p> - -<p>“If you take out anything, it will have to be -that box of specimens,” remarked Duncan, -shrewdly. The box of specimens was the one -thing which Donald would not want to leave -behind.</p> - -<p>Donald meditated.</p> - -<p>“Let’s try to snap it,” proposed Duncan. -“Bob and I will get on one end and jump it -down. You try to catch the fastening when it -comes right. Then when we get one tight, -we’ll down the other.”</p> - -<p>This method actually proved effective. Donald -caught the fastening at one end at the fourth -attempt; the weight of all three brought the -second fastening into place. The lid fortunately -was strongly made and the hinges held. Donald -locked the trunk and put the key in his pocket, -while Owen and Duncan pulled the strap to a -hole beyond the power of any porter to loosen. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">4</span> -Then they drew long breaths and contemplated -the work of their hands.</p> - -<p>“It’s like a bale of hay,” said Duncan in -triumph. Donald, however, seemed not wholly -satisfied.</p> - -<p>“I wish it had iron bands round it. If the -thing bursts, I shall be all to the bad.”</p> - -<p>“That strap’s as good as an iron band,” spoke -his twin, reassuringly. “Things go a great deal -better when they’re packed tight; I’ve heard -mother say so often.”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you go together?” asked Owen, -marvelling that the twins, who belonged together -like the two halves of a walnut, should -actually be at the point of separation.</p> - -<p>“That’s a personal question, but I’ll condescend -to answer it,” returned Duncan, a little -sheepishly. “Don, of course, has passed all -his exams. I only got recommended in three, -and I believe I’ve flunked ’em all. So I’m -going down to Uncle Will’s till after the Fourth, -and then I’m to tutor in Cambridge. If I get -a decent number of points in the fall, I’m coming -back here. If I don’t, I’ve got to go to work.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">5</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img id="i019" src="images/i019.jpg" alt="" /> -<p class="caption"><span class="smcap">Donald caught the fastening at one end at the fourth -attempt.</span>—<i><a href="#Page_3">Page 3</a>.</i></p></div> - -<p>“Shall you keep your room?”</p> - -<p>Duncan nodded. “It doesn’t cost anything -to do that. They’ve given me a room-mate -too, a tall, bony fellow, named Archer. Upper -middler. Hails from Portland.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve seen him, then?”</p> - -<p>“No. He’s related to the Sedgwicks, and he -was there the other day. That’s his description -as I got it from Wally. When are you going?”</p> - -<p>“To-day. I may as well say good-by.” Owen -held out a hand which Duncan gripped.</p> - -<p>“I don’t suppose you’ll ever be seen here -again,” said the Peck, ruefully. “You’ll have to -come with the freshman teams, though, won’t you?”</p> - -<p>“If I can make any,” answered Owen, lightly.</p> - -<p>“Make any!” Duncan sniffed. “If you call -that modesty, I don’t. It’s pure affectation. -You know you could make the Varsity nine, if -they’d let freshmen play.”</p> - -<p>“I shall come up anyway, whether I play with -the freshmen or not,” pursued Owen, disregarding -Duncan’s flattering comment. “I shall want -to turn up here occasionally to see the old place -and the profs and the people I know.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">6</span></p> - -<p>“Gee! wouldn’t it be sport when you’re all -through and aren’t afraid of anybody!” exclaimed -Duncan, his tongue hurrying after his -imagination. “I’d walk up to Doc Rounder and -say, ‘How-de-do, Doctor Rounder! How’s that -fine dog of yours?’ Doc would smile all over -and begin to crack the mongrel up. Then I’d -tell him that the pup looked pretty well for such -an old dog, and ask if the police really did shoot -at him for snapping at people. I’d see Hayes -and thank him for all he taught me—he was -always telling me that I was the only fellow -he’d ever had whom he couldn’t teach anything -to—and josh him about his chickens. I’d -call on old Moore and get him going about the -school spirit. I’d—”</p> - -<p>“You’d better wait till you graduate before -you plan to come back to show yourself off,” -interrupted Owen, laughing.</p> - -<p>“That’s a fact,” returned Duncan, suddenly -reduced to humility. “Most likely I shall be -doing the errand-boy stunt in my father’s office. -Don’ll have to be the one to come back.”</p> - -<p>“I’m never coming back,” said Don, decidedly. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">7</span> -“I’m down on the place. They’re -always looking for a chance to fire you, and they -haven’t given Dun a fair show. When he’s a -great man, I hope he’ll be elected trustee and -cut down all their salaries.”</p> - -<p>“That’s just what I’d do,” declared Duncan. -“And what I took off from the salaries of the profs -I don’t like I’d give to those who are on the -square.”</p> - -<p>“I can guess who’d get an increase,” Owen -remarked.</p> - -<p>“Not very hard to do that. I wish you’d guess -how I’m going to get twelve points this summer.”</p> - -<p>“Buck up and work, you idiot!” cried Donald, -impatiently.</p> - -<p>“That’s what I’m going to do, isn’t it?” Duncan -retorted. “I know what I’m up against without -your rubbing it in.”</p> - -<p>At this juncture Owen, regardless of the fact -that by staying five minutes longer and using a -little diplomacy he could involve the twins in a -first-class scrap, virtuously said good-by and returned, -somewhat depressed, to his packing. -He liked Duncan Peck too well to hear of his -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">8</span> -troubles with unconcern. He hoped sincerely -that the boy would get off a lot of points in September, -and that the new room-mate would prove -to be of the right sort. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">9</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br /> - -<span class="medium">ARCHER RECEIVES</span></h2> - -<p>The middle of September was past. The school -authorities had survived the worst of the confusion -of registering, allotting rooms, smothering -complaints, turning away unpromising applicants, -evading the tearful entreaties of parents, arranging -schedules, laying down rules. The second-hand -furniture dealers were sold out, having reaped -a cash harvest of a hundred per cent on goods -bought of the mortally impecunious three months -before. The student dealers in fountain pens -and athletic supplies were making hay in dazzling -sunshine. Football, the great industry of autumn, -clamored for devotees. The first notes of the year-long -wail over the food at Alumni Hall already -floated in the air. With screech of bearings and -groan of ill-fitting machinery, the Seaton mill -had begun its one hundred and twenty-third -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">10</span> -manufacturing season. Would the product be -worth while? It depended quite as much on the -quality of the raw material provided as on the -process of manufacture.</p> - -<p>Sam Archer came to Seaton with vague but -highly colored expectations, due in no small measure -to the entertaining reminiscences of adventure -and romance which his Uncle Fred delighted to -tell. Uncle Fred had preceded him in school by -twenty-odd years. The school had been smaller -then, and the life simpler. The boys still boarded -around the village in private houses, the sports -were general affairs requiring no special training, -the school itself formed a big fraternity with few -distinctions except such as come naturally to -superior personality. Uncle Fred, being a bright, -friendly, whole-souled fellow, learning easily and -possessing a natural aptitude for games of all -kinds, had been a conspicuous figure in the school. -He looked backward upon his Seaton days as the -happiest period of his life; Sam looked forward to -his with an eagerness born of long-fondled hopes.</p> - -<p>Sam moved into 7 Hale, to which he had been -assigned, and waited to see what kind of a comrade -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">11</span> -this appointed room-mate was to be. When two -days went by without sign of a Peck, he called at -the office and learned that the absentee was expected -on the morrow; his coming, however, -depended on the results of the examinations which -he was taking in Cambridge; if he did not appear, -another room-mate would be provided.</p> - -<p>Ruminating dolefully on this uncertainty about -a most important matter, Sam reached home in -time to catch a caller who was just turning from -the door. It was Bruce, a good-looking fellow -of the ruling oligarchy—likewise captain of the -track team. He had been pointed out to Sam on -the first day of school.</p> - -<p>“Hello!” called Bruce. “Do you live in this -entry?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” responded Sam, “in Number 7. My -name’s Archer.”</p> - -<p>“Then you’re the fellow I’m looking for. -Where’s Duncan Peck?”</p> - -<p>Sam opened the door for his caller. “He -hasn’t come yet. I’ve just been to the office to -see about it. They didn’t seem sure that he’d -come at all.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">12</span></p> - -<p>“I’m awfully afraid that he won’t, myself. -He wrote me that he had to make twelve points -to get back. I don’t believe he can get twelve -points in twelve years.”</p> - -<p>“Won’t you sit down?” asked Archer, politely.</p> - -<p>“No, I thank you. I’ve got to get home.” -The visitor gave a glance at Sam’s lanky figure. -“—Do anything in athletics?”</p> - -<p>“Not much,” replied Sam, modestly. “I played -football and baseball in the high school, but our -teams wouldn’t be called anything here. I ran -the high hurdles too.”</p> - -<p>“Did you?” The track captain’s interest became -keen immediately. “What time have you -made?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing very good. Eighteen seconds was my -best.”</p> - -<p>Bruce’s eagerness languished. “You ought to -do better than that. If you don’t play football, -get Collins to help you this fall.”</p> - -<p>When the next day passed and no Peck appeared, -Sam quietly moved the furniture of the stay-away -to the other bedroom, and took up his quarters -in the corner room, which possessed obvious advantages -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span> -over its mate. The reasoning here was -as straight as Euclid. This unknown quantity, -Peck, as original occupant, enjoyed a prior claim -to the desirable room. Against all later comers -the Archer claim took precedence. Any claim, -however good, is strengthened by actual occupancy. -If Peck wasn’t coming, Sam might as -well have the room as give it to some one else.</p> - -<p>That evening Archer received a call from three -inhabitants of his “well.” They came in boldly, -addressed him jauntily, and proceeded to throw -the sofa pillows at each other and his own surprised -self. Presently one grabbed a baseball bat and -called for a game with the pillows. Another seized -a tennis racquet and began to whack a ball with -indefinite recklessness, but largely at Archer’s -head. When one of the missiles narrowly escaped -the shade of his new lamp, Sam, whose ire had been -rising, waded into the chief offender, threw him -down and beat him hard with the pillow, was pulled -off by another, on whom he immediately turned -with the same vigor, gave cuffs and received them, -and was finally, after a hard struggle, subdued by -the combined efforts of the three. After this the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span> -trio let him up, shook hands with him, assured him -that he was “all right,” and departed suddenly. -They had hardly time to escape into a room close -at hand, and Sam to pick up his cushions and the -tennis ball, when an ominous knock was heard at -the door, and Mr. Alsop appeared.</p> - -<p>“What’s all this noise, Archer?” he began -sharply. “Don’t you understand that no rough-housing -is tolerated in this building?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” panted Sam, non-committal.</p> - -<p>“What’s been going on here?”</p> - -<p>“I’ve had some visitors.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Alsop eyed him sternly. “Who were -they?”</p> - -<p>Now this was a very wrong question for Mr. -Alsop to put. If he had possessed half as much -common sense as energy and devotion to supposed -duty, he would never have asked it. He counted -on the newcomer’s inexperience, and hoped to get -a grip on two or three unruly characters in his -well, which would help him in maintaining order -in his territory later on. He did not consider that -in extorting evidence from the new boy he would -be exposing the thoughtless betrayer to months -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span> -of annoyance and contemptuous treatment at -the hands of the mischief-makers. Fortunately -Archer’s instinct was truer than the instructor’s.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know their names,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Describe them!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think I can, sir.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Alsop threw at the incompetent a glance of -scorn. “Well, you can send them to me.”</p> - -<p>Archer’s look glanced from Mr. Alsop’s angry -face to the door of his bedroom, thence to the floor, -thence squarely back again to the teacher.</p> - -<p>“I’d rather not, sir.”</p> - -<p>There was a moment’s silence. Mr. Alsop -had shot his bolt; he was not prepared to make -an issue of the refusal of a boy to betray his associates. -“You can at least tell them that if this -thing is repeated, you are likely to get into serious -trouble!—You can do that without offending -your sense of honor, I hope?” he added, with an -accent of sarcasm.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>The teacher turned and retraced his way to his -rooms downstairs. Two doors were pushed quietly -open as he reached a lower floor. From each -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">16</span> -emerged a studious boy holding a finger between -the leaves of a book. The pair crept to the stair -railing, heard the steps descend the last flight, -and a door close. Then they scurried for Archer’s -room.</p> - -<p>“What did he say?” demanded the first -eagerly as soon as the door was shut behind him.</p> - -<p>Archer began an account of the conversation.</p> - -<p>“Did you give us away?” interrupted number -two.</p> - -<p>“Wait till I am through, can’t you?” responded -Sam. “No, of course I didn’t.”</p> - -<p>“Shut up, Lordie, and let him tell it!” commanded -the other. “We want it all.”</p> - -<p>Archer finished his repetition, omitting nothing.</p> - -<p>“You’re the right stuff,” declared the one called -Lordie. “Just like the old sneak to try to get it -out of you because you’re new. Last year he got -little Roberts fired for nothing at all. He thinks -he’s the whole institution—faculty, trustees, and -all.”</p> - -<p>The door opened abruptly. Number three -rushed in and closed the door softly behind him. -“Look out! he’s coming again!” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span></p> - -<p>Numbers one and two dived for the bedroom. -Number three settled into a chair and opened an -Anabasis which lay on the top of a pile of books -on the table. There was a gentle tap at the door.</p> - -<p>“Come in!” called Archer. Mr. Alsop entered.</p> - -<p>“Visitors again so soon?” he asked, seeking to -cover his suspicion with an air of pleasantry. -“You seem to have made friends early, Archer.” -He glanced at the book which lay open on the lap -of number three. “I didn’t know you took Greek, -Taylor.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t,” answered Taylor. “I just picked the -book up. Looks hard, doesn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think it is really any harder than a -modern language, if the modern language is -seriously studied. In fact, many teachers are of -the opinion that the college requirement in Greek -is easier than that in German.”</p> - -<p>Neither Archer nor Taylor disputed or commented -on this opinion. “Won’t you sit down, -sir?” said Archer, suddenly recalling his obligation -to a guest.</p> - -<p>“No, I thank you,” replied Mr. Alsop. “I -returned to speak of something which I ought to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">18</span> -have emphasized when I was here a few moments -ago. The responsibility for order in the dormitories -is really laid upon the students themselves. -Every student is expected to see to it that no unseemly -disturbance is made, and that nothing is -done to interfere with the studies of others. The -whole matter is left in your hands, and you are -put on your honor to do nothing unworthy of the -dignity and name of the school. It’s in the dormitory -life that the spirit of the school especially -shows itself. We trust you to conduct yourselves -like gentlemen, without being watched, and put -you on your honor to do so.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” replied Archer, conscious of a peculiar -feeling, a mixture of approval of the theory -and suspicion as to the practice.</p> - -<p>“That is all that I wanted to say. Good night!”</p> - -<p>The boys echoed the salutation piously, and the -room was left in momentary quiet. Soon the two -hidden worthies emerged from the bedroom, and -pranced across the floor, chuckling.</p> - -<p>“My eye!” cried Lord. “Did you ever hear -such stuff? He puts you on your honor, and then -tries to make you tell who rough-housed you, and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</span> -comes sneaking up here to see if he can’t catch -some one. That’s a good one!”</p> - -<p>“Just go and tell him something in confidence -and see what would happen!” exclaimed Fowle -(so his name proved to be; his mates called him -“Birdie”). “He’d bring it all up before the -faculty, and you’d be fired like a shot, as Murphy -was last year. That’s <i>his</i> kind of honor.”</p> - -<p>“Are they all like that?” asked Archer, in consternation. -He had been taught to respect his -teachers.</p> - -<p>“No, only about half,” said Lord. “There are -some I’d be willing to tell anything to, and do -’most anything for. There are others who aren’t -worth wasting cusses on. Alsop thinks he’s the -greatest man since Washington—and what is -he?” He snapped his fingers contemptuously.</p> - -<p>“When’s Peck coming?” demanded Taylor, -abruptly.</p> - -<p>“He was due yesterday, if he passed his exams.”</p> - -<p>“Too bad if he doesn’t come. He’s an awfully -good fellow and lots of sport. Know him?”</p> - -<p>Archer shook his head. Fowle took occasion, -while his friends were intent on this conversation, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</span> -to make a good shot at Lord with a sofa pillow. -Lord seized the pillow, but made a wild return. -Fowle jeered. The fracas seemed in a fair way -to begin again when Taylor interfered, and with -forceful prophecies of the fate that would befall -them all if they got to rough-housing again, persuaded -the pair to “quit their fooling” and take -themselves off.</p> - -<p>That same afternoon Mr. Peck’s stenographer -brought him a telegram, which ran thus:—</p> - -<p>“Got ten points what shall I do send money -quick.”</p> - -<p>The father dictated immediately the following -answer:—</p> - -<p>“Go back to Seaton try again will send check -there.”</p> - -<p>The next day Archer saw his room-mate. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III<br /> - -<span class="medium">FIRST IMPRESSIONS</span></h2> - -<p>Archer came in from French next morning -feeling depressed. Mr. Alsop had caught him on -an unmastered point in the lesson, and had then -made him the subject of pleasantries which, though -they seemed to the teacher merely casual examples -of his innate cleverness, cut the sensitive boy -to the quick. Of course the boy was foolish to be -sensitive; one of the incidental advantages of the -Seaton system is that while it may develop in the -pupil a precocious sharpness and suspiciousness, -it also accustoms him to hard knocks. Sam, -however, could not avoid the impression that he -was paying the penalty for Mr. Alsop’s defeat of -the evening before. As he felt himself innocent -of wrong-doing, his pride and his sense of justice -were both offended.</p> - -<p>He closed the door behind him and let the catch -down; to keep the door locked seemed the easiest -way to avoid trouble. As he turned, he was -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span> -startled to see in the doorway of the second -bedroom a coatless lad gazing at him with critical -chilliness.</p> - -<p>“Scared of burglars, or is some one after you?” -asked the stranger, scornfully.</p> - -<p>“Neither!” retorted Archer. “Who are you?”</p> - -<p>“Peck! I suppose you’re the fellow this wise -faculty has seen fit to tie me up with.”</p> - -<p>“I’m Archer,” said Sam, curtly, resenting the -contempt latent in Duncan Peck’s words.</p> - -<p>“That’s a pretty name. It’ll look well on a card -on the door. What’s your other name? Reginald?”</p> - -<p>“No—Sam.”</p> - -<p>“Sam! That’s a come-down after Archer. I’ll -call you Archer; you call me Peck. I’ll take one -side of the room, you the other. You’ve turned -me out of my bedroom, I see.”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I thought you weren’t coming. You -can change again if you want to.”</p> - -<p>“It isn’t worth the trouble. What do you want -to lock yourself in for?”</p> - -<p>“Some fellows came in here last night and raised -a row. I wanted to be let alone.” Sam gave a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</span> -short account of the experiences of the evening -before.</p> - -<p>“They won’t try that again now that I’ve got -here,” Peck made complacent answer. “It’s -foolish to get us into trouble with Alsop,” he added, -his tone hardening. “He’ll be down on the -room the whole year. It’ll take a lot of soft soap -to make him feel right again.”</p> - -<p>Sam was silent, convicted of having brought -the room into suspicion by unwise conduct, yet -puzzled to see wherein his error lay. He was -disappointed, too, by the coldness and unfriendliness -of this room-mate whom everybody had -described as jolly and agreeable.</p> - -<p>Peck put on his coat and went to the door. -“I guess we can get along together if we let each -other alone. Only don’t keep the door locked; -I may sometime want to come in.”</p> - -<p>Duncan went his way to the house which his -fraternity made its headquarters, a little ashamed -of his ugliness, but firm in the opinion that this -new Archer was a “fresh guy” who would require -repression to make him endurable. If Duncan -had been forced to give grounds for this dislike, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span> -he could in honesty have advanced but two. With -the first, Archer was in no way concerned: Duncan -did not want a dormitory room-mate at all; -he wanted to room with his friends of the Alpha -Beta Gamma at Knowles’s. His father, however, -who saw in this scheme but an additional incentive -to waste time, had vetoed it at once, and written -privately to the office to make sure that his son -should receive a “good, quiet, studious room-mate” -who might help him to become in his turn good, -quiet, and studious. By what method of induction -the office arrived at the conclusion that -Samuel Wadsworth Archer was such a boy is not -worth investigation; the office has its whims, and -they are not always wrong.</p> - -<p>Duncan’s second objection was personal. In -moving him out of the bedroom which he had -occupied for two years, calmly putting his household -goods on the sidewalk, as it were, and taking -possession, Archer had shown himself to be a fellow -of a consummate and incurable insolence. Duncan -didn’t care for the bedroom,—at least, so he -assured himself,—but with a fellow of that stamp -he wouldn’t even condescend to quarrel. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span></p> - -<p>Duncan did not appear again until just before -his afternoon recitation; the evening also he spent -elsewhere. During the next day he was at home -for hardly two of his waking hours, and during -this time he was either dressing or undressing in -his bedroom, or talking with fellows who came in, -or working at his desk. He was not impolite, -and he spoke pleasantly enough when he found -occasion to speak at all; but he indulged in no -unnecessary conversation and asked no favors, -while his general manner indicated clearly his -purpose that community of room should not -involve community of life.</p> - -<p>Sam, though inexperienced, was not wholly -dense. He understood that his room-mate meant -to have nothing to do with him, and at first felt -both humiliated and hurt. But pride soon came -to the rescue. If he was not good enough for -Peck, neither was Peck good enough for him; -he had no reason to be ashamed either of -himself or of his family. If Peck did not want -his society, he certainly could dispense with -the companionship of Peck. This appeal to -pride gave him a certain peace of mind and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span> -stayed him also against discouragements from -another source.</p> - -<p>In his high school Archer had been considered -athletic. He had played on the eleven and on the -nine, and still held the school record in the high -hurdles. At Seaton he found himself judged by -different standards. When he drifted out on the -Seaton campus with twoscore football candidates, -he confessed to himself sadly that he belonged in -the lower third. He possessed too much length -and too little breadth and weight ever to be a -factor in the Seaton games. The only advantage -which he could surely claim over the average impossible -who enlivens the playing fields during -the first fortnight with brand-new trousers and -awkward zeal, was that, being long-legged, he -could kick. The Seaton coaches wanted men -who could kick, but they didn’t want men who -could do nothing else. The best that could come -within Archer’s reach was a place on the second, -or on his class eleven.</p> - -<p>The failure to make good in football had been -in a measure anticipated. In the hurdles, however, -Archer had permitted himself certain ambitions, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span> -which, though unexpressed, represented -warmly cherished hopes. Now Collins, the trainer, -who had got him out to display his paces, told him -bluntly that he must learn to sprint before he -could do anything worth while. It wasn’t enough -to pace his distance properly and clear the barriers; -he must mount in better form and get speed into -his three strides between the hurdles. Archer, -being strongly of the opinion that sprinters are -born, not made, took this exhortation as an -adverse judgment,—especially as it was coupled -with the information that Fairmount’s regular -racing time was a second under his record, while -Kilham of Hillbury was good for at least one-fifth -better.</p> - -<p>Sam thought the whole subject over as he sat -alone in his room after dinner on the day of the -experiment with the hurdles. It was clear that -he must accustom himself to an entirely new point -of view. The sooner he was reconciled to being -classed with the mediocrities, the better it would -be for him. Duncan Peck’s conduct indicated -that his personality was not especially taking; -his recitation work was not brilliant, and he suspected -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span> -that his conversation gave no assurance of -great mental gifts; his only hope in athletics was -to plod along the trail after the leaders and pick -up what they might leave. The outlook for distinction -was not promising—but why must he -win distinction? Was it not better to acknowledge -in all humility the commonplace character of his -endowment, and go cheerfully forward doing his -best all round, and letting results take care of -themselves? He might play football for fun on -the class team; he might take hurdle practice for -exercise and amusement, without hope of silver -cups and gold medals and the sight of his portrait -in the Boston papers. He could certainly meet -Duncan Peck like a polite and self-respecting fellow -who courted nobody’s patronage and understood -a sentiment expressed in manner quite as well as -one voiced in rough words. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br /> - -<span class="medium">BRUCE GIVES ADVICE</span></h2> - -<p>The autumn weeks that slipped by had little -effect on the relations of the two boys in 7 Hale. -Duncan thought less ill of Archer after longer -experience with him: he was not especially fresh -after all; he minded his own business, and did -not presume, or pretend, or brag, or fish for Duncan’s -friends. On the other hand, he was not as -particular in the matter of clothes as Duncan -liked his friends to be. Archer’s coat was not -always fresh from the tailor’s goose, the turn-up -of his trousers was usually imperfect, his neckties -were carelessly chosen, and did not match his -socks. His tastes, moreover, were too democratic; -he showed a disposition to like everybody; -rich or poor, clodhopper or aristocrat, athlete -or grind—he accepted them all as parts of the -same world with equal rights to favor and friendship. -Archer nodded at every fellow he met; -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span> -so did Duncan, but Duncan’s nods were carefully -graduated to the person. On one fellow he bestowed -a short formal jerk of the head, which, -accurately translated, read, “This is my duty -greeting, even you receive it.” To another the -nod was a conscious expression of friendliness; a -smile that lighted up the face went with this salute, -and a jolly word that had a personal ring. Archer -drew the line at meanness and a dirty shirt; Duncan’s -line was farther up, separating the few who -were supposed to be of the right sort from the -many who were not.</p> - -<p>When once the principle was established that -their ways lay apart, it was easier to follow the -diverging paths than to bring them together. -At first Peck thought Archer fresh and ordinary, -and did not care for him. At first Archer was -offended at Peck’s foolish snobbishness, and -proudly disregarded him. The attitudes thus -taken both maintained through obstinacy, after -each had discovered that he was at least partially -wrong. Archer waited for Peck, who had established -the precedent, to change it. With Peck -the loss of the favorite room still rankled, and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span> -he held that advances toward reconciliation should -come from the aggressor. So they tacitly agreed -that they must always disagree.</p> - -<p>Bruce came to the door one day demanding -Peck, or information as to where he could be -found. Archer replied in emphatic terms that -he knew nothing about Peck’s affairs.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t he ever here?” asked the track captain, -in a tone of vexation.</p> - -<p>“Come at midnight and you’ll find him. He’s -here to sleep.”</p> - -<p>Bruce looked thoughtfully at Archer. “He -ought to stay at home more,” he said, after a -slight pause. “He won’t do any work, knocking -about from room to room.”</p> - -<p>Archer gave an impatient jerk of his shoulders. -“It’s none of my business what he does. I -think he goes away to avoid me.”</p> - -<p>“Why should he?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. He doesn’t like me, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>“He and Don used to fight like cat and dog, -but they always stuck to the nest,” Bruce mused. -“What have you done to him?” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</span></p> - -<p>“Nothing. He just doesn’t like me. You -can’t blame him for that.”</p> - -<p>Bruce had been talking with Collins that -morning, and the trainer had spoken a good -word for the long-legged recruit to the hurdling -force, not on account of what he could do, but -because of the spirit he showed. Bruce was -fond of whimsical Duncan. He was well disposed, -also, to the recruit.</p> - -<p>“Didn’t you throw him out of his room?”</p> - -<p>Sam flushed uneasily. “Yes, and I offered -to give it back to him. He said it wasn’t worth -the trouble of changing.”</p> - -<p>“Duncan is a little queer. He takes things -hard sometimes. The more he feels a thing, the -less he likes to talk about it.”</p> - -<p>The visitor departed, leaving Sam to puzzle -over this new light on the actions of his incomprehensible -room-mate. On first impulse he vowed -that if Peck was such a fool that he wouldn’t -say plainly what he wanted, his wants didn’t -deserve consideration. Sam himself, in Peck’s -circumstances, would not have hesitated an -instant; he might have been annoyed, but he -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span> -would have declared his annoyance frankly; he -wouldn’t have played the sorehead. But was -there really any ground for annoyance? Sam -imagined himself in Peck’s place, and answered -immediately “yes.” In fact, the more he considered -it, the more serious the offence became. -A fourth-year boy unceremoniously bundled out -of his old quarters by a newcomer because of -a few days’ delay in arriving, and then calmly -told he might move himself back if he wished! -It was a fresh thing to do; Sam squirmed in his -chair under the lash of his own conscience; however -silly on the part of Peck to pout like a foolish -school-girl, there was no defence for that act.</p> - -<p>The recitation bell gave forth its dreary clang; -Peck rushed in, took some books from his desk -and started for the door.</p> - -<p>“Bruce has been here,” said Archer.</p> - -<p>“I saw him,” replied Peck, as he crossed the -threshold.</p> - -<p>This exchange of chilly brevities jarred on -Sam’s perturbed feelings. No one but a lobster -or a sorehead would sulk that way! It would -be of no use to offer apologies to such a fellow. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span> -The only course was to say nothing and replace -the furniture.</p> - -<p>Glad to do something to make amends for his -error, Sam dug out Birdie Fowle from the room -opposite, led him into Number 7, and set forth -his demands. By concentration of will power, -he at length succeeded in giving Birdie’s good-natured -inclination to do anything anybody asked -of him, the victory over his disinclination to do -anything at all. Together they hustled Sam’s -bedroom furniture and general movables into -the study, placed Peck’s bed in the corner room, -moved his bureau without disturbing the articles -on top, and hung his wall ornaments in corresponding -positions in the new quarters. The -contents of his own closet Sam cleared out, but -Peck’s he left unprofaned for the owner himself -to change. After that, the pair dumped Sam’s -possessions miscellaneously in the inferior room, -and adjourned to Porter’s drug store for consolatory -fudges at Archer’s expense.</p> - -<p>When Sam returned he found Peck standing -on the threshold of his old room, looking unpleasantly -surprised. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span></p> - -<p>“What have you been doing now?” he demanded, -as Sam entered the study.</p> - -<p>“Birdie and I have just put your things -back in your old room,” answered Archer. -“We did it carefully. I don’t think anything -is hurt. You’ll have to shift your clothes yourself.”</p> - -<p>“You take a lot of liberties with other people’s -property!” commented Peck, savagely. “You -seem used to moving. Your family must be -in the habit of changing tenements whenever -rent-day comes round.”</p> - -<p>At this slash Sam laughed outright. His -family had inhabited the same house for four -generations. It was one of the recognized ornaments -of the city, pointed out to every stranger. -“The last time we moved was in 1790,” he said -quietly.</p> - -<p>“What!”</p> - -<p>“And I naturally don’t remember much about -it. My great-grandfather did the moving.”</p> - -<p>Peck stared for a few silent seconds. “Well, -you’re certainly making up for your ancestors’ -omissions. Perhaps they hadn’t anything to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span> -move. I hope you aren’t going to keep this -thing up all through the year.”</p> - -<p>“You needn’t worry. I shan’t touch your -things again. I’ve just put you back where I -found you. We’re square now.”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t ask you to do it,” persisted Peck, -ill-humoredly.</p> - -<p>“I know you didn’t, but I came to the conclusion -that I oughtn’t to have moved you in the -beginning, so I tried to make it good. I’m sorry -if you don’t like it.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t care,” replied Peck, with indifference, -going to transfer his clothes to the empty -closet.</p> - -<p>Archer strode over to Alumni to luncheon, disappointed -in the outcome of his efforts to make -amends for his act of thoughtlessness. He felt -that he had come as near an apology as he could, -without actually falling on his knees and demanding -forgiveness with tears. If Peck was -still sore, he might go hang! His favor wasn’t -worth having.</p> - -<p>That evening Peck inquired what kind of a -house it was that Archer’s family had lived in -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</span> -for four generations, and for the first time in -six weeks of co-residence, there occurred between -them what might be called a conversation. -But, as Sam gloomily remarked to himself afterward, -it was like a talk over a wall. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">38</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br /> - -<span class="medium">SPORT FOR SPORT’S SAKE</span></h2> - -<p>The football weeks were coming to an end. -With the loss of eight strong players who had -graduated the year before, or for other sufficient -reasons had left school, and the lack of proper -new material with which to work, the coach and -school had been hard put to it to develop an -eleven worthy of Seaton traditions. Sam played -on the second eleven when he got the chance, -and regularly did practice kicking to give exercise -in catching punts to the backs on the first. -He understood well, however, that he was not -of the chosen, and cherished no illusions as to -chance of promotion.</p> - -<p>With the best of skill and labor a perfect -finished product cannot be expected from poor -materials. The school, whose pride had been -exalted by the achievements of the Great Year -just past, felt keenly the failure of the eleven -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</span> -to round into proper form. Weak spots, apparently -incurable, developed in the line. The -attack was frequently forceless and scattered, -the defence slow, the whole game perfunctory -and spiritless. Inferior elevens were allowed -to score; teams which Hillbury had found easy, -proved serious foes at Seaton. General sentiment -grew pessimistic as the season advanced.</p> - -<p>It was perhaps for this reason that the class -games aroused so great an interest. The juniors -got out their heavy men, inspired them with a -spirit of dash and defiance, and beat the lower -middlers. The seniors drafted four fellows from -the school second eleven, filled up the number -from the squad of brawny candidates, and went -forth to bag the upper middlers. Varney, the -captain of Archer’s class team, took what he -could get from the second eleven,—three, all told,—picked -the best of the crowd of ambitious -amateurs, and took up the gage of battle. Sam -found himself, as the only man who could put -the ball back straight, playing at centre, expected -to change places with Bull Norris, the full-back, -when there was occasion for kicking. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">40</span></p> - -<p>The school team, with the faculty director of -athletics, had gone to Cambridge for a game with -the Harvard freshmen. Some of the teachers -were out of town; others were busy with their -own affairs. Not a soul of them was on the -campus—a fact which was not at first observed. -An umpire and a referee were chosen from the -two lower classes. The referee, from the defeated -lower middlers, showed himself a model -of fairness; the umpire, a junior, favored the -seniors, whom he considered the weaker team, -hoping that they would survive the fray to meet -his own class. The class supporters took their -places decorously on the side benches, and cheered -their representatives in due and seemly fashion. -Archer kicked the ball to the seniors’ ten-yard -line, where Hoover took it and ran it back fifteen -yards. At this point there was a wrangle over -Fairmount’s illegitimate blocking. The umpire -affirmed at the outset that the performance was -perfectly legal; but on being pressed, took safer -ground for his decision by declaring that he -didn’t see the blocking at all. This aroused a -new spirit. The upper middlers jeered at the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</span> -umpire, the seniors jeered at the upper middlers. -In the next scrimmage, Taylor, who was playing -quarter, didn’t receive the ball cleanly from -his centre, and Archer, sprawling his full length -through a narrow hole beside the guard’s knees, -got his hands on the ball and pulled it under his -chin. The squirming layers were stripped off -and Sam was adjudged the rightful holder. -Then the upper middlers pushed Kendrick, their -heavy half-back, through the line again and -again, now behind big Ames, now behind Mulcahy, -the other tackle, now through the centre, until -a touch-down was achieved, and later a goal. -This score temporarily soothed the inflammation -caused by Fairmount’s holding.</p> - -<p>The seniors sent the ball down to Mudie, who -fumbled it and was caught on the fifteen-yard -line. Archer now gave up his place to Norris, -who passed back for a kick. The ball came so -high that Sam had to jump for it, but he managed -to get his kick off before Putnam carried him -down. The ball went out of bounds on the -forty-yard line, where the seniors got it. They -had no star like Kendrick, whose playing was -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</span> -surprisingly hard and fast, but they worked -well together, and Taylor ran his game cleverly. -Through guard and centre was no thoroughfare, -but the upper middler ends were hugged and -pulled out of the way, without protest from the -short-sighted umpire, and the ball was shoved -down upon the goal line by a series of successful -flank movements, helped out by an occasional -frontal attack on the tackles. So the score was -made even by a senior touch-down and goal.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the audience was warming up. -A detachment moved down from the benches -to the side-lines, whither the balance of the interested -sympathizers speedily followed. Regular -cheering ceased. From either side now rose -spontaneous yells of exultation or hoots of disapproval. -The witty indulged in jocose personalities -directed against players of the opposite -camp. The two classes not concerned took -sides, juniors with upper middlers, lower middlers -with seniors. Archer kicked off again to the -seniors’ fifteen-yard line. Taylor tried a quarterback -run, and was nailed on the starting line -and thrown back two yards. The seniors’ kick -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</span> -was blocked by Ames, who struck down the arms -of his opponent, and rushing through, took the -rising punt on his chest. From Ames the ball -bounded against the goal-post and rebounded -among the pack. It was found, in time, under an -upper middler’s body. Wildes, the senior left end, -declared that it had been stolen from him, but the -referee would not allow the claim. Then Kendrick -threw himself into several breaches, and plunged, -wriggled, and crawled his way to a touch-down. -Soon after this the half came to an end.</p> - -<p>By this time it had become generally known -that not a prof was on the field. A wild spirit -possessed the crowd, a spirit of frolic and horse-play. -Each party wanted victory, but it wanted -fun also, and on the whole more. The ground -was cleared for the second half by volunteer -policemen, who made a great show of eagerness -for order, and in fact led in the disorder. The -crowd toed the side-lines when the seniors kicked -off; when Kendrick got the ball and ran it back, -the throng of upper middlers crossed the lines -and swept in behind the wake of the play. Varney’s -men rushed the ball until they were blocked, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</span> -when Archer kicked. Hoover took the ball -safely for the seniors, and started his team on -a return trip. Immediately another line of -spectators crept up behind the ball, crowding -in upon the game, cutting off the seniors’ crack -end runs and forcing the play directly through -the line. Here the upper middlers held, and -got the ball.</p> - -<p>Yet, strange to say, though the upper middlers -now found conditions exactly to their liking, the -line plunges, which had been successful before, -suddenly failed. Every attack that penetrated -the line seemed to meet three men in the secondary -defence. Big Ames glanced over the heads of -his two opponents and yelled: “Referee! referee! -they’re playing thirteen men!”</p> - -<p>The line, and the crescent of supporters behind -it, took up the cry. The crescent contracted, -and meeting the line of seniors, enclosed the -players and cut off escape. The two centres -knelt at the ball, gazing at each other through -sweat-dimmed eyes, while the officials counted. -The senior uniforms numbered twelve!</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img id="i061" src="images/i061.jpg" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“<span class="smcap">Referee! referee! they’re playing thirteen men!</span>” -<i><a href="#Page_44">Page 44</a>.</i></p></div> - -<p>Groans and taunts greeted this discovery. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</span> -The senior team was reduced to the normal -number, elbow room was won by the use of -elbows, and the play went on. Two tackles -developed such a mutual interest that they -disregarded the game altogether and devoted -their energies during every scrimmage exclusively -to each other. Each was goaded on by a troop -of ardent backers. The ring of spectators narrowed -and thickened and heaved and sputtered. -Ambitious volunteers sprang in behind and lent -a hand in pushing or in staying the enemy’s -charge. In the increasing confusion, a loud -voice shouted “Game’s over!” In a twinkling -began a stampede for the possession of the ball, -a confused running and pushing and swarming. -The football bladder burst in the mêlée; all -that the outnumbering upper middlers carried -away was the collapsed cover of the much-tormented -ball.</p> - -<p>In spite of the assertion of spectators of all -classes that the senior-upper middler game had -been the most enjoyable event of the school -year, Sam was not wholly content to have his -serious efforts turned into a joke. Duncan, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</span> -who was manager of the senior team, likewise -strongly disapproved of the course of things, -and vowed that he should protest the game. -Together they talked it over in the second spontaneous -conversation of the year, in which Peck -took great pains to deny that there had been -any intention of putting twelve men into the -field against eleven.</p> - -<p>The next morning the whole school were -treated to a chapel lecture on the extreme impropriety -of their conduct on the field the day -before, and to an exposition of the irreparable -injury caused thereby to the dignity and fair -fame of the institution. At the same time the -game was declared null and void, and command -was issued that it be replayed. The ruling as -to the game the boys accepted as reasonable; -the invective against their rowdyism served but -to sweeten the recollection of an hour when they -had actually enjoyed sport for sport’s sake. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI<br /> - -<span class="medium">A BONE OF CONTENTION</span></h2> - -<p>The game was played again under prescribed -conditions, and the upper middlers won once -more, this time in consequence of practice gained -in playing together, by good use of the forward -pass, and through Kendrick’s splendid plunges -and fast runs. In fact, Kendrick was easily -the hero of the game. Late in the season as it -was, the coach took him immediately on to the -school eleven as a substitute back, and as luck -would have it, he got his S by slipping into the -unfortunate Hillbury game at the very end. -Of this we shall speak later or not at all. Sam -Archer too, in much less conspicuous fashion, -won credit in the class match, though the senior -centre got under him several times and carried -him off on his back. Big Ames of baseball fame -played with his usual ungainly determination, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">48</span> -and a fellow named Mulcahy was much in evidence -during the game.</p> - -<p>It was on the subject of this Mulcahy that -Archer and Peck came to their first open disagreement. -They naturally talked the game -over that evening—Sam with frank elation, -Peck in a spirit of good-natured forgiveness. -When Mulcahy’s name was mentioned, Peck’s -attitude changed instantly.</p> - -<p>“He’s a mucker!” he said, with contemptuous -curtness.</p> - -<p>“Why?” demanded Archer.</p> - -<p>“Because he is,” answered Peck. “Anybody -with half an eye can see it. He held Wildes -twice to-day.”</p> - -<p>Sam smiled wisely. “If everybody is a mucker -who held in to-day’s game, Mulcahy isn’t the -only fellow in the class. Putnam tripped Ames -deliberately. I saw it myself.”</p> - -<p>“It was probably a knee tackle that slipped -down.”</p> - -<p>“No, he stuck out his foot and Ames fell over -it.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s just because he doesn’t know -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">49</span> -the game. No one who is acquainted with Harry -Putnam would charge him with dirty play. If -he did that, it was because he didn’t know any -better, or forgot himself.”</p> - -<p>“But if Mulcahy did the same thing, it proves -he’s a mucker!”</p> - -<p>Sam was quite satisfied with this rejoinder. -If Duncan Peck had any sense at all, he must -recognize the absurdity of his prejudice. Sam, -at the age of seventeen, with several generations -of locally honored ancestors behind him, had -become, since his arrival at Seaton, an ardent -democrat. He believed firmly that a boy was -as good as his mind and character made him, -without regard to the clothes on his back or the -money in his pocket or the social position of his -nearest relatives. Rebelling instinctively at the -pretensions of certain fellows whose fathers had -“struck it rich,” and whose money gave them a -kind of importance, he was disposed to see in -the poorer fellows who were carrying the burden -of their future on their own unaided shoulders, -examples of a sturdy, manly independence wholly -admirable. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">50</span></p> - -<p>“Whether he did the same thing or not,” -replied Peck, coolly, “Mulcahy is a mucker.”</p> - -<p>“The real difference is that Mulcahy works -his way and Putnam doesn’t,” asserted Sam, -warmly.</p> - -<p>Duncan smiled scornfully. “The real difference -is that Mulcahy works other people and -Putnam doesn’t!”</p> - -<p>“Putnam doesn’t have to,” retorted Sam.</p> - -<p>“Neither does Mulcahy.”</p> - -<p>“Why, he has to earn every cent he spends,” -returned Sam, eagerly. “It takes a lot more -stuff in you to do that than to wear good clothes -and keep your hands white on the money your -father gives you. It’s these fellows who earn -their way who do things when they get into real -work. They’re used to hard knocks, and they -go straight ahead when fellows like Putnam -flat out. That’s proved by the whole history of -the Academy.”</p> - -<p>“What’s proved by the whole history of the -Academy?” asked Peck, with irritating calmness.</p> - -<p>“Why, that fellows that earn their way make -the most successful men.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">51</span></p> - -<p>“I haven’t said a word against fellows who -earn their own way,” retorted Peck, sharply. -“They may make the most successful men and -they may not. I don’t care anything about that. -But if you think that the history of the Academy -proves that every scholarship fellow becomes a -great and good man, you’re sadly off. The -scholarship fellows are of all kinds—good, bad, -and indifferent. Some are nice fellows; some are -dead beats, getting their board and clothes off -the Academy because it’s less work and more -fun than it would be to milk cows or work in the -shoe-shop; some seem to be training for crooks -or anarchists. They work their way because -they have to, that’s all. You don’t suppose -they prefer it, do you?”</p> - -<p>“Mulcahy plays football, and is on the ‘Seatonian,’ -and does well in his studies, and he is a -good speaker in the Laurel Leaf,” remarked -Archer, feeling suddenly his inexperience, and -returning to the personal example when general -assertion proved unsafe. “He amounts to more -than Kendrick, and yet you don’t make any -objection to Kendrick.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">52</span></p> - -<p>“Kendrick is a good fellow,” said Duncan, -enigmatically.</p> - -<p>“But Mulcahy isn’t!” completed Archer, with -a sarcastic grin.</p> - -<p>“No, Mulcahy isn’t.” Duncan’s assertion was -made in the nonchalant fashion which we use in -stating generally accepted facts. A slight pause -ensued, which he broke with a sudden accession -of vehemence. “It’s no use to argue about such -fellows. Either you like ’em or you don’t. It’s -a matter of taste, and the way you have of looking -at fellows. We shan’t agree, because we -don’t think alike. You have your kind and I -have mine. You’ve a right to admire Mulcahy -and his gang if you want to. I suppose you’ve -got a right to bring him in here, too—as half the -room is yours.”</p> - -<p>“I shall if I want to,” answered Sam, with -head high. “He’s just as good as—as we are.”</p> - -<p>“That depends on the value you set on yourself,” -returned Duncan, coolly, taking his books -into his bedroom with the air of one who wished -to be alone.</p> - -<p>Sam sat down at his desk, declaring scornful -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">53</span> -indifference to Duncan Peck and his snobbish -notions, but his thought ran rather on the discussion -just held than on the lesson before him. -Notwithstanding his assertion to the contrary, -he soon decided that he should not bring Mulcahy -round. It wasn’t the fair thing to impose an -unwelcome guest upon his room-mate. At the -same time he was clearly convinced that Peck’s -attitude was unworthy and contrary to the spirit -and ideals of the school. If he must choose -between Peck’s favor and the friendship of deserving -boys who were struggling to overcome -the handicap of poverty and make something of -themselves, he should not hesitate as to a choice. -The steady fellows toiling along the path trodden -by Webster and Lincoln were more honorable -companions than the sleek, empty-headed brats -of the newly rich!</p> - -<p>This resolution to keep Mulcahy away from -7 Hale out of consideration for Peck, Sam broke -that very day—broke because he couldn’t -help himself. Mulcahy would come. To be -sure, he had a reason for coming,—to discuss -the election of the Laurel Leaf, of which literary -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">54</span> -society Archer had become a member; but he -stayed longer than was necessary for this purpose -and talked mainly about himself. Mulcahy was -a striking figure in the school. Of good size, -with well-poised head and bold, regular features -lighted up by brilliant dark eyes, ready of speech -and confident in manner, he gave the impression -of one who had a distinguished future before -him. He had not only the plausibility of a natural -politician, but a certain insinuating way of -taking another fellow into his confidence as if -he alone appreciated the other’s true value. -Sam had been captivated by Mulcahy’s winning -attentions early in his school career; he believed -in him and admired him.</p> - -<p>Mulcahy was frankly ambitious. He was bound -to lift himself. When he had finished school—he -explained to Sam—he meant to study law -and get into politics in some large city; he might -go to college first if the way opened. He expected -to have to work hard to accomplish these ambitions, -especially as he believed in going in for -the outside things as far as possible—the “Seatonian” -and athletics and the literary societies. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">55</span> -He tried to keep safely above the scholarship -line, and he did well with the influential profs. -He belonged to the Christian Fraternity, too; -it helped you with the profs to belong to that.</p> - -<p>“When you have to fight your own way in the -world, you must take advantage of everything -that comes along,” he declared.</p> - -<p>“It’s a great thing to do that, to educate -yourself,” said Sam, enthusiastically. “It develops -an ability that puts you ahead when you -come to real work in the world.”</p> - -<p>Mulcahy looked at him sharply. “Yes, it -sounds well, but it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. -If you tried it a month, you’d find out. Lots of -fellows in this school look down on us scholarship -fellows.”</p> - -<p>“Not those whose opinion is worth anything,” -answered Sam, promptly. “Not the best fellows, -or the profs.”</p> - -<p>“The profs don’t count,” said Mulcahy, “and -it’s hard to tell who are the best fellows. There’s -your room-mate, Peck, for instance. He speaks -to me on the street in a kind of condescending -way, and he wouldn’t be above taking a crib from -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">56</span> -me in recitation, but you don’t suppose he’d -invite me up here, do you?”</p> - -<p>Sam blushed and twisted in his chair; he felt -thoroughly ashamed of his room-mate, sufficiently -ashamed to report with open indignation the -discussion which had recently been held on this -very subject. But an instinctive regard for -honorable dealing, an instinct which Sam felt -even when his faulty reason would have misled -him, closed his lips. “I’ve heard him speak -highly of Kendrick,” he said, at length finding a -clue. “He’s a scholarship man.”</p> - -<p>“Kendrick!” ejaculated Mulcahy. “What’s -there to him? A common grind who’s had the -luck to be taken on the football squad!”</p> - -<p>“Why, I thought he was a nice fellow,” remarked -Archer, puzzled at Mulcahy’s vehemence. -“What’s the matter with him?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, he’s good enough as fellows go,” replied -Mulcahy, “but it’s always seemed to me a green -kind of goodness. He doesn’t know any better.”</p> - -<p>“Know any better!” echoed Sam, still puzzled.</p> - -<p>“I mean he isn’t very keen,” Mulcahy explained. -“His wits are dull. You could take -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">57</span> -him in as easy as looking. He’s an honest fool, -and good-natured.”</p> - -<p>Sam did not answer. He was wondering why -two fellows with the same hard problems of life -to solve shouldn’t sympathize with each other. -Mulcahy rose to go.</p> - -<p>“I’ll count on you, then, in the election. Of -course, I don’t want the office, but we can’t -have those fellows running things to suit themselves -all the time. It’s contrary to the whole -spirit of the place. I wish you’d see Lord and -Kendrick and get them with us. They’d bring -others.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll do all I can,” said Sam, cordially. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">58</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII<br /> - -<span class="medium">MR. WORLDLY WISEMAN</span></h2> - -<p>The blow fell; Hillbury routed the Seaton -eleven with ease. Sam had his mother and -twelve-year-old sister down for the occasion. -They came gay-trimmed and expectant, surveyed -the room with critical but forgiving eyes, took -luncheon at the Sedgwicks’, saw the game, and -departed by an evening train, witnessing with -unsympathetic curiosity the noisy antics of the -victors as they trooped to their special. Duncan -happened in at 7 Hale while the visitors were -there. He had the courtesy to hide any indifference -which he may have felt to the Archer family. -As a result, Mrs. Archer found him most agreeable, -and she gave cordial expression to her -opinion that Sam had been fortunate in his -room-mate. Peck listened politely and made an -acceptable response, but Sam, with a haste which -surprised his dear mother, switched the conversation -to another track. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</span></p> - -<p>After his guests had departed Sam returned -to his room and fell to brooding on the disappointments -of life. Being new to the school and -loyal, he was sensitive to the humiliation of the -defeat by Hillbury; he likewise felt his loneliness -in the big school in which he knew so many slightly -and cared especially for no one who cared for -him. His relations with Duncan kept him at a -distance from Duncan’s friends. In spite of his -championship of Mulcahy he did not find that -young man wholly satisfying as a companion. -The temptation to find relief in wrong ways -came up before him in a vaguely attractive form, -not strong enough to upset his moral balance, -but effectively adding to his sense of isolation. -John Fish in the room below had planned to -celebrate the victory. The victory failing, John -had resigned himself to celebrating defeat. He -did this by stealing out of town to a neighboring -city, whence he would steal back in the early -morning with gross boasts of his achievements -ready for trustworthy ears. John Fish was one -of those who never refuse themselves what they -crave if gratification is possible. He was too -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</span> -coarse and too vulgar to exert a winning influence -on Archer, but the thought of him to-night gave -a pessimistic trend to our young man’s philosophy. -He looked abroad through blue spectacles upon -a world of injustice in which the wicked triumphed. -There was Birdie Fowle, who never did anything -worse than make a noise or throw water out of a -window, and yet was deep in Mr. Alsop’s bad -books; the wise ones declared that Birdie wouldn’t -last long in school. John Fish, meanwhile, went -his quiet way unsuspected. Mr. Alsop always -had a good word for him as an orderly and serious-minded -youth; yet his sins compared to Fowle’s -were as boiler plate to blotting-paper.</p> - -<p>Sam took up his French books to get ready for -Monday’s examination. Mr. Alsop was young -and strenuous, a good teacher, but saturated -with the conviction of his own importance, and -ambitious for distinction as a driver. He boasted -that he tolerated no sluggards in his courses; -he prided himself on his keenness in detecting -the goats before their whiskers had begun to -appear. The result was that many slow-minded -sheep got the credit of being goats, and many a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</span> -wily old goat palmed himself off as an innocent -lamb. Mr. Alsop meant well, but went wrong; -and being wholly satisfied with the rectitude -of his intentions, he was the last to discover the -crookedness of his course. More than one unscrupulous -idler, by pretending that he was -struggling hard against natural inability, secured -better marks than he deserved. Others—among -them Sam—who said less and actually struggled -more were predestined from the beginning to D’s -and E’s. Sam felt that nothing short of a series -of phenomenal examination books could propitiate -fate. Convinced that the scales were weighted -against him, he worked half-heartedly. It was -with a sense of relief, after a quarter of an hour -of unprofitable study on his French, that he -hailed the interruption of Mulcahy.</p> - -<p>“Plugging to-night?” asked the caller, in a -tone of surprise, as he dropped indolently into a -comfortable chair and hoisted his feet to the top -of a table.</p> - -<p>“It’s got to be done,” replied Sam; “why not -to-night?”</p> - -<p>“Because on the night of a Hillbury game -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</span> -nobody expects to do anything. If we had won, -you’d have been out all the evening celebrating.”</p> - -<p>“It was terrible, wasn’t it!” mourned Sam, -reminded anew of the school’s affliction.</p> - -<p>“They got it right in the neck,” returned Mulcahy, -cheerfully. “Defence, attack, kicking, running, -forward passes, Hillbury put it all over ’em. -They won’t hold up their heads for a week. It’s -a very different thing being on an eleven that’s -had the stuffing beaten out of it, from playing a -winner.”</p> - -<p>“You talk as if you were glad we got beaten,” -said Sam, gloomily.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, I’m just making the best of the case. -There’s no use in crying about it. You and I -didn’t lose the game, anyway. Those that lost -will have to take the kicks now.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think they deserve kicks. They -played as well as they knew how. Kendrick was -a regular star. The way he stopped the rushes of -that big red-headed Hillbury half-back was wonderful!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, he did pretty well considering the short -time he’s been out,” Mulcahy conceded. “But -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</span> -what good was it? They got licked to their knees, -that’s the essential fact.”</p> - -<p>“Who wrote that editorial in the ‘Seatonian’ -special about the game?”</p> - -<p>“I did,” replied Mulcahy, complacently. -“Wasn’t it smooth?”</p> - -<p>“Well, your statements don’t hang together -then. In that you said that while the result of the -game was disappointing to Seaton, the main -thing, after all, was that it was well played and -fairly won; it was no disgrace to a team to be -beaten in such a contest.”</p> - -<p>Mulcahy laughed heartily. “The ‘Seatonian’ -was speaking then. The paper says what will -sound well and suit the profs. The editors think -what they please.”</p> - -<p>“Do you write all the good advice the ‘Seatonian’ -gives us, about studying, and maintaining -the reputation of the school, and acting up to -the Seaton spirit?”</p> - -<p>“We all take a turn at it. It’s part of the -business.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you believe in it?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, sometimes; sometimes not. We don’t -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</span> -have to.” Mulcahy was growing tired of the -subject. “What’re you working on, French?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I’ve got an exam with Alsop Monday.”</p> - -<p>“It’s an easy subject.”</p> - -<p>“Not for me, and not with Alsop.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, he isn’t bad if you don’t get him down on -you. You want to go to see him and ask his -opinion about things. Pretend to think a great -deal of him, and let him give you information—he -likes to do that—and confide in him some -trouble or other—not a real one, you know, but -something you’ve thought up. Get him going -on the comparative merits of ancient and modern -languages, if you can, and be convinced. He’s -’most as easy that way as Rounder. You’ll have -to do some plugging too, of course.”</p> - -<p>“I’m willing to plug,” said Archer, dubiously, -“but I hate to talk with him.”</p> - -<p>“Too bad you don’t have Rounder; he’s the -easiest thing there is,” went on Mulcahy. “Last -year Stevens and McCarthy were way down in his -class; they hadn’t either of ’em been doing a -thing above E. Both of ’em went to Doc Rounder -two weeks before the end of the term. Stevens -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</span> -said: ‘Don’t you think I’ve been improving lately, -Doctor? I’ve been working terribly. It seems to -me I ought to have a D anyway.’ Doc Rounder -looks at his book and says: ‘Well, I don’t -know—have you been studying <i>very</i> hard?’ -‘Two hours every lesson,’ says Stevens. ‘Perhaps -I can. We’ll see,’ says Doc. McCarthy -was nervier. He said: ‘Dr. Rounder, I think I -ought to have a B this time. I’ve made a great -improvement over last term.’ Rounder looked in -his book again and kind of hesitated; ‘I’m afraid -I can’t do it, McCarthy, your marks are too low.’ -‘I ought to have B with the work I’ve put in it,—C -at least,’ McCarthy said, trying to look indignant. -Rounder said he’d think it over. Stevens -got D for a term mark, and McCarthy C—and -neither of ’em deserved a thing above E.”</p> - -<p>“Had they been doing all that work?” asked -Sam, innocently.</p> - -<p>“Naw, they hadn’t studied ten minutes a week.”</p> - -<p>“Then they lied.”</p> - -<p>Mulcahy laughed aloud. “Of course they lied. -Who wouldn’t to Rounder? Why, lying is the -one thing you learn in his course.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</span></p> - -<p>Archer pondered this statement in silence. -Presently Mulcahy offered to help him with his -French, and they employed themselves for a half-hour -in looking up points on which Mr. Alsop was -considered likely to test his class in the examination. -After a time Mulcahy’s zeal slackened. -He tilted back in his chair, smoked a couple of -cigarettes, and talked of the coming election in the -Laurel Leaf.</p> - -<p>“Scholarship men do smoke, then?” asked Sam, -as the conversation lagged. He knew well that -it was a strict rule that holders of scholarships -should not smoke.</p> - -<p>“We’re not supposed to,” answered Mulcahy, -easily, “but you can’t always do what you’re -supposed to.”</p> - -<p>“I should think they would smell it on your -clothes.”</p> - -<p>“I’m pretty careful. Besides, you can always -lay it off on to some one you’ve been with. My -reputation would save me from suspicion anyway. -I could bluff my way out of it.”</p> - -<p>“It doesn’t seem quite square—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, rot! What’s a few cigarettes? It’s -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</span> -just a question of getting ahead of the profs. The -faculty is on one side and we’re on the other. -They try to make us do what they want, and we -try to do what we please. They’ll soak us if they -can, and we beat ’em when we can. This isn’t -a Sunday-school; it’s a little piece cut out of the -world. If you’re going to get on here, you’ve got -to shake your kindergarten ideas, and play the -game.”</p> - -<p>Mulcahy soon took himself away, and Sam went -early to bed to sleep off his low spirits. On the -next day he made an afternoon call at the Sedgwicks’ -and yielded readily to an invitation to -supper. Miss Margaret was a mighty sorceress in -dispelling the grumps. In the evening he attended -the Christian Fraternity meeting, addressed by a -distinguished professor of Yale. Mulcahy sat in -a front row, and listened devoutly. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII<br /> - -<span class="medium">SLOW TO ANGER</span></h2> - -<p>Regular exercise in the gymnasium began -immediately after the Hillbury game. In Sam’s -squad was a fellow from South Boston named -Dennis Runyon. Runyon possessed a head ornamented -with stiff, bristly hair on top, a stubby nose -and pimply cheeks in front, and flaring clam-shell -ears at the side. In the vacant spaces of his brain -lurked, with other delusions of a large and general -ignorance, a fixed idea that every man who -was not positively effeminate admired a pugilist. -Runyon’s notions as to the meaning of education -were hazy; he had come to Seaton with the somewhat -vague hope of bettering his prospects in life, -bearing a letter of introduction from a cousin who -had worked his way through the school and was -appreciative of the help which it had given him. -This letter from a faithful alumnus procured -Runyon’s admittance. Entering a lower class in -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</span> -which the work was, for him, largely review, he -gained rank high enough to receive a provisional -scholarship.</p> - -<p>But Dennis Runyon’s ambitions were not -limited to gaining a foothold on the toilsome, uphill -road which the self-made man must travel; -he thirsted for distinction, especially distinction in -athletics. The school football team did not desire -his services; his class captain gave him a trial, -and quickly dropped him for a smaller man who -used his head more and his fists less. The football -season passed, the uneventful winter months -were at hand, his lesson marks were tending -steadily downward. The name of Runyon was -still obscure in Seaton.</p> - -<p>Dennis went home for Thanksgiving, and offered -what excuses he could for his failure to make the -expected reputation.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you know any fellows at all?” demanded -Pete Runyon, an older brother, who had brought -some glory upon the family by winning public -matches at various boxing clubs.</p> - -<p>“Not many,” replied Dennis, candidly. “They -don’t take much notice of a new fellow.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</span></p> - -<p>“Why don’t ye get up a fight, then? That’ll -show ’em what kind of a man ye are.”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t got any reason for fighting.”</p> - -<p>“Find one, make one! Pick out one of these -fellows who’s stuck on himself and give him a -little jaw. He’ll fight when he gets mad enough. -Then give him a good upper cut and finish him off -easy. They’ll have some respect for you then. -Ain’t ye man enough for that?”</p> - -<p>“I dunno.”</p> - -<p>“Ye ought to be, then. What’ve I learned ye -to use yer paddies for? See what it’s done fer me! -When I go down the street, the’ ain’t a man in the -ward that don’t jump to give me the glad hand. -It’s so everywhere. Everybody likes a man that -can fight. The boys’ll talk about ye all over the -school. Ye’ll be somebody then!”</p> - -<p>Dennis returned to school with his brother’s -counsel ringing in his ears. He experimented at -first with boasts, and anecdotes of hard bouts. -The bystanders listened with grins and suggested -that he try his skill on Legge. Legge was a heavy-weight -football player, old and hard, with the -torso of a Roman Hercules, and arms ridged with -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">71</span> -iron sinews. As Runyon was a light middle-weight, -this suggestion could only spring from gross -ignorance of the rules of the ring, or be prompted -by a spirit of ridicule. When flippant small boys -of his class, whose weakness was their protection, -fell to asking him, with mock solemnity, for details -of these encounters, he became gradually aware -that he was being chaffed. Something must be -done to impress the contemptuous with his worth.</p> - -<p>Exactly why he chose Sam Archer as the person -on whom to try the value of his brother’s advice -is not easy to determine. Jealousy doubtless -entered into the case, a little personal spite, and -much of the cunning of the professional sport. -Sam’s democratic principles were not quite -broad enough to include a friendship with Runyon. -Sam had made a class football team when Runyon -had not. Sam was tall and therefore looked big, -yet being thin was presumably weak—a combination -much to be desired in the person to be used -by Runyon for demonstration of his prowess. -He was, moreover, an independent. Not being a -member of any close organization, he was not -always surrounded by friends who felt themselves -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">72</span> -privileged to interfere in his affairs; and though -not a fraternity man or a great athlete, he was -not so obscure that a victory over him would be -inglorious.</p> - -<p>Having selected his victim, Runyon’s only problem -was to make him fight. It happened soon that -chance threw a pretext directly in his way, though -he was not quick enough to recognize it. Archer, -in the hurried crowding to put away dumbbells -after the exercise, stepped on Runyon’s heel and -pulled his gymnasium slipper loose. Runyon -turned with a scowl, but before his mind awoke to -the opportunity Archer had begged his pardon and -passed on. The next day Runyon deliberately -trod on Archer’s heel, and did not apologize. -The result, however, was disappointing; Sam -adjusted his shoe and went his way without -bestowing a look on the offender.</p> - -<p>The boxer now had recourse to more aggressive -measures. He pushed young Hartley into Archer -on the gymnasium floor, but it was Hartley who -turned on him with abuse—and Hartley was too -small to notice. He commented with audible contempt -on Sam’s performance on the vaulting -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">73</span> -horse. As he passed Taylor and Archer talking -together at the head of the gymnasium stairs, -he mocked the phrase which had just fallen from -Sam’s lips, and lingered near by to see if his -challenge would be taken up.</p> - -<p>“What’s that fellow driving at?” demanded -Taylor. “Is he trying to get up a scrap with -you?”</p> - -<p>“It looks like it,” replied Sam. “Perhaps it’s -just his way of being funny.”</p> - -<p>“He’s getting too fresh. He ought to be -squelched!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to be the one to do it. You -don’t gain anything by scrapping with fellows -like him.”</p> - -<p>Sam’s evident unwillingness to be drawn was -just the incentive needed to urge his assailant on. -Runyon was one who could be bluffed or cowed, -but not placated. Sam was by nature good-humored -and patient, capable of holding out on a -fixed course to the last gasp, but neither resentful -nor pugnacious. When Collins informed Bruce -that Archer was good material, but must get speed -and fight into him before he could accomplish -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">74</span> -anything, the coach showed himself a shrewd judge -of character, as well as an expert in the psychology -of successful racers. As Archer sought to avoid -him, Runyon’s conduct grew more offensive. -Both were criticised severely by spectators of -the performance, the one for not standing up -for his rights, the other for acting like a hoodlum.</p> - -<p>The crisis came one day early in December, -when Runyon, having flung out an unsuccessful -gibe in the dressing room, overtook Archer on -the stairs and jostled roughly against him. -Sam, at last exasperated, gave the bully a push -with his shoulder that sent the intrepid challenger -hard against the side wall. Runyon rebounded, -and striking Archer a blow in the upper arm, -squared himself for battle.</p> - -<p>“Come on, if you want to fight!” he called -derisively. “I didn’t believe you had sand -enough.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t fight here,” answered Archer.</p> - -<p>“Ye won’t fight anywhere, I guess. You’re -too much of a coward!”</p> - -<p>By this time boys were gathering above and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">75</span> -below, and staring at the brawlers with eager, -grinning faces.</p> - -<p>“Don’t stand his lip, Sam,” said Kendrick, -pushing his way up the steps. “Knock the face -off him!”</p> - -<p>Runyon turned sharply toward the intruder. -Whatever his intention, he suppressed it as soon -as he recognized the stalwart football player. -“He’ll knock the face off me, nit!” said the pugilist. -“He won’t even give me a chance to get at -him. Shorty Hartley’s about his class.”</p> - -<p>The gong for the beginning of exercise sounded.</p> - -<p>“I’ll give you a chance this afternoon,” said -Sam, hastily.</p> - -<p>“Yes, you will!” sneered Runyon, “probably -when you have a crowd of friends to butt in.”</p> - -<p>“When we can have it out alone,” declared Sam, -with a hard look in his eyes and an air of extreme -dignity. “I’ll send a second to you this noon.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">76</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX<br /> - -<span class="medium">THE FURY OF A PATIENT MAN</span></h2> - -<p>The more Archer considered the matter, the -more disgusted he became. It was totally unreasonable -and absurd. Runyon had apparently -set his heart on forcing a fight—why, Runyon -alone knew. Sam felt himself the victim of an -inexplicable persecution. He couldn’t hand the -persecutor over to friends to chastise, he couldn’t -complain to the faculty, he couldn’t put up forever -with insults and humiliations. He simply must -fight—unless Mulcahy’s sharp wits could devise -a way of silencing the rowdy.</p> - -<p>Sam found Mulcahy before luncheon, and -appealed for help.</p> - -<p>“What did you get into such a scrape for?” -demanded Mulcahy, with small show of sympathy.</p> - -<p>“It wasn’t my fault; he forced me into it.”</p> - -<p>“You must have done something to him. He -wouldn’t pick on you without some kind of reason.”</p> - -<p>“Not a thing. I don’t think I’d ever spoken -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">77</span> -to him. He’s making a fool of himself and me too. -Can’t you go to him and show him how idiotic it -is, and get him to shut up? If you don’t succeed -in that, tell him I’m ready to fight.”</p> - -<p>Mulcahy drew away. “I couldn’t do that, -really. It wouldn’t do for me to interfere. I’d -like to help you, of course, but I couldn’t get -mixed up in a thing of that kind.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?” asked Archer, perplexed at his -friend’s coldness.</p> - -<p>“Well, it would be talked about; some of the -faculty would hear of it, and they might not understand -my position in it. I couldn’t have them -think I was acting as second in a school prize-fight. -Then my position on the ‘Seatonian’ has to be -considered.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see what that has to do with it,” said -Archer, gloomily. “I’ve got into trouble with a -cheap mutt, from no fault of mine. I’ve got to -have some one to help me.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll help you by giving you the best advice I -know. Go to Runyon quietly and fix it up.”</p> - -<p>“Fix it up!” echoed Archer. “How can I -fix it up?” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">78</span></p> - -<p>“Why, tell him you acted thoughtlessly, and -are sorry you pushed him. Beg his pardon, and -when the thing is over and settled, avoid him. -If you don’t patch it up, you’ll be walloped by a -good fighter, and very likely get kicked out of -school into the bargain.”</p> - -<p>Sam stared—glared—at his counsellor. “Go -down on my knees to that fellow!” he said, with -vibrant voice and flashing eyes. “Swallow all the -insults he’s given me and ask for more, beg his -pardon for not taking his dirty kicks with gratitude! -I wouldn’t do that for a dozen ‘Seatonians’ -and a hundred faculties. I wouldn’t do -that for any one, not if I knew I was going to be -fired the next minute!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t blame me, then, if things don’t go -right,” returned Mulcahy, seating himself at his -desk as if the interview were over. “You’ll just -get into the scrape deeper. I’ve given you the -best advice I know. My conscience is clear.”</p> - -<p>Sam flung out of Mulcahy’s room without a -backward glance or a word. Furious with Mulcahy -and with the whole ridiculous business, he -strode along vowing he would fight without a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">79</span> -second, anywhere, at any time. At the corner of -Sibley he ran into Kendrick.</p> - -<p>“Look out there!” sang out Kendrick’s cheerful -voice. “What’re you rushing me for? I’m -not Runyon.”</p> - -<p>Sam’s face brightened. “Say, Ken, will you -be my second if I have to fight that fellow?”</p> - -<p>“Sure, I will,” responded the ready Kendrick. -“But why do you say ‘if’? You’ve <i>got</i> to fight -him.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you think you might go to him and show -him what a fool he’s making—”</p> - -<p>“It wouldn’t do a bit of good,” interrupted -Kendrick. “Nothing’ll cure his disease but some -good hard punches in the head. I’d just as lief -go and tell him what a fool he is as not. Maybe -I’d get a chance to hand him a few myself. Only -it wouldn’t do any good.”</p> - -<p>“You won’t get into any trouble with the profs -by backing me, will you?” questioned Sam, mindful -of Mulcahy’s fears.</p> - -<p>“Trouble? Supposing I do? The job’s got -to be done, hasn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Then go and tell him to come to my room -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">80</span> -after the four o’clock bell rings. Alsop is at recitation -then. He can bring some one with him.”</p> - -<p>“All right,” replied Kendrick, cordially. “Trust -the thing to me. I’ll arrange everything in proper -style, giving him a little of my opinion at the same -time. Four o’clock this afternoon at 7 Hale!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Alsop took his books and his dignity over -to recitation that afternoon, little suspecting the -plot against the boasted quiet of his entry. Kendrick -had cleared the centre of the room of movables, -and now sat on the sofa, nursing his knee -and giving final words of counsel. Sam had put -on tennis shoes, an old pair of trousers and a -jersey, and over this had thrown his coat.</p> - -<p>“Don’t accept any rules at all,” advised Kendrick. -“Just wade in and hit him any old way. -You aren’t fighting for a diamond belt, you’re -just defending yourself against bullying; close -in on him or throw him; then pummel him. If -you stand off, he’ll whack you. You want to rush -him.”</p> - -<p>“It’s the craziest fool thing I ever got into,” -groaned Sam. “There’s no sense in it at all. I -never did anything to the mucker.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">81</span></p> - -<p>“What’s the good of going over that again! -When a rowdy sets on you in the street, you’ve -got either to fight or to run. It’s no use to tell -him he isn’t acting like a gentleman. If Runyon -insists on fighting, you’ve got to fight him, or get -some one else to do it for you, or appeal to the -faculty for protection.”</p> - -<p>“I know it!” growled Sam, whose temper was -growing vicious. “I’m going to fight.”</p> - -<p>“You’re going to win, too,” observed Kendrick, -with a sage nod, falling in naturally with the -orthodox practice of encouragement pursued -by seconds since the days of Homer. “He’s -nothing.”</p> - -<p>A bold knock at the door announced the coming -of the enemy. Runyon walked in, followed by -Brantwein, his supporter. Brantwein was a -radical, avowing and defending extreme socialist -ideas. He was beating his way through the -school. He sold peanuts to the fellows on the -bleachers at the ball games, devised various means, -effective and ineffective, of getting marks without -excessive work, put the shot with considerable -success, and protested generally that his name did -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">82</span> -not mean “brandy,” because it was not spelled -with a double <i>n</i>. None the less he was dubbed -“Brandy” from the day of his advent. He was -generally against the government, and he liked -a scrap.</p> - -<p>Runyon took off his coat immediately. “We’ll -follow the Marquis of Queensberry rules,” he proclaimed. -“No hitting below the belt and no -clinching.”</p> - -<p>“Rules nothing!” answered Kendrick, curtly.</p> - -<p>“What’s all this for, anyway?” said Archer. -“I’ve nothing against you to fight over.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve got something against you,” returned -Runyon, “and you ain’t goin’ to crawl out of it -now!”</p> - -<p>At this taunt a white spot appeared on each of -Sam’s cheekbones, and an ominous light flashed -into his eyes. He drew off his coat—slowly, -because he wanted time to consider his opening. -Runyon caught the change of color in his opponent’s -face, and misinterpreted its meaning. Fearing -that the long-suffering Archer might be still -reluctant to use his fists, and that the éclat which -he had striven for might at the last moment -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">83</span> -escape him, he stepped forward and swung the -flat of his hand in a stinging slap against Sam’s -cheek.</p> - -<p>The effect far exceeded Runyon’s expectations. -Sam’s long-suppressed anger at being forced into -a ridiculous position flared into scorching fury. -With every nerve alert and every muscle quivering, -he flung the coat aside and leaped forward. -He came too quick and too hard for his enemy’s -artistic defence. The blow that should have -felled him to the floor, wildly and feebly aimed, -glanced harmless from his lowered, plunging head. -The next instant, Sam’s arms were encircling -Runyon’s waist, his head was planted safely against -his opponent’s chest; the on-rush of his dive -swept the boxer, drumming vainly on the muscle-armored -shoulders, back against the wall. They -struck the doorpost with a force that slammed -Runyon’s head against the wood. Before he -could recover, Archer caught his footing, and -whirling his confused assailant about, threw him -to the floor and fell heavily upon him.</p> - -<p>What followed was totally contrary to the conduct -expected of a well-mannered hero of a boy’s -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">84</span> -book. Never was mighty fighter so soon despoiled -of his martial ardor, or so quickly brought to -piteous appeal for mercy. The seconds together -dragged the infuriated tiger from his prey. And -while Kendrick in the corner of the study was -bringing Archer back to his normal state of charity -and patience, Brantwein was swabbing Runyon’s -swelling, red-smeared face in the bedroom, and -muttering a combination of consolations and -invectives.</p> - -<p>“He didn’t fight fair!” sputtered Runyon, -when his breath returned and his throat was clear.</p> - -<p>“Oh, shut up!” retorted the socialist. “You -got what was coming to you.”</p> - -<p>“Didn’t I tell you the way to fix him!” boasted -Kendrick, when the door closed behind the -battered, cowed Runyon and his disappointed -second. “If you had fought according to ring -rules, he’d have knocked you all over the -place.”</p> - -<p>“Supposing he had done it, what then?” asked -Sam, looking ruefully at his knuckles.</p> - -<p>“Then I should have insulted him,” answered -Kendrick, promptly, “and if he did for me, some -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">85</span> -one else would have come up. He’d never have -got through the year without a good whaling.”</p> - -<p>Runyon went home the next day for comfort -and repairs. And when he was repaired and comforted, -not daring or not caring to face the jeers -of his schoolmates, he decided not to return to the -scene of his defeat, but to work in a department -store instead. Some time after his disappearance, -some innocent asked a friendly instructor whether -Runyon was expelled on account of his fight with -Archer, and thus put the keen noses of the faculty -on the scent. So, long after the school had ceased -to talk of it, the history of the Battle of 7 Hale -was revealed to the authorities. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X<br /> - -<span class="medium">DUNCAN’S DISGUST</span></h2> - -<p>Despite his fears, Sam never heard from the -faculty with reference to his duel. He had, on -the whole, proved to his teachers his right to be -considered a law-abiding citizen, if not a distinguished -scholar; and the accepted student -version of the affair showed him anything but an -aggressor. Mr. Alsop, while consenting to the -verdict of acquittal, adhered in silence to his -own opinion, which held Sam accountable for -the desecration of the well by a low fight.</p> - -<p>This, however, was a month after the event. -Mulcahy had come over on the very evening to -offer congratulations.</p> - -<p>“You were lucky to get out of it so easily,” -he said. “The fact is that I thought Runyon -would be too much for you, so the best thing was -to switch him off. I didn’t like the idea of your -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</span> -being mauled about by a rough bully like him. -That’s why I tried to keep you back.”</p> - -<p>“But I simply couldn’t put up any longer with -the treatment he was giving me,” protested Sam. -“That was worse than fighting and getting -licked. I hadn’t any self-respect left.”</p> - -<p>“I hoped you would be able to patch it up. -I see now that I was wrong, but I was terribly -afraid he’d do you some injury.”</p> - -<p>Sam uttered a low laugh—quite the good-natured -victor. “Well, he didn’t. My knuckles -are the only sore spot on me.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a good thing you got Kendrick into it -with you. He’ll be more likely to come over to -our side on the Laurel Leaf matter. Have you -talked with him yet?”</p> - -<p>Sam shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Be as careful with him as you can. Make -him see that we want to get the offices out of -the hands of the oligarchy, back into the school. -It’s a shame that a democratic institution like -the Academy should be bossed by the few fellows -in the fraternities.”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it chiefly because the frats have got some -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</span> -of the best fellows in them?” asked Sam, innocently.</p> - -<p>“No! They have some good fellows and a lot -who wouldn’t be anything if they didn’t have -money behind them. They put a frat man forward, -and the rank and file just sit still and vote -him in.”</p> - -<p>“The rank and file don’t care much about it -anyway.”</p> - -<p>“They ought to, and they will when they’re -aroused. It’s up to us to show them how to -protect their rights.”</p> - -<p>After Mulcahy went, Sam compared the statement -which his guest had just made about the -duel, with the reasons which he had given the -day before when he refused to act as second. -“He was really afraid to have anything to do -with it,” he mused. “I don’t believe those -fellows he’s so down on would have gone back -on a friend in that way. Still, I ought not to -blame him for that; he has his way to make; -he can’t afford to get into trouble with the profs.” -The contrasting conduct of Kendrick, who also -had his way to make, occurred to him, and shook -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">89</span> -his faith in his own argument. “But Ken is a -natural scrapper,” he reassured himself. “Ken -would do ’most anything to see a fight.”</p> - -<p>One thing, however, Ken would not do—vote -for Mulcahy for office. That Archer discovered -as soon as he broached the subject.</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t vote for him for street sweeper!” -he declared. “Mulcahy’s a pig, and a grafter. -He’s all for Mulcahy, and for nobody and nothing -else. If he wants a thing, on general principles -I don’t want it. If he says a course is right, I’m -sure it isn’t. He works everything and everybody -he can get hold of. He’s got the faculty hypnotized -into believing he’s an angel. I wouldn’t -trust him around the corner.”</p> - -<p>“He’s a mighty able fellow,” replied Archer, -who charged Kendrick’s vehemence up against -prejudice and envy; “a lot abler than Metcalf, -or Dupont, or—”</p> - -<p>“Or me—” put in Kendrick, fervid, but ungrammatical. -“He’s all that—everything but -straight.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve never seen anything crooked about him,” -Sam persisted. “He’s been a very good friend -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">90</span> -to me. I should think as you’re both in the same -boat, you’d sympathize with him.”</p> - -<p>“How are we both in the same boat?”</p> - -<p>“Why, you both have to rely on yourselves -for what you get. You are both scholarship men.”</p> - -<p>Kendrick looked relieved. “Is that all you -meant! I was afraid you thought we were in -some way alike. If that was so, I was going to -change right off so as to be different. Mulcahy’s -a crook!”</p> - -<p>“He’s a friend of mine, if you please,” said -Sam, with dignity.</p> - -<p>“What has he ever done for you, anything?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, he’s helped me with lessons and given -me advice.”</p> - -<p>“Advice is cheap. You can get it by the hour -down in Alsop’s room. If he’s given you free -tutoring, that’s something.”</p> - -<p>“It hasn’t been very much,” confessed Sam. -“I didn’t need it.”</p> - -<p>“He wasn’t much use to you in your row with -Runyon, was he? If you’d followed his advice -then, you’d have been to the bad altogether.”</p> - -<p>“He meant well; he was afraid I’d get hurt,” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">91</span> -announced Sam; and then, to cut short this -discussion of Mulcahy’s virtues, he asked, “Then -you won’t vote for him?”</p> - -<p>“Vote for him? Never. I’d rather vote for -myself! I’m more or less of a fool, but I have a -little principle, and there are some things I’m -too good or too proud to do. There’s nothing -Mulcahy wouldn’t do, if he could make anything -by it, and was sure nobody saw him. Don’t be -surprised if you find me electioneering against -him.”</p> - -<p>Sam went back to his room disgusted. The -causes of his disgust were so complex, that he -couldn’t possibly disentangle them. He imagined -the chief one to be his failure to accomplish his -object with Kendrick, and the latter’s colossal -prejudice against Mulcahy. In fact, he was -beginning to feel the difficulty of defending his -friend from insinuations against him, and to be -annoyed that it was necessary to do so. He found -Peck standing before the grate with hands clasped -behind him, and a black frown on his face.</p> - -<p>“I hear you’ve been turning this place into a -prize ring,” began Duncan. “Hereafter when -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">92</span> -you have these little affairs with your friends I -wish you’d hold ’em somewhere else.”</p> - -<p>“I shan’t have any more. I didn’t want this -one. I tried as hard as I could to keep out of it.”</p> - -<p>“You didn’t have to hold it here, did you?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps not. I didn’t know where else to go. -I thought you wouldn’t be here.”</p> - -<p>“I wish I had been. I’d have stopped it -mighty quick. Runyon and Brandy Brantwein -and Mulcahy and you! That combination would -ruin any room’s reputation!”</p> - -<p>“Mulcahy wasn’t here!” said Sam, sullenly.</p> - -<p>“Who was it, then?”</p> - -<p>“Kendrick.”</p> - -<p>Duncan stared. “I wonder how he got into -it,” he said at length.</p> - -<p>“He knew I was forced into the thing and he -wanted to help me out,” answered Sam, quickly. -“That’s more than some fellows I know would -do,” he added with scornful emphasis.</p> - -<p>Duncan’s stern look melted into a malicious -grin. “More than Mulcahy would do, I’ll bet. -He isn’t running any more risks than he can help.”</p> - -<p>“There wasn’t any risk!” said Sam, bravely. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">93</span></p> - -<p>“There wasn’t? Why, you’ll every one of you -be fired when the faculty gets on to it.”</p> - -<p>“I guess not,” Sam remarked with a confidence -which was not altogether sincere.</p> - -<p>“That Mulcahy has the crust of a crocodile,” -went on Peck. “I understand he’s trying to -elect himself president of the Leaf.”</p> - -<p>“Look here, Peck,” said Sam, holding his head -high, “I wish you’d leave Mulcahy out of the -conversation hereafter. He’s a friend of mine, -and I don’t care to hear him abused all the time. -If you don’t want to vote for him, you’re not -obliged to. There’ll be other candidates. He -has brains and ability, but perhaps they don’t -count as much in your eyes as clothes and a big -allowance and membership in a frat.”</p> - -<p>“That isn’t so,” snapped Duncan. “I don’t -care anything about money, but I hate a mucker -whether he’s rich or poor.”</p> - -<p>“Mulcahy isn’t a mucker. My opinion on -that point is worth more than yours, for I know -him better than you do. He’s going home with -me over next Sunday. That shows what I think -of him.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">94</span></p> - -<p>Archer spoke with six feet of dignity and the -gravity of a judge handing down a decision, but -Peck was totally unimpressed. “I hope he -won’t steal the silver,” he said with an exasperating -twinkle,—“the old silver!”</p> - -<p>Sam blushed, and cursed himself that he had -ever been fool enough to tell Peck anything. -And while he blushed and sought vainly for a -crushing reply, Peck went whistling off to his -bedroom, disposed to think rather better of his -room-mate after all. If you believe in your -friends, it’s your business to stand up for them—until -you find them out. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">95</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI<br /> - -<span class="medium">A REVELATION OF CHARACTER</span></h2> - -<p>There was no danger of lack of quorum at -the election of the Laurel Leaf. Every faithful -wheelhorse, every indifferent who had joined -“to please the folks at home,” every intermittently -interested member hastened to the society rooms -with ballot in his hand and zeal in his heart. -The tide set hard against the champion of democracy. -Underwood was elected by a vote representing -two-thirds of the society.</p> - -<p>Greatly chagrined and deeply sympathizing -with his defeated friend, Sam took Mulcahy home -to 7 Hale to console him. Peck, who happened -to be in, greeted them coldly, and withdrew in -such marked haste that Sam, fearful lest Mulcahy -should resent the intended slight, hastily pushed -his best chair forward and invited his guest -cordially to sit down. Mulcahy, however, showed -himself in no wise sensitive. He settled into the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">96</span> -comfortable chair and composedly lit a cigarette, -less like a young reformer who had suffered a -great disappointment, than a shrewd old philosopher -to whom a single defeat was but one of -the little annoyances of life, to be smiled over and -forgotten.</p> - -<p>“When are you going to begin to smoke?” -he asked, as Sam drew his chair to the fireplace -beside him.</p> - -<p>“Not for a long time,” answered Sam, “perhaps -never.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“My family don’t want me to, for one thing. -Then I want to keep myself in good condition.”</p> - -<p>“Most fellows wouldn’t care much for either -of those reasons,” said Mulcahy. “You’re expected -to do what the rest do.”</p> - -<p>Sam did not reply to this; he was thinking -how hard it often was to resist doing the things -which the rest did.</p> - -<p>“People at home don’t know anything about -what is necessary in a school like this,” continued -Mulcahy. “If you want to get on, you mustn’t -go against the crowd.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">97</span></p> - -<p>“I don’t care anything about getting on,” -said Sam. “I’m not ambitious.”</p> - -<p>“You’d like to be popular, wouldn’t you?”</p> - -<p>“No!” Sam answered decidedly. “I shouldn’t -want to be disliked, but holding office and that -kind of thing doesn’t interest me. There’s too -much hard feeling and disappointment.”</p> - -<p>Mulcahy laughed. “You don’t know anything -about it. Now, I got beaten to-night. Do you -suppose I’m discouraged? Not a bit. I’ll lie -low for a while and work my game and wait. By -and by things will come my way. If you just -hang on to a thing long enough, don’t make mistakes -and don’t get mad, you wear away the -opposition after a time. There’s another election -this year, and there’s another year after this. -I’ll be president of the Laurel Leaf before I leave -this place. See if I don’t.”</p> - -<p>Again a silence. Sam believed in Mulcahy’s -prophecy, but the tone of it grated on him.</p> - -<p>It was not Mulcahy’s habit to take people into -his confidence. But to-night, as he lolled in -Archer’s comfortable easy-chair, flattered by the -attentions and admiration of this boy of superior -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">98</span> -strain, he relaxed his caution and gave a glimpse -of his real self.</p> - -<p>“Do you know what I do summers?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Work, don’t you?”</p> - -<p>“At what?”</p> - -<p>Sam shook his head. “You’ve never told me.”</p> - -<p>“I sell books. I can go into a factory—when -they’ll let me in—and sell books right through -from floor to floor, to men and women both. -I’ve sold books bound in morocco for six dollars -to women who didn’t earn that a week. I used -to be so successful that when I came to deliver -the books, they’d pretend I’d used unfair means -to get their signatures. Yet it was all done by -holding on and not taking offence, and flattering -and agreeing with people.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think much of getting poor women to -pay a week’s wages for a book when they need -every cent they can earn for food and clothes,” -said Sam, bluntly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, perhaps they earned more than six dollars. -It don’t matter. They’re bound to throw away -about so much anyway.”</p> - -<p>“How old are you?” asked Sam. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">99</span></p> - -<p>“I’ll be twenty-one next July.”</p> - -<p>“You’re only three years older than I am, but -I couldn’t do that kind of thing if I were fifty.” -Sam did not say exactly what he meant, which -was that he couldn’t do that kind of thing under -any circumstances.</p> - -<p>“I just mentioned it to show what hanging on -will do. I don’t really care anything about this -Laurel Leaf office except as a help to something -else.”</p> - -<p>“What is that?”</p> - -<p>Mulcahy looked at his host doubtfully under -the rising twists of smoke. “You won’t speak -of it to any one?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly not, if you don’t want me to.”</p> - -<p>“You know what the Yale Cup is?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Never heard of it.”</p> - -<p>“The Yale Club of Boston gives a cup every -year in three or four big schools to the senior -who ‘combines the greatest excellence in athletics -with good standing in his studies.’ That’s the -way it reads in the catalogue. It’s awarded at -Commencement, with a whole batch of other -prizes. In June of our senior year I want that -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">100</span> -cup. The greatest difficulty is about the athletics. -I’m going to try hard for the football team -next fall, and I’ll do something with the pole -vault this year. With the ‘Seatonian’ and the -presidency of the Laurel Leaf, and good rank in -studies, and the favor of several influential profs, -which I’m working for, I ought to have a good -show.”</p> - -<p>“Do you apply for it?” asked simple Sam.</p> - -<p>“No, foolish! The faculty picks out the man.”</p> - -<p>Mulcahy threw the stub of his fourth cigarette -into the fireplace and lighted another. “That’s -a prize worth having,” he went on, “for it means -that the winner is a superior, all-round man. I’m -going in for the Merrill compositions too, and perhaps -for the speaking. They’re cash prizes, you -know; but as honors they aren’t in it with the -Yale Cup.”</p> - -<p>“Did Owen get it last year?”</p> - -<p>“No, he wasn’t a good enough scholar. He did -well enough in athletics, but he was only about a -C man in his studies.”</p> - -<p>“That would be a perfectly bully thing to take -home with you, wouldn’t it?” broke forth Sam, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">101</span> -in honest enthusiasm. “Your father and mother -would be tickled to death with the scholarship -part of it, and the honor of the athletics would -make you feel like a prince. I’d rather get a thing -like that than have an auto of my own.”</p> - -<p>Mulcahy smiled complacently. “I really don’t -care much about athletics. I only go in for them -because it’s at present the thing to do.”</p> - -<p>A light step was heard in the entry, followed -immediately by a knock at the door. Mulcahy -put his cigarette on the edge of the table, and -shoved his chair away; Sam turned his half -round. “Come in!” he cried.</p> - -<p>The door opened to admit Mr. Alsop. “Good -evening,” he began, as both students rose, and -Mulcahy retreated still farther from the table. -“I came to inquire the result of your election.”</p> - -<p>“I was badly beaten,” said Mulcahy, with -charming frankness. “They wouldn’t have me. -Underwood was the honored man.”</p> - -<p>“I’m glad to see that you take it so well,” said -Mr. Alsop. “That’s the spirit I like in school -politics.” He stopped short, suddenly aware of -the thick atmosphere of smoke and the pungent, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">102</span> -penetrating odor of cigarettes. “Why, Archer!” -he exclaimed, turning sternly on Sam, “you told -me the other day that you did not smoke at all!”</p> - -<p>Sam flushed to the roots of his hair; his look -glanced from the reproving countenance of the -teacher to the calm face of Mulcahy. He did -not answer.</p> - -<p>“He doesn’t smoke much, I can assure you,” -Mulcahy broke in quickly. “I think he was -tempted to try a cigarette to-night to comfort -himself over our defeat.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Alsop sniffed the air. “There’s more than -one cigarette in the atmosphere of this room.”</p> - -<p>Sam raised his eyes sullenly to the teacher’s, -shot a swift, significant glance at Mulcahy, and -looked out across the table at the red banner upon -the wall. He said nothing, for there was nothing -that he could say.</p> - -<p>“There’s a great difference between not smoking -at all and smoking a little,” the teacher continued -in a severe lecture tone. “As I have -explained, we do not forbid smoking, except to -scholarship men; we try to discourage it all we -can, because we consider it harmful. You told -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">103</span> -me that you did not smoke. I find you smoking. -You have not been honest with me.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Alsop paused to give Archer an opportunity -to reply. Sam racked his brain for some non-committal -form of words, and found none. “Yes, -sir,” he said desperately.</p> - -<p>“He probably thought, sir, that he smoked so -little that it was practically none at all,” interposed -Mulcahy. “I’ve never seen him smoking -before to-night.”</p> - -<p>“He should have said so, then,” declared Mr. -Alsop, addressing Mulcahy. “My question was a -friendly one and should have been frankly answered.” -He faced the culprit again, who, with -angry red cheeks and hostile, defiant eyes, now -looked squarely at him. “I want to be helpful -to you, Archer, but I can’t be that unless you trust -me. If you had been honest with me, I shouldn’t -have said anything different to you then from -what I am saying now, but it would have been -pleasanter for you to hear. Any smoking at all -is bad for a boy of your age. The habit will grow -on you, if once you get it, in spite of you. It will -interfere with your physical and mental growth, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">104</span> -and unfit you to do your best in studies or in -athletics.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” said Sam, whose indignation over -the unfair treatment which he was enduring did -not prevent his recognizing the truth of the instructor’s -words.</p> - -<p>“Good night!”</p> - -<p>With this abrupt salutation, Mr. Alsop went his -way downstairs, wholly satisfied with his own conduct, -but confessing serious disappointment with -certain of the boys under his care. If only Archer -were as straightforward, and Fowle as orderly, as -John Fish, the well would be less a source of uneasiness -to him and less damaging to his pride. Archer -evidently needed watching; and Fowle—well, -Fowle would certainly have to go before the end of -another term. That boy’s perpetual disregard of -rules and apparent contempt for authority were -unendurable! -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">105</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII<br /> - -<span class="medium">MR. ALSOP’s DIGNITY</span></h2> - -<p>“I’m awfully sorry!” began Mulcahy, vehemently, -as soon as the door had closed behind the -departing form of Mr. Alsop. “I’m awfully sorry, -but I couldn’t help it. There wasn’t any other -way out.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose not,” answered Archer, with sullen -sarcasm.</p> - -<p>Mulcahy came round the table and put his -hand on Archer’s shoulder. Sam threw it off -and edged away.</p> - -<p>“Just try to think of it from my side,” urged -Mulcahy. “Here I was, caught in the act. If -Alsop had wanted to make a row about it, I might -have lost my scholarship. They’d all have been -down on me, anyway, and it would have been -terribly hard to get them over to my side again; -while as for you—” He hesitated at this point, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">106</span> -not sure how to put his idea into unobjectionable -form.</p> - -<p>“While as for me,” flamed Archer, “all I get is -to have Alsop tell all the rest that I’m a liar and -going to the bad as fast as I can. That’s nothing -at all!”</p> - -<p>“You’re crazy!” answered Mulcahy, smiling -compassionately at his companion’s vehemence. -“Nothing like that will happen. You’ve a right -to smoke if you want to. Alsop understands that. -I smoothed out all the difficulty about your telling -him that you didn’t. You won’t hear from it -again. Alsop won’t think any differently of you -from what he always has.”</p> - -<p>“No different, but more so,” interjected Sam, -bitterly.</p> - -<p>“While as for me, why, my whole life plans -might be spoiled.”</p> - -<p>“<i>My</i> life plans don’t make any difference, do -they?”</p> - -<p>“You haven’t any. You don’t need to have any. -A fellow in your position, with all the bills paid -for you, and everything provided for years to come, -doesn’t know what it is to have to struggle along -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">107</span> -with your head just above water, always afraid -a big wave will roll up and swamp you.”</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t you think of that when you lighted -the cigarettes?” demanded Sam, roughly. “What -business have you to smoke at all? You know the -rules.”</p> - -<p>“The rules are silly for a man of my age,” returned -Mulcahy. “If I’d known Alsop was going -to butt in, of course I wouldn’t have done it.”</p> - -<p>“It’s done now, anyway,” sighed Archer, looking -at his watch. “I don’t know about you, -but I’ve got to do some studying to-night. I can’t -let Alsop flunk me to-morrow, after this.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going,” said the visitor. He held out -his hand with his best, most flattering smile. -“Good-by, Sammy. You showed yourself the -right sort of a friend to-night. I shan’t forget -it.”</p> - -<p>“Nor I,” thought Sam, as he gave back a feeble -pressure and muttered a return good-night.</p> - -<p>When Mulcahy was gone, Sam sat down by the -lamp with his books spread out before him. For -a long time, however, he let his eyes stray past them -to the shaded corner of the room, while with tight-pressed -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">108</span> -lips and wrinkled brow he considered his -experiences since he came to Seaton, and pronounced -himself a fool. He had not been a fool -in every respect, it was true; he hadn’t been fresh, -or boastful about himself, and he had not done -things flagrantly wrong, but he saw clearly that -many of his judgments had been mistaken. -Strangely enough, the irritating incident of the -evening did not so greatly depress him. He felt -a certain satisfaction in the superiority of his behavior -as compared with Mulcahy’s, which served -to offset the uneasiness caused by the teacher’s -error. But he did wish that he hadn’t committed -himself so far to intimacy with Mulcahy, and he -regretted that he had invited him home for Sunday.</p> - -<p>In the distractions of the evening, Sam overlooked -one part of the French lesson for the next -day. Mr. Alsop had given notice of a test on -vocabulary, a comparatively easy matter to prepare -if he had only remembered to study it. He -was unpleasantly reminded of this omission at -the recitation next morning, when Mr. Alsop -announced that all those who failed to write correctly -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">109</span> -the English equivalents of twenty of the -twenty-five French words on the paper, must come -to a “make-up” on Saturday at five. Sam had -forgotten to study his vocabulary. He struggled -over the list, and succeeded in getting but eighteen -of the twenty-five. On Saturday morning Mr. -Alsop read his name among those doomed to the -five-o’clock make-up.</p> - -<p>To be present at five o’clock on Saturday meant -a late train home and the evening spoiled. Sam -had secured out-of-town permission from the office, -and had arranged to escort his mother to a meeting -of his old school athletic association in the evening. -It seemed hard—unjust—to be cut off from this -prearranged visit, in order to take an exercise -which involved hardly five minutes and could be -as well taken at some other time. So the boy, -having fretted and reviled for an hour, called at -Mr. Alsop’s room, and after explaining that the -make-up would prevent his going home, offered -to take it in the instructor’s room immediately -after his return.</p> - -<p>“I don’t see why you should have a privilege -which the others have not; and I don’t see why I -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">110</span> -should sacrifice my time to save a student from -the results of his own neglect,” said Mr. Alsop, -tartly. Like many a serious but narrow-minded -pedagogue, he was taking the wholesale failure of -the class as a personal affront. He felt his dignity -struck at almost as if the boys had deliberately -refused to learn. To Sam Archer, moreover, he -owed no favor.</p> - -<p>“It’s a slight matter,” pleaded Sam, foolishly, -“and it’s going to keep me from going home. I -got permission from the office three days ago.”</p> - -<p>“It is <i>not</i> a slight matter,” declared Mr. Alsop, -sharply. “I beg to differ with you. Neglect of -work is never a slight matter. Permissions from -the office are always provisional. You will come -with the rest. I have no extra time to give you.”</p> - -<p>Sam withdrew, crestfallen and indignant. He -understood that he was paying the penalty for the -misunderstanding of the evening before, and also -for the morning’s shock to the teacher’s self-esteem. -The unfairness of it rankled deep. The loss of -thirty-six hours at home, the breaking of the engagement -with his mother, the abandonment of -his plan of reunion with his old mates—all counted -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">111</span> -as nothing in the balance when weighed against -Mr. Alsop’s five minutes and ruffled dignity. The -worst of it was the fact that there was no appeal. -The principal was away on leave of absence for -six months. Every teacher was autocrat in his -own courses. To resist would be to collide with -the whole machinery of government of an institution -which prided itself on expelling annually -more boys than any other school in the land. -Between enduring in silence, and resorting to entreaties -and flattery,—the only alternatives,—Sam -did not hesitate a moment. The one he could -bear, the other he would not stoop to.</p> - -<p>On the way down to the telegraph office, where -he sent a brief message to his mother, announcing -that he could not get away, Sam drew an angry -comparison between Mr. Alsop’s methods and those -of certain other instructors: Dr. Leighton in Greek -had discovered his pupil’s weakness on the verb -and offered to give special help at any time the -boy chose to call at his room; Mr. Howe in mathematics, -finding him well advanced in geometry -and algebra, had voluntarily suggested that he -slight those subjects and apply the time thus gained -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">112</span> -where it was more needed; Professor Towle in English -roughed him in the class when he got things -wrong, but Towle had a heart of gold and was square -as a brick. On the way back he dwelt on Mulcahy’s -treacherous selfishness of the evening before, which -had set Mr. Alsop against him and had made him -forget that wretched vocabulary. “There’s one -consolation,” he muttered to himself. “I shan’t -have to take him home with me now.”</p> - -<p>But Mulcahy had no wish to be cheated of his -visit to the Archers. “I’ll fix that up,” he promised -eagerly, when Sam informed him of the change -of plan. “Let me go and see Alsop. I’ll tell him -a yarn that’ll bring him round in five minutes.”</p> - -<p>“What yarn?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t know; any old thing that’ll go—something -about a family party, or your mother’s -being sick and sending for you and your being so -overcome by losing his respect that you didn’t -dare explain. It’ll be dead easy.”</p> - -<p>“Easy or not, you won’t do it!” replied Archer, -savagely. “I won’t have any one sucking round -Alsop for me. You’ve told him lies enough, as -it is.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">113</span></p> - -<p>“Don’t be a fool!” said Mulcahy, sharply. -“Don’t you want to go?”</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t. I did, but I don’t want to any -more.”</p> - -<p>Mulcahy, disappointed here, had other forms of -amusement. That afternoon Sam dropped in at -the Sedgwicks’ to call, and allowed himself to be -persuaded to stay to dinner, at which meal he -proved to his own satisfaction that the disasters -of the day had not affected his appetite. Afterward -he lingered in the society of Mrs. Sedgwick -and Miss Margaret as long as it seemed decent, -and departed for his room reasonably comforted in -mind. As he crossed the street, in the rear of the -Academy buildings, two familiar figures appeared -opposite him under a gaslight and got away -quickly into the darkness. They were John Fish -and Mulcahy, each with an overcoat on his arm.</p> - -<p>The next day John Fish was at church, wedged -into the corner of a pew. He slept during most -of the service. Mulcahy stayed in his room; his -report next day informed the authorities that he -had been suffering from an attack of indigestion. -Fish took a long nap in the afternoon. He told -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">114</span> -Mr. Alsop, as they walked to dinner together, -that he liked to pass Sunday quietly. Mulcahy -was well enough to be present at the Christian -Fraternity in the evening. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">115</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII<br /> - -<span class="medium">THE CHALLENGE</span></h2> - -<p>The Christmas vacation brought Sam a chance -to consider his school experiences away from the -school atmosphere. He did this in part deliberately, -in part by an unconscious process of comparison -of school standards with home standards, -the hard facts of student life with the fine and -high ideals of his father and mother. Certain -phases of schoolboy morality he talked over with -Mr. Archer, who, pleased to receive the confidence -of his son, met frankness with frankness and -cleared Sam’s mind of many a harassing doubt. -The quiet trust of his parents braced the boy -strongly against the influence of evil.</p> - -<p>Sam went back to school resolved that if he -could not have the intimacy of the best he would -at least not associate with the worst; if he could -not be popular with those whom he respected, he -would not seek the favor of those whom he could -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">116</span> -not respect. He was convinced that he was not -marked for great distinction in his school career. -He might, by keeping eternally at it, in course -of time make a fair showing as a hurdler; he could -always get good marks in mathematics and history; -he could maintain friendly relations with -a good many fellows. More than this, however, -was not to be hoped for. He could not, if he -would, go on a still-hunt for honors after the calculating -fashion with which Mulcahy was scheming -to gain possession of the Yale Cup. He was not -made that way.</p> - -<p>The work of the winter was for Sam uneventful -and plodding. He toiled with sullen aversion -on his French, with devotion on his Greek, with -calm satisfaction on his mathematics and history, -with resignation on his other subjects. In the -gymnasium he practised pole-vaulting; and on the -wooden track outside, with Collins’s assistance, he -struggled with dashes and starts and hurdles, and -met discouragement with a laugh. He managed -also to find free intervals for a little reading. -On the whole the laborious life proved not unpleasant, -and time slipped rapidly away. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">117</span></p> - -<p>Besides himself, Jones and Mulcahy were the -chief exponents of the art of pole-vaulting. Jones -was the star of the school, brilliant and unapproachable. -He could do ten feet whenever he wanted -to, and was deemed capable of very much better -performances. Mulcahy started with nine feet, -and Sam with eight feet six. After a month’s -work, Mulcahy had climbed to nine three and -Sam to nine feet. They practised at different -times, but each listened greedily to reports of the -other’s progress, and while openly depreciating -his own powers, hoped from day to day to discover -the precious knack of combining spring and -throw, which would put him well ahead of his -rival. Mulcahy was handicapped by his weight, -Sam by his length and slowness.</p> - -<p>The intimacy between the two was lapsing. -The process was slow, because Sam was too good-natured -to quarrel openly and Mulcahy too thick-skinned -to be sensitive to ordinary chilliness of -treatment. Sam put himself to some inconvenience -to be absent from his room when he thought -Mulcahy might call; he likewise cultivated a -friendship with Kendrick, whom Mulcahy disliked. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">118</span> -In time Mulcahy awoke to the fact that -Archer’s neglect was intentional, and accepted the -rebuff as he would have accepted the final refusal -of an expected purchaser to take a book. While -there was no open break between them, Sam -shrewdly suspected that to reject Mulcahy as a -friend was to invite him as an enemy.</p> - -<p>“Where’s your friend Mulcahy these days?” -Peck asked, one evening early in February. “You -don’t seem to be so thick with him as you were -a while ago.”</p> - -<p>“No,” answered Sam, indifferently. “I don’t -seem to be.”</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” pursued Peck. “Been -scrapping?”</p> - -<p>“No. We just don’t see as much of each other -as we used to.”</p> - -<p>Duncan fidgeted about a little, and then blurted -out, “Of course it’s none of my business,—except -as I’ve a little claim in the room and have some -interest in knowing whom I’m likely to find here,—but -I’d really like to be told whether you’re -just taking a vacation from him or have got -through with him for good.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">119</span></p> - -<p>“Well, I guess I’m through with him for good,” -confessed Sam.</p> - -<p>Duncan’s face broke into a smile. “Glad to -hear it! Only you ought to have done it long -ago. When you ran up against him in the pole-vault, -you probably began to see what sort of a -fellow he is.”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t run up against him in the pole-vault,” -replied Sam. “We don’t practise together. It -was something that happened last term that -opened my eyes.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it was!” said Peck, in a tone between a -question and an exclamation. He waited a little -to see whether Archer was going to explain, -but as Sam volunteered no information, he -continued: “It’s about time for me to begin -to work, if I’m going to pass off those exams in -June. I couldn’t study here with that fellow -hanging round.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry if I drove you out,” said Sam, rather -stiffly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’s all right. I didn’t have to go unless -I wanted to, and you had just as good a right to -have your friends round as I did to have mine. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">120</span> -I couldn’t really expect you to take up all my -prejudices.”</p> - -<p>“There was prejudice all round, I’m afraid,” -responded Sam. “I had my share. I thought -you were down on Mulcahy just because he was a -poor fellow who was pushing his way up, and it -made me so mad I couldn’t see anything wrong -with him. It wasn’t till after he’d played me a -dirty trick with Alsop that my eyes began to open. -Then I thought it all over during vacation, and -made up my mind that he wasn’t a safe person -to fool with.”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t hear anything about any trouble -with Alsop,” said Duncan, with evident curiosity.</p> - -<p>Sam saw that he was committed, and told his -tale. Peck listened with deep interest and frequent -exclamations. “I don’t think I should -have taken that as sweetly as you did,” he said -at length. “No fellow has a right to put you -in that position. Why didn’t you say: ‘Mr. Alsop, -I told you the truth. I don’t smoke,’ and let -Mulcahy get out of it as well as he could?”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t like to do that,” replied Sam. “It -didn’t seem honorable.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">121</span></p> - -<p>“I don’t know but you’re right,” said Duncan, -thoughtfully. “You couldn’t play the mucker because -he did. It wouldn’t have done any good, -either. He’d have lied you right down.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps so. I couldn’t think of anything to -say that wouldn’t make it worse.”</p> - -<p>Duncan nodded agreement. “I suppose it -would. You’ve got a lot more sense than I -thought you had.”</p> - -<p>Sam smiled grimly at the dubious compliment.</p> - -<p>“Look here,” went on Duncan, taking up a -brown-covered book from the table. “You’re -a shark in geometry, aren’t you?”</p> - -<p>“I got B plus for a term mark,” said Sam, -complacently.</p> - -<p>“Well, I wish you’d explain this formula. -I can understand equation 3, but how you get -5 from it, as the book says, is beyond me.”</p> - -<p>It wasn’t a difficult thing to explain, nor was -Duncan as stupid about geometry as he thought -himself. Sam turned the clean white pages of -the book.</p> - -<p>“New?”</p> - -<p>“Yes!” ejaculated Duncan, with indignant -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">122</span> -emphasis, “the third I’ve had this year. It’s a -scandal the way books disappear in this school. -You might as well throw ’em away as leave -’em out on the hall racks. The last one I had, -I put my initials in at the bottom of the next to -the last page. If you ever see a book with ‘D. P.’ -in it, confiscate it—it’s mine.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Duncan stopped that afternoon for a few minutes -at the room of Fuzzy Woods in Odlin House.</p> - -<p>“How’s Shirley?” he asked in the course of -gossip. “Done anything queer lately?”</p> - -<p>“I guess not,” drawled Woods. “He’s got -two or three duels on.”</p> - -<p>Duncan giggled. “What for?—insults?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” returned Woods. “It’s always for -insults.”</p> - -<p>“Will they fight?”</p> - -<p>“Naw, the duels never come off—at least -none has so far. They think it’s a great joke till -he gets fierce as a pirate and asks ’em which -they’ll take, swords or pistols. Then most of -’em try to sneak out of it. He told Lauter he’d -shoot him anyway, and scared the life out of him.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">123</span></p> - -<p>“Has he challenged you?”</p> - -<p>“Naw, I let him alone.”</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with the fellow?”</p> - -<p>“He was in school a long time in France and -Switzerland; he got a lot of crazy ideas there about -honor and insults and settling things by duels.”</p> - -<p>“Can he really fence?” questioned Duncan.</p> - -<p>“How should I know!” answered Fuzzy, indifferently.</p> - -<p>Just then some one knocked and was yelled at -to come in. It proved to be Shirley himself, a -slender, well-groomed boy with an English accent, -who had come to borrow a translation. On -Woods’s invitation he stayed. Duncan fell to -asking him questions about foreign schools and -schoolboys. The two got on finely until Duncan -wanted to know what kind of athletics they had -in these foreign places, and Shirley confessed -that there were no regular sports.</p> - -<p>“What do they do for exercise?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, they walk and fence and play tennis a -little.”</p> - -<p>“No track athletics, or football, or baseball, or -rowing?” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">124</span></p> - -<p>“No. Football wouldn’t be allowed.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“It isn’t a gentleman’s game.”</p> - -<p>Duncan sniffed. “It isn’t a lady’s game. -Don’t they even have cricket?”</p> - -<p>“No, they don’t know any more about cricket -than they do about baseball.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose they all go to walk two and two, like -the girls in a convent. They must be a choice -lot of little mollycoddles!”</p> - -<p>“I shouldn’t advise you to call one of them by -that name!” declared Shirley, warming up.</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“You’d have a duel on your hands.”</p> - -<p>“Rats!” said Duncan, contemptuously. “No -one but a barbarian fights duels these days.”</p> - -<p>“That shows how little you know about it,” -said Shirley, stiffly.</p> - -<p>“Would you fight a duel?” demanded Peck.</p> - -<p>“Certainly, if honor demanded it.”</p> - -<p>“Then you’d be a barbarian. Don’t you think -so, Fuzzy?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think anything about it,” answered -Woods, who had been vainly trying to catch -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">125</span> -Duncan’s eye and warn him that he was entering -dangerous ground.</p> - -<p>“Half barbarian and half fool,” continued Peck.</p> - -<p>Shirley rose and stood erect, gazing straight -at the visitor, with indignant eyes and reddening -cheeks.</p> - -<p>“I am not used to being called a fool!” he said -solemnly.</p> - -<p>“Who called you a fool?” asked Duncan, -coolly. “I didn’t.”</p> - -<p>“You said a man who would fight a duel was a -fool and a barbarian,” repeated Shirley.</p> - -<p>“Half a fool and half a barbarian,” corrected -Peck.</p> - -<p>“But I said that I would fight a duel.”</p> - -<p>“Then you must be it,” asserted Duncan, with -nonchalance, stretching himself out in his chair -and putting his hands in his pockets.</p> - -<p>“Those are insulting words to apply to a gentleman. -You will take them back!” cried Shirley, -hotly.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t apply them—just made a general -statement. You took ’em yourself. Perhaps you -felt they fitted.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">126</span></p> - -<p>“That’s quite enough!” said Shirley, slowly, -taking a step forward. “It’s evident that you -mean to insult me. We will settle the point of -honor in a gentleman’s way. Name your weapons -and the place of meeting. Shall it be swords or -pistols? The choice is yours.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">127</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV<br /> - -<span class="medium">AN AFFAIR OF HONOR</span></h2> - -<p>“Swords or pistols!” echoed Duncan, sufficiently -aroused to sit up in his chair. “What -have swords and pistols to do with it?”</p> - -<p>“They are the recognized weapons for settling -affairs of honor. Perhaps you were ignorant -of the fact.” Shirley spoke with scornful dignity.</p> - -<p>“This isn’t an affair of honor, it’s a mere difference -of opinion,” protested Duncan. “You -wouldn’t fight over that, I hope.”</p> - -<p>“I’d fight over insults!”</p> - -<p>Duncan laughed aloud, reckless of the fact that -his laugh added to the affront.</p> - -<p>“What good does fighting do? If you should -wound me with a sword, it wouldn’t make the -truth of what I said any less true, and if I should -put a bullet into you, it wouldn’t drive out the -insult. I say that the man who fights duels is a -barbarian. If I fight, I make myself a barbarian.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">128</span></p> - -<p>“Swords or pistols!” insisted Shirley, with a -dogged indifference to logic.</p> - -<p>“Neither,” answered Peck.</p> - -<p>“Then you are not a gentleman, and are a -coward. You have my contempt.”</p> - -<p>“Hold on there!” exclaimed Peck, dropping his -smile and his air of pleasantry. “Who’s calling -names now?”</p> - -<p>“They are names usually applied to a man who -insults you and won’t give you satisfaction.”</p> - -<p>“If you think I owe you satisfaction for our -difference of opinion, you must owe me something -for calling me a contemptible coward,” announced -Duncan, in serious tones. “I’ll propose—” he -hesitated, and approached a step nearer Shirley; -“I’ll propose bowie-knives!”</p> - -<p>Shirley recoiled. “I am not used to bowie-knives.”</p> - -<p>“Nor I to swords and pistols,” said Duncan.</p> - -<p>The fairness of this answer appealed to the -man of honor. “Then we must find some other -way,” he said. “Insults can only be wiped out -with blood. We’ll play chess, and the one who’s -beaten will commit suicide.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">129</span></p> - -<p>At this proposition Duncan stared hard. For -a moment he harbored the suspicion that Shirley -was chaffing him, not he Shirley. But the boy’s -solemn face and tragic manner immediately dispelled -this illusion.</p> - -<p>“I don’t play chess,” Duncan answered with -plausible earnestness. “Let’s make it golf, and -leave to the one who’s defeated the option of -committing suicide or not. We can consider -him dead anyway.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t play golf.”</p> - -<p>At this point Woods, seeing a chance to bring -the deadly affair to a bloodless conclusion, interrupted -with a shrewd proposal.</p> - -<p>“Why not run it off? Both of you can run. -Make the course a certain number of times round -the wooden track, and let the fellow that’s beaten -set up fudges and stuff for the principals and -seconds. I call that a very honorable arrangement.”</p> - -<p>“It isn’t quite regular,” remarked Shirley, -doubtfully. “Properly there ought to be some -blood shed.”</p> - -<p>“If I’m beaten, I’ll apologize,” said Duncan. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">130</span> -“How does that strike you? I suppose on a -pinch I might produce a little blood. I don’t -want to neglect any formalities.”</p> - -<p>“I think I can accept without that,” said -Shirley, with magnanimity.</p> - -<p>“The one that’s beaten sets up for the crowd; -don’t forget that!” Woods interposed. “Whose -second am I going to be?”</p> - -<p>“You can have him and I’ll get some one else, -or I’ll take him and you can have some one else.” -Duncan was truly generous.</p> - -<p>“I’ll take him,” said Shirley.</p> - -<p>“Then, sir, I will send my second to wait upon -yours and arrange for the details of the combat. -I have the honor, sir, to wish you good afternoon. -We shall meet again!” This grand peroration -safely and pompously delivered, Duncan stalked -solemnly away.</p> - -<p>So much time had been consumed in this highly -interesting interview with Shirley that Duncan -postponed until after recitation the pleasure of -retailing the whole story to Bruce, and giving -him the chance to act as second. On the way -home he remembered that Bruce was to be in -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">131</span> -Boston the following day, but this did not dampen -his spirits. Seconds for such an occasion could -be obtained by the squad. He flew upstairs to -his room chuckling and stumbling, nodded absently -to Archer, who was moping over a Greek -lesson, and took up an algebra with the intention -of utilizing the fifteen minutes remaining -to gain some idea of the methods of the review -chapter which was the lesson for the -four-o’clock flunkers’ class. Through the carelessness -of inattention he ran on a snag in the -first explanation, and had to call on his room-mate -to help him off. Then he worked out two -problems near the beginning and one near the -end of the exercise, threw the book on the -table, looked at his watch, rose, stretched, and -burst into a hearty laugh.</p> - -<p>“I never saw anything so funny as that in the -algebra,” remarked Sam, observing his merry -room-mate over his reading glasses.</p> - -<p>“It isn’t in the algebra, it isn’t in any book,” -cried Duncan, gleefully. “Nothing like it ever -happens in a book. I’m engaged in an affair of -honor; I’m going to fight a duel!” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">132</span></p> - -<p>“A duel!” exclaimed Sam, aghast. “With -whom?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, a fellow you don’t know, in Odlin House.”</p> - -<p>“When?”</p> - -<p>“To-morrow, on the running track behind the -gym. Will you be my second?”</p> - -<p>The invitation was due to a momentary impulse -of friendliness. Archer was a track expert and a -decent fellow; why not let him in?</p> - -<p>Duncan stood with hands in trousers pockets, -smiling roguishly and watching the expression on -Archer’s face. Appalled by the grim picture -called up by the word “duel,” and puzzled to -reconcile this conception with Peck’s evident -gayety, Sam knew not whether to accept or refuse. -Then there recurred to his mind the serious incident -of the last term, when Kendrick had sprung -instantly to his help, and he answered in Kendrick’s -own words, “Sure I will!”</p> - -<p>“That’s right,” said Peck. “There’ll be no -end of sport. You see—oh, hang that bell!—I’ll -tell you all about it after class.”</p> - -<p>At half-past two the next afternoon, when the -outskirts of the gymnasium were clear of idlers, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">133</span> -the duel was fought. It was agreed that Archer -should be starter and Woods judge at the finish; -the course was three times round the track. -Shirley took the lead at the start, running in quick, -short steps, with Peck pounding away in eager -strides behind him. Shirley tripped past the judge -on the first lap, ten yards ahead of his pursuer, and -went pattering around the curve and up the back -stretch as if his legs were driven by a gasoline -engine. At the lower end, however, his pace began -to tell upon him; the pat-pat of the striking soles -became slower, the steps shorter. Duncan perceived -that the time for his spurt had come, but -he was twelve yards behind when he crossed the -line the second time.</p> - -<p>The third lap proved fierce beyond all expectation. -Shirley, game to the last, clenched his fists -and lashed himself on. Duncan, stung by the -fear of an ignominious end to his adventure, -plying his legs to the limit of his strength, with -dry mouth and dizzy head panted after his rival. -He gained but slowly. On the back stretch he -was still five yards behind. As they came down -toward the finish line, two wobbly, tottering figures -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">134</span> -with set eyes and strained, twisted features, -one close to the shoulder of the other, Sam, -seized with the fear that both would drop before -the finish, reached forward eagerly to catch Duncan -as he touched the line. Duncan, keeping his -feet to the end, plunged helplessly into Sam’s -arms. At the same time Woods received the -quivering, gasping Shirley, who lay upon him for -a few seconds, an inert dead weight. Presently -Shirley opened his eyes and looked up. “Who—won?” -he breathed rather than spoke.</p> - -<p>“I’m blest if I know!” answered Woods. “I -forgot to see. Who got it, Archer?”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t notice,” said Sam. “It wasn’t my -business to judge the finish. I was getting ready -to catch this fellow.”</p> - -<p>“They were right together anyway. We’ll -have to call it a tie,” decided the judge.</p> - -<p>“That means we don’t get anything,” observed -Archer.</p> - -<p>“We’ll run it—over again—” panted Shirley, -over his shoulder, as Woods led him away to the -gymnasium.</p> - -<p>“No, we won’t!” whispered Duncan in a broken -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">135</span> -undertone into his second’s ear. “I’d rather take -my chances with swords or pistols. Catch me -running any more races without training. I’ll -bet we made a new record.”</p> - -<p>It developed in the course of the afternoon -that there had been unseen witnesses of the spectacle, -and these witnesses not only spread highly -colored versions of what they had seen, but also -asked rude, saucy questions of the actors. The -fellows in Odlin House cleverly pried certain admissions -out of Shirley, guessed at what they did -not know, and put in circulation a tale which was -received with greedy ears and grinning faces. -Duncan bounced into 7 Hale in the middle of the -evening and planted himself, an outraged victim -of treachery, before Archer’s chair.</p> - -<p>“What did you want to go and blab all this thing -for?” he began, glowering fiercely at his room-mate’s -startled face.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t,” replied Sam, quickly. “I haven’t -said a word about it.”</p> - -<p>“It’s all over school. Some one’s been giving -it away. They say it was you.”</p> - -<p>Sam tossed his book upon the table with a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">136</span> -spiteful jerk. “They lie, then. I haven’t even -told who won the race. I’ve referred every single -fellow to you.”</p> - -<p>Duncan’s wrath gave way to gloom. “Some -one’s done it, anyway. They’re all joshing me -about it.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t help that,” said Sam. “What do you -care? Laugh it off.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve been laughing it off. I’ve laughed till -my face aches, but that doesn’t make me any -happier. Do you know, I could have sworn I -was ahead of that fellow at the finish. Why -didn’t you keep your eyes open?”</p> - -<p>“I was thinking of you, not of the race. -You looked as if you were all in, ten feet before -you got to me. I expected to see you drop.”</p> - -<p>Sam waited for Peck to reply, but Peck offered -no comment.</p> - -<p>“As a matter of fact,” continued Sam, frankly, -“the last time I <i>did</i> notice your positions, Shirley -was a good yard ahead.”</p> - -<p>“I’m dead sure I beat him at the finish,” said -Duncan, obstinately. “I wish I’d had Bruce -there!” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">137</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV<br /> - -<span class="medium">SAM’S FIRST RACE</span></h2> - -<p>One result of the Shirley-Peck duel was to check -the developing friendship of the inmates of 7 Hale. -Duncan felt that Archer ought to have been on -the watch when he passed Shirley at the finish—he -took most indignantly the suggestion that Shirley -was really ahead after all. Sam, having performed -his part to the best of his ability, was disgusted -with the childish obstinacy with which -Duncan cherished his sense of injury. Coldness -again marked the relations of the room-mates.</p> - -<p>Another consequence of the bloody fray was -the appearance of Shirley among the track men. -Bruce got him out—no one could long resist the -spell of Bruce’s winning manner—and Collins -appointed him his proper task. They tried him at -first on the longer stretches, but six hundred yards -and even three hundred were soon found to be distances -for which Shirley’s quick stride was not -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">138</span> -adapted. Then Collins set him to sprinting, -and rubbed his hands with delight over the result. -“Frenchie” took to starting and sprinting as a -hound to a rabbit trail. In a week his starts were -instantaneous, and his legs twinkled along the -forty yards like the feet of a running mouse. Duncan -was out too for the three hundred, and doing -well, his friends said, though with old Chouder in -the event, second place was the best he could -hope for.</p> - -<p>Mulcahy’s attitude toward Sam was changing. -There had been no outward break in their relations, -but Mulcahy had become distant in his greeting, -and only showed his old cordiality when he had -some special object to attain. He was busy now -with what Duncan called “a new graft”—getting -members for the Harvard Club, of which he was -secretary and treasurer. Every boy who was preparing -for Harvard was pressed to join in order -to prove his loyalty. Every new member paid -one dollar for a printed shingle signed by the secretary. -The club had no meetings, except to elect -officers and to be photographed. It had no -expenses except the price of the shingle plate -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">139</span> -with fifty cheap prints, and the cost of inserting a -group photograph in the school Annual.</p> - -<p>“Easy money!” said Duncan in disgust, when -Sam reported that he had joined. “He’s got my -dollar too.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t think he keeps the money, do -you?” asked Sam, surprised at the implied -charge.</p> - -<p>“You don’t think he gives it back, do you?” -retorted Duncan.</p> - -<p>“No, but there must be miscellaneous expenses.”</p> - -<p>“You can call it that if you want to. The -account stands something like this: twenty-five -shingles sold to new members at a dollar each, -twenty-five dollars; twenty-five shingles bought -at a dime each, two-fifty; picture in the Annual, -five; miscellaneous, seventeen-fifty; balance in -treasury at the beginning of next year, nothing. -Conundrum: who got the seventeen-fifty? Your -friend Mulcahy is a slick one!”</p> - -<p>“He isn’t my friend!” declared Sam, stoutly.</p> - -<p>“He is if he can get anything out of you; if he -can’t, he’s your enemy.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">140</span></p> - -<p>Vexed at the slur at his simplicity implied in -Duncan’s words, yet half inclined to acknowledge -that the senior was right, Sam took his geometry -and departed for the Academy. It lacked still -fifteen minutes to the time for recitation, but he -hoped to find among the few steadies who often -came early either Phipps or Entstein, the sharks -of the section, and get an idea from one of them as -to the last original in the lesson. He had solved -four out of the five.</p> - -<p>No sooner was he seated at a desk than Mulcahy -came in, glanced round the room, made quick -estimate of the possibilities offered, and slipped -into a seat beside Archer.</p> - -<p>“Hello, Archer!” he exclaimed, his voice ringing -with cordiality. “I haven’t seen you for a -week. How’s the pole-vault going?”</p> - -<p>“Not very well,” responded Sam, coldly.</p> - -<p>“If you’re doing no better than I am, you’re -rotten!” went on Mulcahy, amiably. “I can’t -make nine feet any more—seem to have lost the -knack. I hear you did nine four the other day.”</p> - -<p>“Nine three,” corrected Sam.</p> - -<p>“I can’t touch that. I see where I come out -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">141</span> -at the bottom in the Shield Meet. How many -originals did you get to-day?”</p> - -<p>“Four.”</p> - -<p>“You’re a shark! What kind of figure did you -have for 213?”</p> - -<p>Sam opened his papers and showed a neatly -drawn diagram with his proof carefully indicated -beneath. Mulcahy studied it silently for two full -minutes. “That’s the way I did it,” he said. “I -wasn’t sure it was right. Did you get 214?”</p> - -<p>Sam handed over another sheet, to which his -companion gave as close a scrutiny as to the first. -“I don’t understand that,” he said, pointing to a -statement. “How do you get that?”</p> - -<p>“That’s easy,” replied Sam, proud of his achievement. -“I’ll show you.” He looked about for a -loose sheet of paper.</p> - -<p>“Use this,” offered Mulcahy, turning to the -blank page at the end of his book. “I can rub it -out afterward.”</p> - -<p>Sam took the geometry and quickly jotted down -on the fly leaf the omitted intermediate steps. -“I see that,” said Mulcahy, and devoted himself -once more to the study of Sam’s diagrams. Sam -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">142</span> -turned back the leaves of the geometry. On the -margin of the page next to the last he found the -two letters D. P.</p> - -<p>This discovery effectually occupied Sam’s mind -during the few minutes that remained before the -recitation bell sounded. His papers went unnoticed -through Mulcahy’s hands. While the -bell was ringing, Mulcahy asked a last question, -and Sam leaned absently toward him to follow -the questioner’s finger upon the page. At this -moment, while their heads were close together, -some one called sharply from the door at their -side, “Archer!”</p> - -<p>Sam turned and beheld Duncan Peck grinning -at him in the doorway.</p> - -<p>“What did I tell you!” Peck threw at him in a -jeering undertone, and disappeared behind the -entering class.</p> - -<p>“There’s one thing I could tell <i>you</i>,” thought -Sam, grimly, as he faced front again, “but I -won’t. You can find your missing books yourself!”</p> - -<p>When the instructor asked how many had succeeded -in proving the whole five originals, Phipps -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">143</span> -alone put up his hand. Three, including Archer -and Mulcahy, averred that they could do four. -Others professed three and two and one, and some -none at all. Mulcahy was sent to the board and -returned in triumph, sure of a good mark for the -recitation. He had made excellent use of Archer’s -solution. Sam was not called on.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>To the blasé attendant from the town, the Faculty -Shield Meet of that year would have seemed -little different from a dozen other events of the kind -which he had witnessed. Collins and Bruce, testing -it by a standard of their own, called it satisfactory. -The old boys who came back from the -colleges in fine attire to act as judges spoke of it -with patronizing interest as a success. For two -contestants, at least, it was the most important -event that the school year had as yet developed. -Shirley, the duellist, won his trial heat in the -forty yards, though some derisive remarks were -made about him as he crouched on the starting -line. These remarks ceased when he took his -second heat, an easy yard ahead of his nearest -rival. In the third heat he was again the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">144</span> -leader. In the final he was matched against -Gay, the best hundred-yards man in school.</p> - -<p>Sam and Taylor stood together near the finish -line.</p> - -<p>“I wish Shirley would beat that Gay, even if -Gay does belong to my class,” remarked Taylor, -maliciously. “Since he won the hundred last -year at Hillbury, he wears a hat four sizes bigger. -I don’t suppose there’s any chance for Frenchie.”</p> - -<p>“Lots of chance,” returned Archer, wisely. -“Shirley strikes his stride in the very first yard. -He may get put back, of course.”</p> - -<p>There was a false start, but it was Gay who went -back a foot; another, and Fairmount joined him. -All four hung on the next set, and the pistol -cracked. While the others were still rising, Shirley -was shooting forward with his feet well under him. -He was a yard ahead at the end of ten yards; at -the forty no one was within five feet of him.</p> - -<p>“Bully for Frenchie!” cried Taylor. “That’ll -take down the swelling on Gay’s head an inch -or two. What’s the time? Four and three-fifths? -Why, that’s the record!” And Taylor -ran off to have a hand in the boisterous congratulations -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">145</span> -which the lower middlers were lavishing on -their unexpected champion.</p> - -<p>Sam was on his way to the starting line for -the forty-five-yard hurdles. He had no chance -against Fairmount, he knew well, but Fairmount -was not in his heat, and he hoped to survive the -first trial at any rate. If he could only get his -long legs to swinging faster! He crouched for his -start, a little white around the lips, but cool, -waited while Somers was put back, and got off -reasonably well. Somers was ahead of him at the -second hurdle, but he caught him on the third, and -breasted the tape a foot ahead. In the finals, -Fairmount was outside him and Edmands and -Foote inside. This time he was slower. All three -got off before him, but Foote stumbled at the first -hurdle and fell behind. Edmands he overtook -as he passed the second. Together they ran for -the third, but Archer cleared with less waste of -time, and was close behind Fairmount at the finish. -It was not victory, but he was fully satisfied with -second place.</p> - -<p>After that Sam had nothing to do but sit content -in his warm bathrobe and watch the other -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">146</span> -races. Bruce, of course, took the six hundred -yards, and Weatherford the thousand, both veterans -who surprised no one. Then old Chouder’s -race, the three hundred, was called. Duncan was -in the pack that chased at Chouder’s heels, gradually -scattering behind as the pace told. Duncan -was not the last by any means, nor quick-stepping -Shirley, who held the pole behind the leader, and -after gaining fifteen yards on the first round, kept -himself in the van during the second. Both Peck -and Richmond spurted to pass him on the final -stretch, but neither could quite reach him. Shirley -fell across the line two feet behind Chouder, -with Peck a yard farther back.</p> - -<p>“I wonder what he’ll say now!” thought Sam, -gleefully. “He can’t pretend he beat Frenchie -this time!”</p> - -<p>But alas! Sam’s complacency was soon to receive -a shock. In the indoor pole-vault, which -Jones won at ten feet four amid great applause, -Archer did his expected nine feet three. Mulcahy, -however, who had pretended two days -before that he could no longer reach nine feet, -vaulted nine six with ease! And when Sam taxed -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">147</span> -him with the inconsistency of his words and his -performance, he smiled contemptuously, and -“guessed he had got back his form!”</p> - -<p>That night Sam waited a sleepy hour beyond his -bedtime to catch Peck, who spent the evening out.</p> - -<p>“What about Shirley now?” he demanded, -as soon as the door was closed behind the truant.</p> - -<p>“He can run,” answered Duncan, coolly.</p> - -<p>“He licked you to-day, right and good, didn’t -he?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, he did,” conceded Duncan.</p> - -<p>“What about the day of the duel,” pursued -Sam. “Didn’t he beat you then, too?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps he did and perhaps he didn’t. Who -can tell?”</p> - -<p>“I wasn’t so far out, anyway,” growled Sam. -And Duncan thought so too, but not being wholly -ready to acknowledge the error, he deferred his -admission to a later time. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">148</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI<br /> - -<span class="medium">HE TRIES AGAIN</span></h2> - -<p>On the Saturday after the Faculty Shield day, -Sam ran in the forty-five-yard hurdles again, in -the handicap meet which regularly follows the -scratch contests. The handicapper thought one -yard about the right allowance for the long-legged -upper middler; Somers got two and Foote three. -Fairmount ran from scratch. It was a hot race, -with every contestant hoping to cross the line first, -the man in front driving himself that his advantage -might not be wrested from him, the pursuers -confident of superiority and struggling to secure -the positions which belonged to them. Sam felt -the presence of Somers and Foote ahead pulling -him forward as the magnet attracts steel; his legs -followed each other faster than they had ever -gone before; the three hurdles were but three -exhilarating bounds in his course. Forgetting -Fairmount, who was behind, he ran down Somers, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">149</span> -pressed on after Foote, and passed him by a -convulsive straining effort at the finish. Never -before had he felt what it was to <i>fight</i> his way in a -race; to mark his adversary and beat him, as one -throws his opponent in a wrestling bout, or as the -tackier downs his man, surely and hard, on the -football field. In his struggle to pass Foote he -had kept ahead of Fairmount, who finished two -feet behind him.</p> - -<p>Collins was pleased, as much with the new spirit -of the hurdler as with his success in the event. -“He’s slow,” he remarked to Bruce, “but he’ll -come in time.”</p> - -<p>“This year?” questioned Bruce, closely. It was -“this year,” the year of his captaincy, that interested -Bruce.</p> - -<p>“I can’t say,” answered Collins, thoughtfully. -“It may take a long while. He’s a good, steady -boy; he’ll come all right sometime.”</p> - -<p>Duncan Peck, too, seemed to be influenced by -Sam’s modest success in the handicap meeting. -He confessed one day in a burst of confidence, -after Sam had led him through the maze of a foolish -algebra problem about two men who rowed -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">150</span> -past each other up and down stream—each, -apparently, with a stop watch and a log line—that -his duel joke with Shirley had proved a boomerang. -In return Sam told him of the initials—D. -P.—in the back of Mulcahy’s book.</p> - -<p>“It’s mine all right,” remarked Duncan, “but -I’ve got another now, and it isn’t worth while to -make a row about it. I can’t prove anything -against him. He’d say he bought it at Moran’s -or of one of those fellows who were fired last week. -It shows you what he is, though.”</p> - -<p>“I know what he is,” said Sam, blushing. -“I don’t need any more lessons.”</p> - -<p>Another person with whom Sam hoped that he -might gain some influence by the prestige of his -improvement in the hurdles was his second cousin, -Wally Sedgwick. Wally was a lower middler, -active-minded and ambitious. Athletics would -have given a natural scope to his energy, but he -was too small and immature to have any chance in -Seaton sports. He had fallen in with a set of idle -boys of not the highest standards, who appealed -to Wally’s imagination as gay young bloods; they -knew things and were up to date. None of these -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">151</span> -was in the class of John Fish, a reprobate, and -callous to the opinion of his associates; nor in -that of Mulcahy, whose ambition led him to conceal -his wrong-doing, but could not prevent his -determined selfishness from pushing to the surface. -The wickedness of Wally’s friends lay mainly -in talk and swagger, but they had already suggested -to him that the code of morals taught in his -home was goody-goody, and that the proper way -to show his spirit was to do “what everybody -did.” Wally was popular with many of the older -boys because he was the brother of Margaret -Sedgwick. They bestowed attentions on him in -the hope of “making themselves solid” with Miss -Margaret, caring little whether these attentions -were good for the boy or not.</p> - -<p>The track team were going to Boston to compete -in the schoolboy games of the Boston Athletic -Association. For the first time in his school career -Sam was to be a member of a Seaton team in contest -with other schools. He was to wear the significant -red letters on his shirt, was to see his name -on the big official programme as a representative -of Seaton, was to be trusted to do a part in gaining -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">152</span> -public honors for the school. He thought of it -by day, dreamed of it by night, and longed, as -only an inexperienced tyro can long, to do credit -to those who trusted him. Mr. Archer, who -sympathized with his son in all innocent interests, -that he might wield the stronger influence when -great questions of conduct came up for settlement, -ordered a ticket and promised to be present at -the contests. Sam wrote the usual disclaimer of -any expectation of getting a place, but his secret -hopes ran high. Why shouldn’t Fairmount win -first and he second, as they had done at Seaton?</p> - -<p>Then came the trip in pleasant but orderly company, -the lunch in town, the dressing in confused, -cramped quarters, the facing of tier on tier of partisans -encircling the huge room, the disorderly -jumble about the starting lines, the hurried calling -of contestants, the uproar of rival cheers—and at -last the all-important summons. Few looked -upon that particular heat of the forty-five-yard -hurdles with special interest. Occasional friends -of runners scattered through the benches, Mr. -Archer straining his eyes at the long, lank figure -crouching in the outside course, Collins ever -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">153</span> -calmly observant of his protégés, the little batch -of eager Seatonians watching the red letters, a -noisy squad cheering the wearer of a big W—these -were the real audience.</p> - -<p>The pistol cracked. The line shot forward, -over hurdles, through hurdles, stampeding for -the tape. Sam stumbled, caught his step again -and dashed blindly on. He sprang for the last -hurdle as another was leaving it. A blue N -was first, the W second, Sam an unplaced third. -The starters were calling the sixth heat.</p> - -<p>It was all over in ten seconds—the set, the -start, the struggle, the finish, Sam’s dream of -achievement. He slipped into a corner by his -schoolmates and tried to forget his disappointment -in watching the efforts of his friends. He -saw Kilham of Hillbury beat out Fairmount by -a foot in the finals of the hurdles. He cheered -vigorously when Gay took the forty. He groaned -in dismay as Bruce was pocketed on the curve -of the track in the six hundred and forced behind. -When Weatherford won the thousand yards and -Brewster the mile, and Jones soared a handbreadth -above the bar after all rivals had failed, he exulted -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">154</span> -with pure delight. At such times the sight of the -success of his school almost comforted him for -his own failure. But when unfamiliar letters -were in the van, when the Seaton runners were -lost in the field of pursuers, then the fruitlessness -of his own effort recurred to him afresh, and the -folly of his hopes. Abashed, he glanced up at the -indistinct face in the distant gallery and wondered -whether his father felt himself the victim of false -representations. Exactly what his father did -think he had no opportunity to discover. When -Sam looked for him after the pole-vault, his place -was empty; Mr. Archer, having stayed to the -limit of his time, was hurrying for his train.</p> - -<p>The next day Sam approached the groups of -chattering acquaintances with some dread of -sarcastic comment. His fears were needless. -Kendrick and Taylor and a few others remarked -sympathetically on his “hard luck”; Duncan -Peck made a creditable effort to be encouraging; -but the majority showed no concern whatever -in his failure. This contemptuous indifference -on the part of the many, this assumption that he -didn’t count or that nothing was expected of him -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">155</span> -anyway, stirred Sam’s fighting blood. He did -not need the consolation which Collins gave when -he spoke of the event as “just practice,” nor the -inspiration of Bruce’s gay derision of himself -for being blocked off on the track. The public -disdain was stimulus enough to a proud spirit. -Sam’s resolution to brook no discouragement -until time had fully proved his incompetency -dates from that day.</p> - -<p>But there were other interests in Sam’s daily -life besides hurdling. His lessons were going, -some well, some tolerably, some ill. In French -he did not get ahead, and consequently he did -not gain in favor with Mr. Alsop. In truth, it is -to be feared that Sam did not try his very best -for the lord of his entry. The experienced had -informed him that if one did well enough with -two or three teachers to make himself solid with -them, they would defend him against those with -whom he did ill. As Sam’s schedule was a full -one and some neglect was inevitable, he followed -his inclination and neglected Mr. Alsop. That -gentleman did not relish neglect; it offended his -dignity and cut through the smooth coating of his -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">156</span> -self-satisfaction. Mr. Alsop would never have -struck an enemy whose hands were bound, but -he did not hesitate to assail in the classroom with -personal flings and stinging sarcasms the luckless -boy who incurred his displeasure. Unable to -strike back, the boy endured in silence and nursed -his sense of unjust treatment with sullen, unforgiving -wrath. Mr. Alsop meant well, but he -lacked the instinct of fairness.</p> - -<p>In the dormitory entry there were troubles for -which Sam and Birdie Fowle were generally held -responsible by Mr. Alsop,—Sam as the accessory -who was too clever to be detected, Birdie as the -criminal occasionally caught in the act. Some -one, supposed to have been Birdie, had thrown -water out of a window in the vain attempt to -reach a boy who was hurling taunts from below. -Mr. Alsop had called up Fowle and charged him -with the offence. Birdie had acknowledged his -sin. The teacher, instead of welcoming this -frankness as an encouraging symptom, and by -tact and kindness inspiring in that careless youth -the desire to keep the peace, read him a harsh -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">157</span> -to the indignant satisfaction of the boy that the -fellows were right when they said that honesty -was not the best policy in dealing with profs. -Injustice being the rule, one might as well be -actually bad, as good and always suspected of -badness.</p> - -<p>Soon after this the day’s collection of waste -paper in the wire grate in the basement was set -on fire, causing small damage, but much excitement -throughout the well and great chagrin to -the official regulator thereof. Fortunately for -Birdie, his presence at recitation at the time -enabled him to prove a complete alibi. Right -upon the heels of this act of vandalism some -miscreant, in the middle of the evening study -hour, set off a cannon cracker in the entry. -Mr. Alsop, who was at home, tore open his door -and rushed savagely up the stairs. Through a -dense cloud of smoke he descried John Fish -standing in his doorway.</p> - -<p>“What is it, Fish?” Mr. Alsop demanded angrily.</p> - -<p>“Some one’s set off a cannon cracker, sir,” -answered Fish. “I was just coming out to see if -I couldn’t catch the fellow.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">158</span></p> - -<p>Doors were open now about the stairway, -heads peered over from above.</p> - -<p>“Could you tell where it came from?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Did you have anything to do with it, Booth?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p>“You, Rand?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p>“You, Moorhead?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p>“You, Taylor?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p>“You, Fish?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Alsop went upstairs, called out every occupant -of every room, and put to all the same -question. Fowle and Archer he asked twice. -Peck was out, and so was Lord’s room-mate. -Otherwise the entire well was canvassed. After -the cross-examination was concluded, the teacher -gathered the whole company into his room.</p> - -<p>“Some one has told me a falsehood,” he began -solemnly. “I do not know who it is, but I can -guess. To that person I want to say that I -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">159</span> -consider a lie as much worse than setting off -crackers, as crackers are worse than an ordinary -rough-house. The one who is responsible will -do well to come to me and confess the truth. -The rest of you who are shielding the guilty one -should remember that by keeping silent you assume -a share in the guilt. If I can’t have order -in this well by any other means, I’ll put the whole -well on study hours, and if that doesn’t answer, -it will have to be cleaned out altogether. The -school has no use for rowdies.”</p> - -<p>This last threat Mr. Alsop did not really mean, -as it would have involved firing the studious -Moorhead, the good John Fish, and the cherub -Rand,—the sweetest, most friendly, most diligent -little boy that Mr. Alsop had on his list. But -instances were known of whole dormitory wells -ruthlessly swept clear at an indignation meeting -of an offended faculty. Fowle and Archer as -the scapegoats of the well foresaw trouble for -themselves, at any rate, whatever punishments -were inflicted. They got together soon after -Mr. Alsop’s audience was dismissed, and held -wrathful council. At the end they picked up -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">160</span> -Taylor and moved down on John Fish, who -opened his door a crack to see who was knocking, -and then opened it wide because a big foot -prevented its being closed.</p> - -<p>“I’m getting popular,” he said, smiling feebly -at his visitors.</p> - -<p>“Not with this gang!” said Taylor, as he shut -the door behind him.</p> - -<p>“You set off that cracker!” blurted Sam, with -suppressed fierceness.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t.”</p> - -<p>“You lie! You did,” retorted Sam. “You -know you did. We want to give you warning that -this funny business has got to stop. You know -that Fowle and I get the credit if anything happens -here, whether we’re in it or not. If we get soaked -by Alsop for anything that’s done hereafter, -we’ll maul you so that you can’t stand!”</p> - -<p>Fish looked at the trio in apprehension. -Archer’s fight with Runyon had passed into dormitory -history; he was regarded as a dangerous -man. Fowle and Taylor were solid fellows, the -latter a member of his class football team. Fish -himself, though easily superior to the smaller -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">161</span> -occupants of the well, would have shrunk from -single combat with any one of the militant trio. -His chance against them all would have been -very poor indeed.</p> - -<p>“What do you want?” he asked sullenly.</p> - -<p>“We want you to cut it out, that’s all,” answered -Fowle.</p> - -<p>“Cut it out entirely,” added Taylor.</p> - -<p>“Well, I will,” answered Fish, in a sour tone, -“but I can’t be responsible for everything that -happens.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">162</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII<br /> - -<span class="medium">A FOOLHARDY ADVENTURE</span></h2> - -<p>The inhabitants of the east well of Hale became -lovers of peace. Mr. Alsop had not full confidence -in the change, scenting something ominous in -the unnatural calm. The rumor that had spread -among his colleagues that Alsop was having a -sad time in his dormitory touched that gentleman -in a sensitive spot. Ability to get on with pupils -is considered a most desirable quality in a teacher, -even in an institution like Seaton, in which the -headsman’s axe is the chief disciplinary weapon, -and the fear of it the great persuader to the quiet -life. Trouble with his boys meant that Mr. Alsop -was not in all respects a success; and the teacher, -while forced to confess this fact to himself, did -not wish it unpleasantly noised abroad. He -was suffering for his own conscientiousness and -keenness of perception; he knew Fowle and -Archer as dangerous boys, while other teachers -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">163</span> -were still dull-witted or misguided enough to -defend them.</p> - -<p>One morning, as Mr. Alsop, thinking gloomy -thoughts about the waste of himself which a -talented man commits when he takes up the life -of a teacher, swung sharply round the corner of -his dormitory, he beheld a most exasperating -sight.</p> - -<p>Wally Sedgwick had been loafing in 7 Hale -that morning, keeping both Sam and Duncan -from work which neither wanted to do. Wally’s -hat lay on the window seat. Duncan, concluding -that Wally had overstopped his leave, lifted the -window and pushed the hat gently from its -resting-place. Then he calmly informed Wally -that his “dip” had fallen out. Both peered -over the sill to see where the hat had fallen.</p> - -<p>John Fish, in the room below, had caught sight -of the object falling past his window, and leaned -out to investigate. It occurred to him immediately -that (as the physicians say) water was -indicated; so he brought his pitcher and began -pouring upon the hat. Duncan, observing this -manœuvre from above, was seized with a bright -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">164</span> -idea. He too fetched a pitcher and poured his -libation upon John Fish’s unprotected head as it -projected from the window below. It was this -spectacle of pitchers and streams of water and -heads and an all-suffering hat which greeted Mr. -Alsop’s gaze and outraged his sense of propriety -as he emerged into view before the front of Hale.</p> - -<p>Fish did not pour long. The chilling grip of -the water upon the back of his neck quickly reminded -him that his conduct was unbecoming. -Duncan stopped when Fish stopped, but neither -before the teacher got a good view of the offenders.</p> - -<p>“Gee, there’s Alsop!” cried Duncan, jumping -back into the obscurity of the room. “My -name is mud.”</p> - -<p>“I guess I’ll go,” said Wally, quickly, “before -some one pinches the hat.”</p> - -<p>Wally scuttled downstairs, dashed past the -teacher at the door, seized his hat and sped away -from danger. Mr. Alsop mounted directly to -Number 7, and knocked vigorously. Sam opened -the door.</p> - -<p>“Peck, it was you who were pouring water out -of your window upon the head of a boy below?” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">165</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img id="i183" src="images/i183.jpg" alt="" /> -<p class="caption"><span class="smcap">This Spectacle of Pitchers and streams of water and -heads greeted Mr. Alsop’s gaze.</span>—<i><a href="#Page_164">Page 164</a>.</i></p></div> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” said Duncan, promptly, “but it -was in self-defence. You see, the hat fell out, -and before we could get it, some one downstairs -began to dump water on it. I had to do the -same thing to him to make him stop.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose there was no other way of stopping -him,” answered Mr. Alsop, with angry sarcasm. -“You knew very well that all throwing of water -from dormitory windows is forbidden. I shall -report you at the office as on study hours.”</p> - -<p>“That’s a pretty note!” said Duncan in disgust -as soon as the enemy was out of hearing. “Put -me on study hours for that! It was nothing at -all. Fellows do it all the time in Sibley and -Wentworth and don’t get even a call-down. That’s -a way to run a dormitory, isn’t it? He probably -won’t do anything to Black Hand Fish!”</p> - -<p>Therein Duncan was wrong. Mr. Alsop stopped -on his way downstairs to give Fish the same -punishment, but he did it with reluctance, in fact -almost apologetically, and he took the penalty -off at the end of a week. Duncan, being of a -proud spirit and showing evident resentment -in his manner, the instructor disciplined by a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">166</span> -longer period of restraint. During this season of -penance, when Duncan was at home morning, -afternoon, and evening, cut off from all visitors, -the two room-mates were inevitably much together. -Some of this time Duncan wasted in maledictions -on his unjust fate and on all those whom he held -responsible for his sufferings; some he spent -profitably in studying, and in getting acquainted -with his room-mate. The experience of this -period, which proved effectively the value of Sam’s -friendship, destroyed the last shreds of the prejudice -which Duncan had nursed so long. He -signalized his conversion by suggesting to Archer -that it was time they addressed each other by -their first names. He made atonement, not by -falling on his friend’s neck and beseeching his -pardon for misjudging him, but by treating him -with frank cordiality at home and commending -him abroad.</p> - -<p>“Black Hand” Fish, released from the ban at -the end of a week with a gentle recommendation -that he restrain his sprightliness, returned most -subservient thanks and went his old way. Fish’s -old way was not a good one from the point of view -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">167</span> -of morality or of the happiness of his neighbors. -He was the “bad boy” of the well, a natural -Ishmaelite. His hand was against every one. -He borrowed money without the slightest intention -of paying; he rough-housed recklessly in the -rooms of those not strong enough to eject him, -smashed furniture, threw books, spilled ink, played -hair-dresser with the shoe-brush. And withal, so -strong was the code of honor among his victims, -so suave and respectful was his demeanor toward -Mr. Alsop, so craftily did he choose his hours of -molestation, that the teacher had no suspicion of -his character. When Mr. Alsop passed Fish’s -room on a visit of reproof to Fowle, and saw on -the door a threatening demand for money emphasized -by the drawing of a black hand, he reflected -sadly upon the persecution which an orderly student -must suffer at the hands of the disorderly. -Indeed, he felt tempted to call a meeting of the -well to protest against the cowardice of anonymous -threats.</p> - -<p>Fish himself was not greatly disturbed by the -sight of these manifestoes. He was not to be -frightened into disgorging by the threat of a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">168</span> -Black Hand. When, however, a similar notice -appeared on the blotting-paper on his desk, he began -to suspect his long-suffering room-mate Moorhead, -and made him the special object of his attentions. -Moorhead was a studious youth, an honor -man, very ambitious to keep his rank. Fish hid -his books, poured away the water from his pitcher, -pulled his bed to pieces, inked his exercises. A -favorite diversion was to sing Moorhead to the -verge of madness when the boy wanted to study. -This was especially effective when a “dec” had -to be learned, or lines memorized for English.</p> - -<p>With the occupants of Number 7 Fish took no -liberties. They “wouldn’t stand for it,” and they -were capable of defending themselves. The weaker -inhabitants of the well safeguarded themselves -and their possessions as best they could by keeping -their doors locked. Even with this precaution -there were times when the pest found admittance. -Being debarred from outside disturbance -by the serious threats of the trio, he was in a way -thrown back upon the rooms for amusement.</p> - -<p>Spring came, if a muddy windy March has any -right to the name of spring. Sam, whose reputation -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">169</span> -was better with other teachers than with -Mr. Alsop, sometimes got permission to go off -with his gun. He returned one Wednesday -night, empty-handed, as usual, but eloquent of the -grandeur of the heavy surf as it broke over the -rocks at the foot of Great Boar’s Head. He -wrote a theme on the subject before he went to -bed, and read it to Duncan.</p> - -<p>“Gee! but it must be worth seeing!” exclaimed -Duncan. “If that beast of an Alsop hadn’t put -me on study hours, I might go down and get a -look at it.”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you ask him to take you off?”</p> - -<p>“Ask him to take me off!” repeated Duncan, -indignantly. “I wouldn’t ask him to take me out -of a pit, if I were dying of thirst!”</p> - -<p>“He probably wouldn’t do it anyway,” remarked -Sam, recalling the humiliating refusal -which he had himself received when he asked for a -special make-up on French vocabulary.</p> - -<p>Thursday and Friday the wind blew hard from -the east. Saturday was clear. At nine, after his -first recitation, Duncan came dashing in with the -signals of exciting news flaming in eye and cheek. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">170</span></p> - -<p>“Alsop’s gone to Boston to-day to tell the -Modern Language Profs how to do it. He won’t -get back until to-morrow night.”</p> - -<p>“What of it?” asked Sam, calmly.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to take a holiday. I’m going to see -the surf, that’s ‘what of it’!”</p> - -<p>“You’d better not. You can’t get permission; -and if any of them see you, they’ll report you, and -it’ll be all up with you.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not going to stay cooped up here all the -time. I did nothing to be put on probation for, -not as much as John Fish, and he was let off a -week ago. I’m going to see the surf!”</p> - -<p>“Supposing they see you?”</p> - -<p>“They won’t see me. I’ll get something to eat -early down at McLane’s; then I’ll take the one -o’clock car outside the town. Nobody would -leave as early as that, and if they do, Brucie, who’s -got permission to go, will take the same car in town, -and signal me at the right place if there’s any danger. -Then I’ll jump off at Leavitt’s, skip over to the -rocks, have a look at the waves, and take the -same car back. I’ll be here by three.”</p> - -<p>“It’s risky,” said Sam, thoughtfully. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">171</span></p> - -<p>“I’ll take the risk!”</p> - -<p>All that morning, Duncan’s foolhardy scheme -troubled Sam’s mind. There was danger in it—a -danger quite out of proportion to the pleasure -to be gained. The boy who leaves town without -permission goes permanently. That was a rule -to which the faculty rarely made exceptions. It -was useless to expostulate with Duncan; he had -made up his mind, and the resolution of a boy -who had studied the ins and outs of Academy -discipline for four years could hardly be expected -to yield to the objections of a newcomer. And -yet there was an objection which appeared to Sam -to be serious.</p> - -<p>“What are you going to do about the two -o’clock car going down?” he asked Duncan, as the -chums came together again at twelve o’clock. -“There’s sure to be some one on that who would -recognize you; it will pass you at the power-house.”</p> - -<p>“That’s easy!” answered Duncan, confidently. -“I’ll duck down when we pass the cars, going and -coming. If you’re trying to scare me out of this, -you’re wasting your breath. I’m going, anyway.”</p> - -<p>This ended Sam’s attempts at interference. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">172</span> -He hung around the room for a while after Duncan -had gone, then hunted up Dr. Leighton and -asked permission to go to the salt marshes or -elsewhere, shooting. Dr. Leighton knew Mr. -Archer and believed in the boy. As a result, we -may say by way of parenthesis, the boy believed -in Dr. Leighton, and, what is more to the point, -strove to earn his esteem by honest work for him. -Dr. Leighton’s permission was quickly obtained.</p> - -<p>Sam boarded the two o’clock car in his shooting -togs, without any clear idea as to his purpose. -He didn’t care much about shooting that afternoon, -and he did want to help Duncan, but how -he could help Duncan he had but the vaguest -notion. If there were teachers aboard, he might -engage them in talk at the critical time, and so -divert their attention. Two teachers did get in at -the square, Professor Towle and Mr. Snow, both -elderly men above the temptation of spying—the -fault of overzealous youth—but quite as -rigid in their sense of duty as their younger colleagues. -If Duncan showed himself, his head was -forfeit.</p> - -<p>The car bowled rapidly along the desolate, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">173</span> -water-soaked highway. Sam left his seat and -went forward with the motorman to catch the -first glimpse of the waiting car at the turnout. -As they bore down upon the power-house, they -saw ahead of them a group of workmen gathered -about a heavily loaded service car which appeared -to have broken down, obstructing both main -track and turnout.</p> - -<p>“Looks like a block,” observed the motorman, -as he crowded down the brake.</p> - -<p>“What will they do?” asked Sam, quickly.</p> - -<p>“Probably swap passengers with the up car -when it comes, and send us back.”</p> - -<p>The car came to a stop. The motorman opened -the door of his vestibule and leaned out. Sam -peered over his shoulder.</p> - -<p>“You’ll have to go back, Jim,” said an official -to the conductor. “Transfer your passengers.”</p> - -<p>Sam seized his gun, pushed by the motorman, -and strolled along the track past the obstruction. -As soon as he felt himself sheltered by the derailed -car from the argus eye of the faculty, he jumped -the wall, and in its shelter ran headlong for the -curve round which the up car was expected. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">174</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII<br /> - -<span class="medium">MR. ALSOP BARKS</span></h2> - -<p>Two minutes later a youth in khaki, armed with -a gun, stopped the up car just around the curve -beyond the power-house, called out a startled -passenger, and let the car go on. Those who -were curious enough to look back—including a -shrewdly grinning conductor—saw the pair disappear -over the fence into a clump of trees.</p> - -<p>“What’s up?” demanded Duncan, as soon as -his foot touched the ground.</p> - -<p>“They’re going to transfer passengers at the -power-house. Towle and Snow are there—” -Sam stopped for breath; his run up the hill had -winded him. “You’d have been caught like a -rat in a trap.”</p> - -<p>Duncan whistled, and gave vent to a variety -of exclamations prompted by a variety of feelings. -Sam cut into them abruptly.</p> - -<p>“You can’t show yourself until after the car -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">175</span> -passes here. By that time the other one will have -gone, and there isn’t another for an hour.”</p> - -<p>“And some one is likely to be on that,” said -Duncan, gravely.</p> - -<p>“Yes, and on the one after. If you want me -to, I’ll stay down and watch to see who’s aboard, -and give you a signal. Or—”</p> - -<p>“Or what?”</p> - -<p>“You might walk back. It’s only five miles.”</p> - -<p>“In all this mud?” cried Duncan.</p> - -<p>“It isn’t so bad on the track; and it’s the safest -way. If any one sees you walking, it won’t hurt, -because you’ve got a right to walk where you -want to.”</p> - -<p>“That’s true,” said Duncan. “Well, I guess -I’ll walk. What are you going to do?”</p> - -<p>“I got permission for the marshes. I suppose -I ought to go.”</p> - -<p>“Go ahead!” answered Duncan. “There comes -your car. I’ll see you when you get home.”</p> - -<p>Sam vaulted the fence, stopped his car, and got -in. Professor Towle fastened on him a questioning -glance as he sat down.</p> - -<p>“We were wondering what had become of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">176</span> -you,” said the teacher, kindly. “You went on -ahead?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” answered Sam, demurely.</p> - -<p>“Rather unpleasant walking,” remarked Mr. -Snow, looking at Sam’s muddy feet.</p> - -<p>“I don’t mind the walking,” Sam hastened to -say. “When you’re out with a gun, you go through -so much mud that a little more or less doesn’t -count.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so,” responded Mr. Snow. Professor -Towle was thinking in a half-interested way that -it was a queer freak for a boy to go ahead of -a car on a day like this, and wondering vaguely -what prompted the impulse. He did not wonder -long. When one has been guessing more or less -unsuccessfully at schoolboy conundrums for a -quarter of a century, one gives up easily before a -casual new one.</p> - -<p>When Sam came back to 7 Hale that night, -with game bag empty as usual, he found -Duncan stretched out in an easy chair before the -fire, arrayed in bath robe and slippers. His shoes, -brown with mud and bleached at the tips with -water, sulked, neglected, in a corner. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">177</span></p> - -<p>“Been to dinner?” inquired Sam, as he opened -the door.</p> - -<p>“Not going,” Duncan answered laconically. -“When I got back about five, I was so dead hungry -I couldn’t wait for dinner, so I filled up at McLane’s. -You see I didn’t stop for much luncheon -this noon. I had a whopping big steak with -two orders of French fried, and half a lemon pie. -I sha’n’t want anything more to eat this week.”</p> - -<p>“What do you think about it now; was it worth -while or not?” Sam talked from his bedroom, -where he was busy peeling off his soaked clothes.</p> - -<p>“No, it wasn’t,” responded Duncan, slowly. -“I didn’t see much of the surf, and I came near -getting into trouble.” He waited a minute and -added as an afterthought, “From one point of -view it was.”</p> - -<p>“What’s that—exercise?”</p> - -<p>“No. I found out what a good fellow I’ve -got for a room-mate!”</p> - -<p>A thrill of delight ran through Sam’s chilly -limbs as he heard this unexpected acknowledgment. -His own heart had long since declared -itself. Yet an instinct of self-repression, inbred -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">178</span> -by many generations of Puritan ancestors, combined -with the aversion to sentiment common to -all boys, forced an almost flippant answer to his -lips. “You’d better wait till the end of the year -before you say that. Your opinion of me may -slump.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve waited long enough—too long. You -got me sour on you at first when you turned me -out of my room; then the way you let Mulcahy -work you, made me sore.”</p> - -<p>“I was pretty slow about Mulcahy,” confessed -Sam, “but that was partly your fault. -I thought you were unfair to him, and that made -me hang on to him.”</p> - -<p>“How did you come to go down there this -afternoon?” asked Duncan, with an abrupt -change. “You didn’t say anything about going -when I started off.”</p> - -<p>“I thought I might as well go,” Sam answered -carelessly. He shied at confessing the real reason.</p> - -<p>“You saved my neck, all right,” remarked -Duncan. “I believe you went on purpose. I’m -going to think so, anyway.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">179</span></p> - -<p>Sam hurried his shower and his dressing and -got over to dinner before the doors were closed. -On his way back he stopped at Dr. Leighton’s -rooms to tell him that he had returned within -the time set. Dr. Leighton invited him in, and -they talked together intimately for an hour, not as -teacher and pupil, but as friends. They fell ultimately -upon the subject of injustice in the school -life; of boys who trotted and cribbed and got C, -while boys who plugged and were honest got E; -of lies that secured immunity when the truth -brought punishment; of Duncan Peck kept on -pro for three weeks when Fish got off with one for -the same offence; of the troubles of mischievous -Birdie Fowle, who, though by no means a bad -boy, was considered a monster, while others -were thoroughly corrupt and yet enjoyed an -immaculate reputation; of hypocrites who joined -the Christian Frat because it would help them -with the faculty, yet showed no respect for the -principles of the organization. Dr. Leighton did -not deny the facts of injustice; he did not undertake -to absolve either himself or his colleagues -from all mistakes in their estimates of the boys. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">180</span> -But he did try to show that injustice is not intentional -or permanent, that immorality and dishonesty -are sure to work their way to the light -of day and receive their reward; that no boy -can escape the responsibility for his own character -and influence. Sam went home feeling -that his own unimportant life, if lived cleanly and -honorably, might have a value in the school -world.</p> - -<p>Mr. Alsop returned Monday morning, his sensitive -and suspicious soul agitated by a dire discovery. -He had distinctly seen, as he walked -along a Boston street on Saturday evening, -Duncan Peck with another, unrecognized boy -entering a theatre—Duncan Peck, whom he -himself had put on probation, and who could -not, save by misrepresentation, get leave of absence -from any one. He went immediately to -Peck’s boarding place—Duncan had long since -wearied of Alumni—to make inquiries, and -learned that Peck had not been present at dinner -Saturday night nor at breakfast Sunday morning. -He visited the matron of the dormitory, and was -told that the maid who had gone in to take care -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">181</span> -of Number 7 on Sunday had reported Peck sleeping -soundly at nine o’clock, with shoes standing -before the fireplace still wet, and muddy trousers -hanging over a chair. Remembering the heavy -downpour of rain which had occurred early that -morning, Mr. Alsop felt that his case was complete. -The rascal had broken his probation, had -taken a six o’clock train to Boston Saturday -night, attended the theatre in the evening, spent -the rest of the night—no one knew how—and -returned in fancied security by the paper train -very early in the morning. It was a piece of -tragic but most successful detective work. The -circumstantial evidence supporting the testimony -of his own eyes was complete.</p> - -<p>Yet before he laid the scandal in all its appalling -details before the faculty, Mr. Alsop decided to -question Peck, and incidentally Archer. It should -never be said that he had condemned a boy -without a hearing. From Archer he expected -no confirmation of his own true account of Peck’s -movements on that fatal night, for in accordance -with the notions of loyalty prevailing among the -students, a room-mate would feel bound to hide -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">182</span> -the facts, however heinous the guilt of the offender. -Peck, of course, would not hesitate to -lie, when he found himself trapped.</p> - -<p>The two boys rose as the instructor walked -solemnly into the room. He dismissed the -offered chair with a wave of the hand and a chilly -“Thank you,” and entered straightway upon his -business.</p> - -<p>“Peck, I have come to ask you about your -absence from town on Saturday,” he began.</p> - -<p>Duncan threw a look of dismay at his chum. -“My absence from town!” he exclaimed, striving -to appear wholly surprised, yet conscious of a -traitorous blush suffusing his cheeks and a well-nigh -irresistible inclination to avoid the instructor’s -stern eye.</p> - -<p>“Yes, from town,” repeated Mr. Alsop, with -slow and distinct emphasis.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” said Duncan.</p> - -<p>It would have been an interesting problem for -a mediæval casuist to determine the moral character -of this statement; whether a black lie, a white -lie, or no lie at all. Duncan used it merely as a -means of drawing the teacher out. He suspected -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">183</span> -that he knew only too well what the instructor -meant. Yet, as a fact, he knew nothing. Mr. -Alsop recognized it at once as the first of the -expected chain of falsehoods, and sharpened his -wits to detect its successor.</p> - -<p>“Where were you on Saturday afternoon?”</p> - -<p>“Knocking around,” answered Peck, vaguely, -sure now that he saw Mr. Alsop’s meaning, and -wondering how he had been found out.</p> - -<p>“Were you out of town?”</p> - -<p>Duncan was silent.</p> - -<p>“Where were you in the evening?” went on -the inquisitor, triumphantly. The weak line of -defence was already breaking.</p> - -<p>“Here,” replied the defendant, puzzled to -understand the bearing of the question.</p> - -<p>“Are you quite sure, Peck?” said the questioner, -solemnly.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>Sam stepped forward and opened his lips, -“Mr. Alsop—”</p> - -<p>He was interrupted by an uplifted hand. “I -am questioning Peck, if you please.” Sam -retired, abashed. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">184</span></p> - -<p>“Were you not in Boston Saturday evening, -Peck?”</p> - -<p>“In Boston!” Into this three-syllabled explosion -Duncan compressed a heavy charge of -wonder and relief.</p> - -<p>“Yes, in Boston!” returned Mr. Alsop, with -sharp emphasis. “You are doubtless an excellent -actor, Peck, but please do not answer my questions -with exclamations. Were you in Boston Saturday -night or not?”</p> - -<p>“Not!” replied Duncan, his eyes twinkling, -and the corners of his mouth twitching in an -incipient smile. He had recovered his self-possession -completely.</p> - -<p>“This is not a fit subject for jest, Peck.” -Duncan’s face sobered immediately. “It is a -very serious matter. I repeat my question once -more and demand a frank answer. Were you in -Boston last Saturday evening?”</p> - -<p>“I was not,” answered Duncan, in a low voice, -with his eyes fixed on the floor.</p> - -<p>“It would be better to confess honestly than -to persist in a lie, Peck,” continued Mr. Alsop, -in a judicial manner. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">185</span></p> - -<p>Duncan did not reply. His head was turned -away.</p> - -<p>“The fact is bound to come out, whether you -admit it or not.”</p> - -<p>“What fact?”</p> - -<p>“The fact that you were in Boston Saturday -night. I saw you there with my own eyes just -as you were entering the Colonial Theatre!”</p> - -<p>Duncan drew a long breath, and waited an -artistic interval before replying. “I suppose -if you saw me—” he began.</p> - -<p>“If I saw you, what, Peck?” prompted the -teacher, gently.</p> - -<p>“If I should confess, should I get off any -easier?”</p> - -<p>“I can make no promises. The faculty would -doubtless give the fact consideration. You have -been a long time in school.”</p> - -<p>“Why, he has nothing to confess!” broke in -Sam. “He was here Saturday evening. I can -testify to it.”</p> - -<p>To Sam’s surprise, Duncan turned roughly -upon him. “It’s no use for you to say that. -You’d better keep your fingers out of it.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">186</span></p> - -<p>Mr. Alsop nodded approval. “I respect your -desire to help your friend, Archer, but false -testimony will only serve to hurt you without -benefiting Peck.”</p> - -<p>This calm assumption that he was prepared to -act the part of a false witness wounded Sam’s -self-respect and stirred his indignation. For the -instant, however, he was dumb with astonishment. -Before he could gather his wits to make -protest, Duncan had turned away from Mr. Alsop -and shot at his chum a beseeching look, emphasized -by a vigorous side jerk of the head, that -closed the boy’s opening lips.</p> - -<p>Again silence, broken by Mr. Alsop.</p> - -<p>“It is better to make a clean breast of it, Peck,” -he said, in a persuasive voice.</p> - -<p>Peck drew another long breath and lifted his -eyes to the instructor’s face. He had evidently -taken a deep resolution.</p> - -<p>“Tell me everything frankly,” encouraged -Mr. Alsop.</p> - -<p>“I wasn’t in Boston at all,” declared Duncan, -lapsing suddenly into a sullen manner. “I -haven’t been in Boston for five weeks.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">187</span></p> - -<p>Mr. Alsop’s face hardened. “You insist on -that story, do you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“So much the worse for you, then. The faculty -will consider the case on Tuesday evening. I -will give you until that time to come to your -senses.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">188</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX<br /> - -<span class="medium">UP THE WRONG TREE</span></h2> - -<p>Mr. Alsop closed the door of Number 7 behind -him, more than ever convinced that he had -caught an experienced and clever offender. -Peck’s confusion when suddenly taxed with an -absence from town which he had supposed totally -unknown, his theatrical attempt to bluff, his -apparent conflict in mind over the wisdom of -confessing and throwing himself on Mr. Alsop’s -mercy, his pains to keep an over-loyal room-mate -from committing himself to a falsehood, his -final decision to abide by the original denial—all -this was the natural behavior of a conscious -culprit. The unfortunate boy had been given -an opportunity to confess and gain a possible -mitigation of penalty. The instructor’s conscience -was clear.</p> - -<p>Inside Number 7 Duncan was dancing in -transports of merriment. “Did you ever hear -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">189</span> -anything like it!” he cried. “Oh, but it’s great! -If some fool doesn’t butt in and spoil it all before -to-morrow night!”</p> - -<p>“You’re a fool yourself!” said Sam, in disgust. -“Why didn’t you let me tell him the facts? I -could have cleared you.”</p> - -<p>“Because I didn’t want to be cleared,” declared -Duncan, joyfully; “because this is the chance of -a lifetime to get back at him for all his spying -at keyholes and sneaking round. If you’d blurted -out everything you wanted to say, you might -have made him doubt, and I don’t want him to -doubt.”</p> - -<p>“Do you want to be fired for what you didn’t -do?” demanded Sam. “You weren’t in Boston. -You were here.”</p> - -<p>“I know I was here, but he doesn’t. He’ll -bring it up before the faculty—and then!—”</p> - -<p>“And then what?”</p> - -<p>“He’ll get a fall, a nice, hard, dizzy fall that’ll -make him see stars. He’ll rise a better man.”</p> - -<p>Sam stared for some seconds and meditated. -“I don’t see why you’re so sure about that,” -he said at length. “I’m the only one who can -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">190</span> -prove you were here. If he doesn’t believe me, -why should the rest?”</p> - -<p>“You’re not the only one!”</p> - -<p>“Were you out that night? If you were, you -broke your probation.”</p> - -<p>“I wasn’t out.”</p> - -<p>“If you had fellows in here, you broke your -probation just the same.”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t have fellows in here. The laundryman -brought my bundle and collected a dollar -twenty. Better than the laundryman, Mr. Sedgwick -came to invite you there Sunday night—I -forgot to tell you about it.”</p> - -<p>Sam’s face showed deep disgust. “You’re a -fine man to leave a message with, aren’t you? -Here it is Monday morning. They’ll think I’m -a chump!”</p> - -<p>“Never you mind! She’ll forgive you. You -can go this afternoon and tell them how it happened. -Maybe you’ll get another invitation. -Anyway, Mr. Sedgwick makes a second witness. -Alsop might suppose I’d fixed the laundryman, -but they’ll have to believe Mr. Sedgwick. Then -there’s Don.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">191</span></p> - -<p>“What has Don to do with it?”</p> - -<p>“Sammy, you’re positively thick. Who do -you suppose Alsop really saw in Boston?”</p> - -<p>“How should I know?”</p> - -<p>“He saw Don!”</p> - -<p>Then a light suddenly broke upon Sam’s -slow mind. He had met Donald Peck, Duncan’s -twin, on the morning of the Hillbury football -game, and had been amazed at the close resemblance -between the two brothers. Since then, -various anecdotes of the pair, current in the -school, had come to his ears, and Duncan himself -had told him much about their experiences -together.</p> - -<p>“That’s just what happened!” Sam cried. -“Don came in from Cambridge to go to the -theatre, and Alsop saw him. I wonder why he -didn’t think of Don.”</p> - -<p>“He wouldn’t think of anything except that -he’d caught me,” said Duncan. “He wasn’t -looking for ways of proving me innocent.”</p> - -<p>“What are you going to do about it?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing. Oh, yes, I am! I’m going to -telephone Don, and if he says he went to the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">192</span> -Colonial Theatre that night, I’ll get him to write -me a letter.”</p> - -<p>The routine business of the faculty meeting on -Tuesday had been disposed of. Petitions from -various misguided students for an extension of -the approaching spring vacation had been refused. -It had been decided that the Mandolin Club might -not give a concert in Haverhill, and that the -Assembly Club under certain conditions might -hold a dance on the evening of a certain Friday. -The secretary was reading the alphabetical list -of students to refresh the memories of those -members of the faculty who had come to the -meeting with questions to ask or charges to bring. -Halfway through the catalogue of seniors, at the -name of Peck, Mr. Alsop interposed.</p> - -<p>“Stop there, please! Did any one give Peck -permission to go to Boston on Saturday night?”</p> - -<p>Silence effectually answered the question. “I -thought not,” continued Mr. Alsop. “He is on -special probation. I was in Boston over Sunday, -and on Saturday night, a little after eight, I saw -Peck just entering a theatre on Boylston Street -with a companion whom I did not know. As -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">193</span> -soon as I returned I made inquiries at his boarding -place, and learned that he was absent from -dinner on Saturday night and from breakfast -Sunday morning. The chambermaid reported -him in bed at nine o’clock on Sunday, his shoes -standing before the fireplace still wet. There was -a heavy rain early Sunday morning, as you -perhaps remember. I am convinced that he -left town by the six o’clock train Saturday and -returned by the paper train Sunday morning. -I questioned him about the matter and told him -where I had seen him. He was confused in his -answers, and at one time seemed on the point -of confessing, but he finally decided to take the -other course, and faced it out to the end.” Mr. -Alsop paused.</p> - -<p>“If you saw him,” said Mr. Moore, who was -presiding, “I should say that it is a case for -immediate dismissal.”</p> - -<p>“I saw him distinctly.”</p> - -<p>“Who is his room-mate?” asked Professor -Towle.</p> - -<p>“Archer.”</p> - -<p>“What does Archer say?” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">194</span></p> - -<p>“Archer would probably pretend that Peck -was in his room on Saturday evening. He was -about to say something to this effect, but Peck, -who evidently wanted to keep him from committing -himself to a false statement, objected -to his testifying.”</p> - -<p>“That seems a strange proceeding,” remarked -Professor Towle. “A boy who would run away -from school for a night wouldn’t be likely to care -whether his room-mate lied or not as long as the -testimony was in his favor.”</p> - -<p>“I should myself be very unwilling to believe -either that Peck would leave town without permission -or that Archer would lie about it afterward,” -said Dr. Leighton, for the first time taking -part in the discussion.</p> - -<p>“It is a question of fact, not of opinion,” -replied Mr. Alsop, tartly. “It might not seem to -you so unlikely, if you had seen as much of the -pair as I have.”</p> - -<p>“Might it not have been Donald Peck whom -you saw?” asked Dr. Leighton. “He is in -Cambridge, and might very well have been in -Boston that night.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">195</span></p> - -<p>The effect of this question was first to stagger -and then to anger Mr. Alsop. In his zeal to -bring the guilty Duncan to punishment, he had -put aside all thought of error in identification. -This reminder of the existence of Duncan’s -double came to him as a shock. He entertained -the suggestion but a moment, however, dismissing -it immediately as reflecting on the accuracy -of his observation.</p> - -<p>“I can only repeat,” he said with frigid dignity, -“that I saw Duncan Peck in Boston Saturday -night. The suggestion that the evidence of my -own eyes is not trustworthy will not explain -his two absences from meals, nor the condition -of his room on Sunday morning, nor his very -noticeable confusion on being questioned.”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid we are spending time unprofitably,” -broke in Mr. Moore. “May I suggest -that the case be left to a committee, with full -power to dismiss the boy if he is found guilty?”</p> - -<p>Professor Towle moved that Dr. Leighton, -Mr. Alsop, and Mr. Snow constitute such a committee. -The motion was passed and the august -body continued its review of the list, putting six -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">196</span> -boys on special probation for an excess of five -chapel cuts during the term, voting that notice -be sent to three fathers that their sons must be -withdrawn, ordering A. Jones to retire from the -Assembly Club, and B. Brown to give up either -French or German, and C. Smith to pay before -Thursday for the damage done in his room or -be suspended,—and so on for a ruthless hour of -house-cleaning.</p> - -<p>After his first recitation next morning, Dr. -Leighton got to work on the task of his committee. -He found Duncan and Sam together in -7 Hale. Sam retired at the suggestion of the -teacher that he wished to talk with Peck alone.</p> - -<p>“Was I fired?” asked Duncan, when Dr. Leighton -had stated his errand. Duncan’s manner -showed plenty of curiosity, but little deep concern.</p> - -<p>“Your fate is in the hands of a committee,” -replied Dr. Leighton. “If it is true that you -were in Boston that night, I couldn’t keep you -here if I would, and you may be sure that I -should not try to do so. The question is one of -fact. At present the presumption is against you. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">197</span> -I want first your own word. Were you in Boston -Saturday night?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir,” responded Duncan, promptly, looking -frankly into the teacher’s serious face. The -boy’s expression was serious too, except as to the -eyes. In them gleamed but half suppressed a -glint of fun.</p> - -<p>“Where were you?”</p> - -<p>“Here.”</p> - -<p>“Did any one see you here?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Who?”</p> - -<p>“Sam Archer.”</p> - -<p>“His evidence might satisfy me, but not others. -It is conceivable that a room-mate should feel in -duty bound to defend his friend at the expense -of a lie. Did no one else see you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Who?”</p> - -<p>“The man who delivers for Jetteau’s laundry, -a short, red-faced fellow. We call him Pete.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Leighton wrote in his book: “Pete, Jetteau’s -laundry.” “I wish it had been a better witness,” -he said regretfully. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">198</span></p> - -<p>“There was a better witness,” said Duncan, -his satisfaction now breaking forth into a broad -grin, “Mr. Sedgwick.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Leighton closed his notebook with a snap. -“Did he see you here?” he demanded eagerly.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir. He came a little before eight to -invite Sam to supper the next day.” Duncan’s -face took on a rueful look as he added, “I forgot -to tell Sam until this morning.”</p> - -<p>“You ought to have given me his name in the -beginning.” Dr. Leighton spoke reprovingly, but -with evident relief.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Sedgwick came last,” answered Duncan, -demurely. “I was giving the witnesses in exact -order.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Leighton laughed, a frank, natural, unprof-like -laugh. “You always were a joker, -Duncan, but take care how you joke with the -faculty. Some of us don’t understand jokes.”</p> - -<p>Duncan grinned in silent comprehension.</p> - -<p>“But why didn’t you tell this to Mr. Alsop?” -pursued Dr. Leighton, now serious again. “It -Would have saved all this misunderstanding.”</p> - -<p>“He didn’t give me any chance,” said Duncan. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">199</span> -“He spent all his time trying to make me confess -I’d done what I hadn’t done.”</p> - -<p>“But you prevented Sam from testifying.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I did,” declared Duncan, stoutly. “As -Alsop was so sure I was bad, I thought he might -as well find out the truth himself. I hoped -it would come hard, for he’s treated me dirty -mean.”</p> - -<p>“How has he treated you meanly?” asked -Dr. Leighton, quietly.</p> - -<p>“Lots of ways. For one thing, he’s kept me -on probation three weeks for throwing water -out the window, when the fellow who started the -thing only got one.”</p> - -<p>“Go and get Archer,” commanded Dr. Leighton.</p> - -<p>“Was Peck here Saturday night?” asked the -instructor, as the two boys returned.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” answered Sam, eagerly. “He was -here the whole evening from the time I came in -a little after eight. We both went to bed about -eleven. He was no more in Boston than I was.”</p> - -<p>“One thing more, Peck,” said the teacher, -turning abruptly on Duncan. “Where were -you on Saturday afternoon?” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">200</span></p> - -<p>Duncan’s countenance fell. “Knocking around,” -he answered cautiously.</p> - -<p>“That’s indefinite. You were not at dinner.”</p> - -<p>“No, sir. I got my dinner at McLane’s at -about five.”</p> - -<p>“And before five?”</p> - -<p>Peck hesitated, looked at his room-mate, then -out the window, then at his room-mate again, -and at last into Dr. Leighton’s face.</p> - -<p>“I’d rather not tell you; that is, officially. -I’ll tell you personally, if you like. I didn’t do -anything bad.”</p> - -<p>“Personally then, if it must be,” said the instructor.</p> - -<p>“I went to Hampton Beach to see the surf.”</p> - -<p>“What!”</p> - -<p>“I went down on the one o’clock car and came -back on it. I walked up from the power-house.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Leighton was silent, while Duncan shifted -nervously from foot to foot, and wondered wildly -whether he had made the great mistake of being -confidential with an untrustworthy prof. Dr. -Leighton, however, understood clearly the distinction -intended; he had agreed to receive -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">201</span> -Duncan’s confession, not as a member of the -faculty, but as a friend of the confessor. Officially -he could take no cognizance of the affair. -He must speak as a friend and adviser, or not -at all.</p> - -<p>“Duncan,” he said with slow seriousness, “in -going to Hampton you were leaving town without -permission just as much as if you had gone to -Boston, as Mr. Alsop thought you did. That -Mr. Alsop treated you unfairly, or that your visit -was for an innocent purpose, is no excuse whatever -for the act. You broke a rule on which the -school wisely insists, and the punishment for -which you well knew. In that you were totally -wrong.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” said Duncan, humbly.</p> - -<p>“You understand that if your absence is discovered -and the fact brought before the faculty, -I cannot say a word in your defence?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Now I want you to promise, and promise -honestly, that for the rest of the year you will -try to keep well within the school rules.”</p> - -<p>“I will, sir.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">202</span></p> - -<p>“Good!” Dr. Leighton held out his hand, and -turned to go. At the door he spoke again. -“One more word of advice—as a friend. You -have the advantage over Mr. Alsop in this Boston -affair. Use it to come to a better understanding -with him, and not to annoy him. Remember -that there is a very weak spot in your own armor.”</p> - -<p>When the teacher was gone, the two boys remained -for a time in silence. Duncan’s malicious -joy in the prospect of Mr. Alsop’s humiliation had -given place to a serious mood. “Leighton’s a -square man!” he said at length. “You’d do -right for a man like him when you’d rather do -wrong; while as for Alsop, why, you’d do wrong -for him when you’d rather do right, just to spite -him.” And therein Duncan Peck showed a -knowledge of the essential traits of an inspiring -teacher which is rarely possessed by school -trustees.</p> - -<p>Later in the day Mr. Alsop came to apologize -for his error, and the interview left a pleasant -impression with both participants. Duncan had -special reason to be satisfied with it, as the instructor, -to make amends for his false accusation, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">203</span> -removed the annoying probation. Through Dr. -Leighton’s influence the special committee made -no report to the faculty, and Mr. Alsop was -spared the pain of an official verdict on his -blunder. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">204</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX<br /> - -<span class="medium">THE SOCIALIST</span></h2> - -<p>For a few days after Duncan’s acquittal, -Mr. Alsop seemed really to have profited by his -lesson. It is no slight humiliation to make a -theatrical charge of falsehood against two boys, -and then be compelled to eat one’s words in sackcloth -and ashes. The tale circulated among the -students in a variety of versions, none of which -was inferior to the truth in picturesqueness. -Members of the faculty smiled significantly as -they passed on the word that the committee on -Peck would not report, even while they deplored -their colleague’s misfortune and expatiated on his -devotion to duty. The discomfited instructor had -to draw on his whole fund of self-esteem to save -himself from confessing that some of his methods -needed mending. As he treated Sam with -unwonted consideration in recitation for the next -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">205</span> -few days, and Sam, as a result, made more conscientious -preparation of lessons, it began to look -as if Sam, at least, was to be the gainer.</p> - -<p>Birdie Fowle was left alone to bear the weight -of Mr. Alsop’s particular suspicion, and Birdie -dropped as naturally into trouble, as a fly into -the milk-pail. Taylor and Sam, with Birdie, had -one evening been enjoying a most exhilarating -game of ball in Birdie’s room. They used a -baseball and a bat. Sofa cushions piled in the -corner constituted the field. To hit the Harvard -cushion was a base hit, the Yale cushion counted -for two bases, the pillow with the girl’s head on it -three, and the S cushion a home run. To miss the -cushions altogether was an out. The sport was -great; the cries of the trio floated out through the -open windows, and the floor trembled with the -lunges of the players. Mr. Alsop, who had -latterly resolved not to interfere with the boys -in their rooms unless the disturbance was serious, -growing impatient under the strain, tramped his -study, nervously asking himself, with each crescendo -from above, whether the time had not now -come when he really must interfere. Then the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">206</span> -noises ceased, and he went back to his work -relieved.</p> - -<p>The game was at its height when a knock at -the door sent the guests scurrying to the closets. -Poor Birdie, bound to obey the summons, tossed -the cushions back upon the sofa, ran his fingers -through his disordered hair, threw on his coat, -and hurried to open the door. Without stood -Brantwein with his basket of “hot dogs.”</p> - -<p>“You old fraud!” exclaimed Birdie. “I -thought sure it was Alsop.”</p> - -<p>“You ought to be so glad it isn’t that you’d -want to buy me out,” observed Brantwein, as he -pushed in. “I’ll sell you the whole stock for an -even dollar.”</p> - -<p>“Come out!” yelled Fowle. “It’s only -Brandy!” The hidden players emerged. “Who -wants a dog?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll give you a dime for three,” offered Taylor. -“That’s all they’re worth.”</p> - -<p>“They’re the best I ever sold, specially fine -breed of dog,” returned Brantwein, seriously. -“They’re really worth ten apiece, but I’ll let -you have ’em for a nickel.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">207</span></p> - -<p>“Hot?” asked Sam, thrusting his hand into -the basket.</p> - -<p>“Two hundred twelve degrees,” answered the -vendor, as he pulled his basket well out of Sam’s -reach. “Don’t handle the pups.”</p> - -<p>Fowle treated the crowd, and the three were -soon munching the sandwiches and crying down -their quality.</p> - -<p>“How’s socialism, Brandy?” asked Fowle, -winking at his nearest neighbor. “I hear it’s a -back number nowadays.”</p> - -<p>“The socialists are the party of the future,” -said Brandy, solemnly. “The time is coming -when the government will own and operate all -railroads and public utilities, together with all -mines and great industrial plants, and the product -and advantages derived from the resources of -the country will be enjoyed by the people, to -whom they belong, not by the few greedy monopolists -who sit with their feet in the trough at home—and -send their fat-witted sons to Seaton -Academy.”</p> - -<p>“Good!” cried Taylor. “That’s me! But -look here, Brandy, will the government run the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">208</span> -hot-dog business too? If it does, where’ll you -be?”</p> - -<p>Brandy threw at the interrupter a glance -which was meant to express pity for Taylor’s -ignorance.</p> - -<p>“Those that are qualified will hold the important -positions, not those who have a pull. I shall -be chief government inspector of hot dogs.” -Brantwein turned again to his main audience. -“The United States is to-day fifty years behind -Europe in the matter of socialism, but we’re -learning fast now. We must make a beginning -with the coal mines and the great trunk lines—”</p> - -<p>“That’ll be bad for you,” cut in Birdie. “You -can’t beat your way from Chicago to Boston, then.”</p> - -<p>“I shan’t need to,” retorted Brandy. “The -state will pay for every man’s education. Fellows -like you, of course, the state won’t waste much -time on. You’ll be used for road-menders and -crossing-sweepers.”</p> - -<p>“Hear! hear!” cried Taylor, lacking for the -moment a more effective reply.</p> - -<p>“It will be another golden age, won’t it, -Brandy?” interposed Sam, “like that one Virgil -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">209</span> -tells about, when the pastures were speckled all -over with sheep of different colors, each one producing -wool of just the right tint, so that there -was no need of dyeing it. All the lazy will become -hustlers and all the crooks honest, and -everybody will have what he wants to eat and go -to the theatre every night.”</p> - -<p>“Once a term was more than enough for Duncan -Peck,” said the socialist, most irrelevantly. -“That was a hot old bluff he put up on Alsop, -wasn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“It was no bluff at all,” answered Sam, warmly. -Just then the door was pushed open and Fish -lunged in, gave a general nod that was meant to -include all present, and made a dive for Brandy’s -basket. The socialist proved quite able to defend -his property. He met Fish’s onset with a hard -shove that sent the intruder into the desk, then -picked up his stock in trade and made for the -door. “I can’t waste any more time on you -fellows,” he said. “Fish has come to make a -rough-house and there are about twenty starved -Alumni Hall boarders to be warmed and fed out -of this basket. So long!” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">210</span></p> - -<p>Fish took a newspaper from the desk, punched -a hole through it, and proposed that Fowle wear -it as a collar.</p> - -<p>“Get out, won’t you!” pleaded Fowle. “I -don’t want any rough-house here.”</p> - -<p>“We’ll put him out, if you say so,” offered Sam.</p> - -<p>“No, don’t!” expostulated Birdie. “That’ll -make a row and Alsop will be down on us. He’ll -go.”</p> - -<p>Sam and Taylor drifted home to save the -balance of the evening. Fish seized the long-handled -hearth brush which Birdie’s mother, in -the trustfulness of her heart, had sent to her -son with admonition that he keep his fireplace -tidy. “Let me brush your hair,” urged Fish, -advancing on his unwilling host.</p> - -<p>“Keep away with that!” Birdie commanded, -but Fish persisted. Each clutched the handle -of the brush and struggled against the other, -Fish to accomplish his purpose, Birdie to ward off -the attack. In the fracas the stick parted; Fish -retained the handle end, Birdie the brush.</p> - -<p>“Now see what you’ve done, you hoodlum!” -cried Fowle, indignantly. “Get out of here!” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">211</span></p> - -<p>As Fish showed no inclination to yield to this -order, Birdie threw wide his door, got inside his -enemy, and with a hard buck, given suddenly -and low, tried to rush him out the door. Fish -caught by the casing, pulled himself back, and -ultimately escaped, with a jeer of defiance, to -the farther side of the room. Here Fowle attacked -him again, and by superior strength -dragged him to the door, where Fish by the -skilful use of hands and feet once more blocked -his opponent’s game. By this time Birdie had -undeniably lost both temper and caution. He -grasped the interloper’s wrist with one hand, his -neck with the other, and twisting the wrist and -pressing the neck hard between thumb and -fingers, urged him to the door.</p> - -<p>“Stop! stop!” cried Fish, quickly. “I’ll go.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t trust you,” shouted Fowle. “I -won’t let up an ounce till you’re outside that -door!”</p> - -<p>Fish stood not on the order of his going. Outside -Birdie gave him a final push and paused, -panting and dishevelled, in the doorway. Fish -had hardly stretched his cramped neck and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">212</span> -shaken out his aching wrist, when he suddenly -lifted his head in an attitude of attention, and -darted up the next flight of stairs. While his -ascending head was still visible over the banisters -above, the angry visage of Mr. Alsop appeared -from below.</p> - -<p>“At it again, Fowle! Disturbing the whole -well for your own amusement, regardless of the -rights of others and my repeatedly expressed -wishes! There’s a limit, I wish you to understand, -even to my patience.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” stammered the boy, “but this time -it wasn’t my fault.”</p> - -<p>“It never is, according to your statements,” -declared the instructor.</p> - -<p>“What would you do if a fellow came into your -room, tried to brush your hair with a hearth -brush, broke your things, and refused to leave? -You wouldn’t stand round and let him rip the -room to pieces, would you?”</p> - -<p>“Who was it?”</p> - -<p>“I can’t tell you, sir.”</p> - -<p>“If you prefer to shield him, you can’t blame -me for holding you responsible. Whoever the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">213</span> -others may be, you are certainly one. If boys -trespass on your room, you should keep your -door locked.”</p> - -<p>“I do, usually,” answered Birdie. “Sometimes -I forget.”</p> - -<p>“For the rest of the term you are on probation,” -continued the instructor, severely. “At the next -faculty meeting I shall report your case and ask -that a notice be sent to your parents that unless -you can come back to live an orderly, quiet -life in the dormitory, we do not wish you back at -all.”</p> - -<p>Overcome by a deep sense of injury, Birdie next -morning confided his troubles to Sam. In consequence, -feeling that the fuel for Mr. Alsop’s ire -must have been provided by the ball game in -which they had had a share, and grasping at a -vague hope of bettering the condition of the -luckless boy, Sam and Taylor visited the teacher -and tried to deflect to themselves some share -of Birdie’s punishment.</p> - -<p>“Which of you was the one that forced himself -into Fowle’s room and broke his fire brush?”</p> - -<p>“Neither of us,” said Sam. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">214</span></p> - -<p>“But you both played with bat and ball in his -room?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Then you may both write out for me before -Saturday night ten pages of French. I ought -to put you on probation, but I will reduce the -punishment in consideration of your confession.”</p> - -<p>Sam and Taylor withdrew in gloom. “That’s -what you get for being honest!” groaned Taylor. -“Write out ten pages! That means five hours’ -work!”</p> - -<p>“And we didn’t help Fowle any, either,” commented -Sam, sadly.</p> - -<p>Sam was so depressed by the erratic course of -school justice that he went over to Dr. Leighton’s -that evening and told him the whole story, in -which Fish figured only as “a fellow in the well.” -Dr. Leighton listened with sympathy and gave -what comfort he could. A certain amount of -injustice, he said, is inevitable in our lives; when -we can’t prevent it, it is better to bear it bravely -than to whine over it. Sam went home resolved -to take his punishment without grumbling, and -to hope for better things. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">215</span></p> - -<p>After the boy left, Dr. Leighton drew out his -catalogue of students and ran rapidly down the -list to discover who belonged in the east well of -Hale. At the name of Fish his pencil rested. -“That’s the black sheep,” he said, as he put away -the pamphlet. “I’m afraid he’s not what Alsop -thinks him.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">216</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI<br /> - -<span class="medium">HONK! HONK!</span></h2> - -<p>The day after Birdie Fowle reached home for -the spring recess, a letter arrived from the Seaton -authorities containing a printed blank, filled in -with an alternation of D’s and E’s. There was -likewise enclosed a short note from the school -secretary, giving the startling information that -the boy’s conduct in the dormitory had been so -reprehensible that he would not be permitted to -return except on trial from day to day; and that -any further complaint from his dormitory master -would be followed by immediate notice to withdraw.</p> - -<p>The Fowle household was burdened with sorrow -during the six days which Birdie spent at home. -Mr. Fowle was taciturn and grave, Mrs. Fowle -wept, and Birdie (properly named James), after -a day or two of aggrieved expostulation, settled -into a mood of deeply despondent fatalism. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">217</span> -He knew that he was not a bad boy; he did not -follow the evil ways of some of his schoolmates; -he did not drink nor play poker nor run in debt -nor cut recitations. Other fellows who did these -and worse got off clear, while for a little rough-housing, -much of which had been forced upon him -by others, he was to be branded as a criminal. -Of what use was it to try to be good, if he got the -punishment of the worst? He might as well be -bad and have the fun of it.</p> - -<p>So Birdie returned to school, his ears still -tingling with the stern warnings of his father and -the tearful entreaties of his mother, his heart -saddened by a presentiment of failure. He was -like an unwilling soldier marching to expected -defeat.</p> - -<p>Sam and Duncan came back in a very different -state of mind. They had spent the week at the -Archers’ in Portland, where Duncan, who was -on his best behavior, by his deferential politeness -and open-hearted cordiality made amends to the -parents for his early churlish treatment of the -son. The family were charmed with him.</p> - -<p>“We are so glad to have had you here,” Mrs. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">218</span> -Archer confided to Duncan on the day of their -departure. “We always like to know Sam’s -friends, and we have been interested in you since -Sam first wrote about you.”</p> - -<p>At this Duncan looked a trifle conscious, and -shot a swift glance at Sam, whose face was turned -away. “It’s very good of you to let me come,” -he said politely, trying to escape the unpleasant -reminder of the past by dwelling on the agreeable -present.</p> - -<p>“He used to write us, you see,” went on Mrs. -Archer, smiling, “that he liked you, but that you -had other friends and did not care for him. I -knew it would be different when you got to know -each other.”</p> - -<p>“Was the carriage ordered, mother?” broke in -Sam, most abruptly.</p> - -<p>“Yes, for two o’clock,” Mrs. Archer rejoined, -and turned again to her guest. “I was disappointed -when Sam proposed to bring down -Mulcahy, whom I did not know at all, and not -you whom I had met and wanted to see more of. -Is Mulcahy one of your friends, too?”</p> - -<p>“Not a very intimate one,” replied Duncan. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">219</span></p> - -<p>“He must be a very remarkable young man.” -She addressed herself again to the uneasy Sam. -“But you haven’t said much about him lately, -Sam. What has become of him?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, he’s around,” answered the son of the -house, unpleasantly reminded of the superlatives -which he had used in his early letters in describing -Mulcahy. “Didn’t you say you were going -to hand over some of that cake to take back -with us, mother?”</p> - -<p>“Katy’s doing it up now. Shall I tell her to -put in some strawberry jam?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Archer rustled out on her errand, leaving the -boys alone. Sam picked up a magazine which lay on -the table, and turned the pages of advertisements.</p> - -<p>“I did treat you pretty rocky that fall term,” -remarked Duncan, as if their differences during -Sam’s first months in school had been the topic -of conversation. “I acted like a mick.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t think of it,” returned Sam, without -looking up. “I was a fool.”</p> - -<p>And this was all the reference ever made to -their early disagreement.</p> - -<p>Birdie Fowle’s melancholy fatalism lasted about -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">220</span> -a fortnight. By the end of that time, having -been successful in keeping his door locked and -having received two C’s on half-hour exams, he -began to feel better. His old cheerfulness returned, -and with it a measure of carelessness. -Sam, who was trying to help him, had urged him -to avoid John Fish and give the dormitory scourge -no excuse for enmity. It was clear, even to our -inexperienced young man, that Fish’s cunning -was not keeping pace with his effrontery. Success -in deceiving his dormitory master had stimulated -the fellow’s audacity to the point of recklessness; -sooner or later he would expose himself.</p> - -<p>Birdie, though accepting readily this rule of conduct, -was hardly capable of carrying it out. On -April first, the day of fools, he was tempted and -fell. It happened in this wise. As he started -down toward the post-office after his morning -recitation, he saw John Fish sauntering in the -same direction a dozen yards ahead of him. -Obedient to the advice of his counsellor to keep -out of Fish’s way, Birdie checked his own pace and -trailed along behind. In front of the post-office -stood a dozen fellows gossiping and looking out -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">221</span> -upon the street. When Fish was two-thirds -across, Birdie’s good resolution yielded in an -instant to the inspiration of the opportunity. -He opened his mouth, hardened his throat muscles, -and forced out two harshly resonant syllables.</p> - -<p>Birdie’s “honk! honk!” was a masterpiece -of mimicry for which he was justly famous. -No one in school could perpetrate anything approaching -it in effectiveness. Barney and Litchell -had developed a fair imitation that would -deceive the inexperienced; Fowle could frighten -the elect. Fish, whose mind was intent on the -question of how best to spend a certain expected -check—if he repaid the money he had borrowed -from various boys, he would have nothing left—gave -a great clumsy plunge forward, like a startled -dray-horse. His cap flew from his head; his -books dropped from his hand. Safe at the -curbstone, he turned to throw a malediction on -the reckless motorist, and looked into Fowle’s -gleeful face.</p> - -<p>“April fool!” sang Birdie, cheerfully.</p> - -<p>The fellows on the sidewalk hooted. Fish -went back to gather up his property. “You’re -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">222</span> -a clever child,” he said, smiling contemptuously. -His look was more significant than his words.</p> - -<p>In five minutes Birdie was aware that he had -committed a sad error. Fish in good-nature was -always a menace to peace; Fish offended would -be an unscrupulous enemy. Disheartened, Fowle -took his troubles again to Sam.</p> - -<p>“You were a fool to do that,” expostulated -Sam. “I told you to let him alone.”</p> - -<p>“I tried to,” mourned Birdie, “but it was such -a slick chance!”</p> - -<p>“Well, as long as you can keep him out of the -room, it’ll be all right. You aren’t afraid to tackle -him in the open.”</p> - -<p>“I guess not,” returned Fowle, emphatically. -“If I could get him outside, I wouldn’t put up -with anything from him!”</p> - -<p>“Then if he gets in, order him out; if he won’t -go, tell him you’ll hold him responsible for everything -he does in the room, and get out yourself.”</p> - -<p>“A lot of good that will do! He’d plug the -gas jets, pour water in the bed, write things on -my collars, and spoil things generally. And if -I stayed, he’d be likely to do something to make -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">223</span> -me mad, and I’d wade into him. Then rough-house, -noise, and home I’d go.”</p> - -<p>It was indeed a hard problem that poor Birdie -faced: if he defended himself against aggression, -he committed <i>lèse-majesté</i> against Mr. Alsop by -having a rough-house, and the sentence hanging -over him would be executed; if he endured in -patience, his possessions would be wrecked before -his eyes; if he reported the facts, he transgressed -the one law of which all schoolboys, good and bad, -despise the breaker.</p> - -<p>“Come down here the next time he gets in,” -proposed Sam, at length, “and let me go up and -settle him. You can prove an alibi if anything -happens, and I’m not on probation.”</p> - -<p>A fortnight passed. Sam, busy with studies -and track practice, had ceased to think of Birdie -as in immediate danger. Moorhead, Fish’s unfortunate -room-mate, had proposed to room with -Sam the next year, and Sam, feeling that it would -be better for him to live with the quiet, studious -scholar than with some more lively but less helpful -chum, had consented. The interests of the present -and plans for the future absorbed his attention. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">224</span> -He was gaining in French and in Mr. Alsop’s -esteem; he was really beginning to hope for a -recommendation in the subject for the college -preliminaries. Collins kept him encouraged in -the hurdles. Unless some better man appeared, -he seemed sure of a place on the track team as -Fairmount’s understudy. Altogether he felt satisfied -with himself and at peace with the world.</p> - -<p>But it is hard to keep at peace with the world, -if the world makes unjust war upon one’s friends. -Fowle, returning to his room from Greek one -morning, neglected to secure his door. He -hadn’t been in his desk chair ten minutes when -some one pushed the door open, looked in, and -cried, “Honk, honk!” It was Fish!</p> - -<p>“Keep out!” called Fowle. “I’m on pro.”</p> - -<p>“That don’t scare me,” said Fish, as he shut -the door behind him and sauntered across the room.</p> - -<p>On the table lay the first sheet of a theme, -neatly copied. Fish dipped a pen in the ink, -and shook a blot on the outspread page.</p> - -<p>“Oh, excuse me,” he said. “I was going to -correct it;” and he dropped another blot beside -the first. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">225</span></p> - -<p>“Look here, Fish!” spoke Fowle, sharply, “I -don’t want you here. Clear out!”</p> - -<p>“You’re not very polite,” returned the visitor, -unabashed, as he threw the pen, point downward, -at the table, and picking up a couple of -magazines and a book, began rearing a triangular -steeple on the lamp chimney.</p> - -<p>Birdie’s ire was waxing. He felt that he could -not control himself much longer. “Will you go -or not?” he demanded hotly.</p> - -<p>“I’ll go when I get ready,” answered Fish, -watching closely to see how high Birdie’s temperature -was rising, taking care meanwhile to -keep the table between them. He did not want -to get Fowle into a dangerously pugnacious -state; he merely wished to incite a good lively -rough-house, in which the smashing of a few -trifles would be unavoidable.</p> - -<p>Instead, however, of reaching over the table -for his tormentor or chasing him round it, Fowle -took an unexpected course. He turned and -walked out of the room, slamming the door behind -him. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">226</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII<br /> - -<span class="medium">HOW THE FISH WAS CAUGHT</span></h2> - -<p>Fish stood gazing with stupid astonishment -at the closed door for some seconds after the sound -of Birdie’s footsteps had died away. He was -alone, with no check whatever upon his Hunnish -craving for mauling and smashing. Yet mauling -and smashing <i>in se</i> were not what delighted the -heart of John Fish. He liked to stroll about a -room when its occupants were at home, and goad -them gradually into a destructive fray. He -liked to do accidental damage under the eyes -of the sufferers. In the corner near the door of -Fowle’s bedroom had once stood a handsome -and solid chair. By sitting in this chair whenever -he came in, by tipping it back on its hind -legs and wrenching it and twisting it with silent -disregard of the protests of its owner, he had at -last brought it to complete collapse—of course, -unintentionally. In the embroidered scarf which -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">227</span> -hung from the mantelpiece were two big scorch-rimmed -holes; here he had accidentally held a -lighted cigarette behind him as he stood in front -of the fireplace. He had enjoyed himself in this -room, but always in the presence of spectators. -The pleasure of laying waste dwindled to nothing, -if the victims were not on hand to expostulate -and mourn. He really was at a loss what to do -with his liberty.</p> - -<p>While he was still ruminating, the door flew -open and Sam Archer rushed in. The new-comer -threw his coat into a corner, turned up his cuffs, -and opened the door. Then he spoke, briefly -and to the point, “Get out!”</p> - -<p>Fish looked across the table into Archer’s -face and recognized there an expression different -from that worn by the challenger to an amicable -rough-and-tumble. He had no mind for a serious -set-to with the vanquisher of the redoubtable -boxer Runyon, neither did he wish to retire -tamely before a mere threat.</p> - -<p>“Get out yourself!” he answered. “It isn’t -your room.”</p> - -<p>“No, it’s Fowle’s room, and he wants you out -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">228</span> -of it. You know well enough that rough-housing -will fire him. I’m here in his place. Now, beat -it!”</p> - -<p>“I’ll go when I get ready,” growled Fish in -return.</p> - -<p>They began circling the table. As Fish passed -the door, he slammed it to. When Sam reached -it, he opened it again and shoved a heavy arm-chair -against it. Then he removed the lamp -to the mantelpiece, and made another half turn -round the table. This movement brought Fish -near the door again. He stooped over to swing -aside the arm-chair which kept the door open, -and at the same moment Sam vaulted the barrier.</p> - -<p>As Fish beheld his assailant’s long legs swinging -over the edge of the table in a hurdler’s leap, -and the sinewy body bearing down upon him, -it flashed into his brain, and from his brain with -instantaneous impulse into nerves and muscles, -that by dodging the frontal attack and delivering -an immediate rear charge, he could put Archer -himself out of the room and close the door upon -him. His dodge, however, was not quite quick ------File: 249.png—- ------File: 250.png—- -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">229</span> -enough. The hurdler came down with long -arms flying, and one of these flying arms, or the -clenched fist attached to it, as it swung up, -caught the ducking Fish under the eye. It was -an unintentional blow, but it had force, and Fish -went back against the door-post, for a moment -dazed. When he got to his feet again, he found -himself in the entry. The door was locked behind -him; over the banisters he beheld the -head of the descending Archer.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img id="i249" src="images/i249.jpg" alt="" /> -<p class="caption"><span class="smcap">At the same moment Sam vaulted the barrier.</span>—<i><a href="#Page_228">Page 228</a>.</i></p></div> - -<p>On the second floor at the foot of the stairs -Mr. Alsop was standing, peering suspiciously upwards. -“Another disturbance in Fowle’s room, -I judge,” he said, frowning.</p> - -<p>“I’ll explain, sir, if you’ll let me,” said Sam, -breathing hard. “Won’t you come in here?”</p> - -<p>He threw open his door and let the teacher -pass in ahead of him.</p> - -<p>“Now, what is it?” said Mr. Alsop, when they -were inside.</p> - -<p>“It’s this,” responded Sam. “Fowle has been -trying his best to keep his probation and live -up to the faculty’s orders. This morning a -fellow came into his room to stir up a rough-house, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">230</span> -and Fowle, knowing that he couldn’t keep out of -it if he stayed at home, cut out and left the fellow -there. He’s over in the library now.”</p> - -<p>“Who is, Fowle or the fellow who came to -rough-house?” asked Mr. Alsop, sarcastically.</p> - -<p>“Fowle! He stopped on his way down and -told me about it; I went up and—”</p> - -<p>“And what?”</p> - -<p>“Threw the fellow out,” continued Sam. “I -had to, or he’d have smashed everything in the -room.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Alsop smiled with an air of incredulity. -Sam drew himself up to his full six feet. The -look of wounded self-respect that he flashed into -the teacher’s face was unmistakably real.</p> - -<p>“I suppose you don’t believe me,” he said -proudly. “If you will go to the library, you’ll -find Fowle there. He’ll let you into the room, -and you’ll see my coat just as I dropped it.”</p> - -<p>“I have not said that I don’t believe you. I -do believe you,” interposed Mr. Alsop, hastily. -“You probably would not care to tell me who -this intruder was?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir, I couldn’t,” returned Sam. “I -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">231</span> -don’t believe he’ll come again,” he added, looking -ruefully at his knuckles, still numb from the -blow which had felled the audacious Fish. “I -didn’t mean to say anything against anybody. -I just wanted to have you know that Birdie—that -Fowle—wasn’t in it at all.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Alsop felt no disposition to discuss Fowle. -Having frequently proclaimed the young man to -be the pernicious influence in his domain, he -did not like to acknowledge that he had erred. -He therefore contented himself with repeating -certain hackneyed sentiments as to the responsibility -for order in the well and the offended -spirit of the school,—and withdrew.</p> - -<p>As far as his dormitory master was concerned, -Fish certainly possessed a charmed life. When -he appeared the next day with the darkly obvious -marks of a bruise about his right eye, he had no -difficulty in drawing upon Mr. Alsop’s sympathies -by his explanation of the flying ring which had -struck him in the face in the gymnasium. It did -not occur to the instructor to put together the -fact of the black eye and Sam’s account of the -forcible expulsion of a trespasser. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">232</span></p> - -<p>This example of the unique way in which order -was maintained in his well, Mr. Alsop repeated -with satisfaction to several of his colleagues, -among others to Dr. Leighton.</p> - -<p>“And you have no suspicion as to who this -rough-houser was?” asked Dr. Leighton.</p> - -<p>“None whatever.”</p> - -<p>“Have you noticed Fish’s black eye?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; he got that in the gymnasium from a -flying ring. Bad bruise, wasn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“There seems to be a different version about -that eye going round the school. They charge -it up to some fracas with another boy.”</p> - -<p>“They would anyway,” replied Mr. Alsop, -sagely. “Boys always joke over a black eye. -Fish told me all about it himself.”</p> - -<p>The comment on Dr. Leighton’s lips remained -unspoken. He had his own opinion as to Fish, -formed from investigations which were not yet -complete. He did not wish to hazard his plan -by setting Alsop to pounding along the trail. -If his suspicions were well founded, Fish would -sooner or later betray himself.</p> - -<p>Fish had grown incautious. Of late he had -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">233</span> -taken to keeping liquors in his room. He had -found an excellent hiding-place, the pedal compartment -at the bottom of Moorhead’s piano. -It was closed by a lid which swung down on -hinges set at the lower edge. Moorhead came -in one day just in season to find Fish closing the -door of this borrowed cupboard.</p> - -<p>“What are you doing to my piano?” he demanded -sharply.</p> - -<p>“Nothing, just seeing how it works.”</p> - -<p>Moorhead went straight to the piano, and -opening the compartment, discovered Fish’s two -bottles and a glass.</p> - -<p>“Do you call that nothing?” he asked, reddening -with anger.</p> - -<p>“Yee-up, I do,” answered Fish, complacently. -“The faculty might not.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want them there, do you hear?” -announced Moorhead. “I don’t want to be -mixed up with the things at all.”</p> - -<p>“They won’t do any hurt. Nobody ever opens -the place.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t care!” retorted Moorhead. “I won’t -have them there.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">234</span></p> - -<p>“Oh yes, you will,” Fish answered complacently, -and went about his own affairs as if the matter -were settled.</p> - -<p>A few hours later Fish discovered his precious -bottles on the floor in the back of his closet. -He restored them to their appointed place in -the piano, and lay in wait for Moorhead.</p> - -<p>“You dirty little scut!” he shouted, as the -rebel appeared. “Didn’t I tell you to leave -those bottles alone?”</p> - -<p>“I said I wouldn’t have them in my piano,” -faltered Moorhead.</p> - -<p>“And I said you were to leave ’em alone. You -might as well have handed ’em over to Lady -Jane while you were about it. If you touch ’em -again, you’ll find your pretty music box there -scratched from top to bottom.”</p> - -<p>And Moorhead, who knew what Fish was -capable of, gave heed to the threat and held his -tongue.</p> - -<p>It was not long after this that slow-moving -justice at last overtook Mr. John Fish. One -morning when Moorhead was just starting for -breakfast, he noticed that the lid of the piano -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">235</span> -compartment was down. Feeling under no obligation -either to replace the lid, or to remove the -chair which screened it from the casual observer, -he took his book from the top of the piano and -went his way. At the clang of the first chapel -bell, Fish crawled forth from bed and for the -next seven minutes devoted his energies exclusively -to the task of throwing on his clothes -and getting into chapel before the second bell -ceased to ring. He had no leisure to waste in -idle contemplation of his study.</p> - -<p>The chambermaid, making her rounds, observed -the bottles and called the matron. The -matron came, closed the lid, and reported to Mr. -Alsop. Mr. Alsop, scandalized and incredulous, -made an examination of the premises and demanded -an explanation separately from each -occupant of the room. Each disclaimed ownership -of the bottles. Fish declared, in addition, -that he did not even know that there was any -such cupboard in the piano; Moorhead acknowledged -that he knew that the bottles were there, -but would give no information as to their owner. -As the piano belonged to Moorhead, Mr. Alsop -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">236</span> -was inclined to hold him either the criminal or -an accomplice.</p> - -<p>But this time the truth proved stronger than -the lie. When the matter came before the faculty, -every individual teacher to whom Moorhead -recited conducted himself like an attorney engaged -to defend him. After Dr. Leighton brought -forward the report of his investigation into Fish’s -manner of life, the august body voted that Fish -be dismissed; and the yea vote was so overwhelming -that Mr. Alsop did not venture to -raise a dissenting voice. The evidence that -came to light a few days after the disgraced student -left town, evidence which showed that Mr. Alsop -had been shamelessly imposed on since the -beginning of the year, was a severe blow to that -gentleman’s self-esteem. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">237</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII<br /> - -<span class="medium">LESSONS IN HURDLING</span></h2> - -<p>With the departure of Fish, the east well of -Hale ceased to be a scene of mysteriously fomented -disturbance. Mr. Alsop, having been wofully -betrayed through blind following of his own -prejudices, resolved to be more cautious in forming -opinions in the future, and less hasty in the -performance of duty. He had yet to learn that a -teacher may make a reputation in a week which -he cannot live down in the whole subsequent school -life of his pupils.</p> - -<p>For Sam now began the busiest, most exciting -period of the year. The college examinations -were near enough to render devotion to lessons -a matter of personal advantage; the outdoor -school meet and the track contest with Hillbury -challenged his zeal and ambition. Besides these -serious interests, May and June offered their -usual lavish opportunities for innocent but distracting -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">238</span> -amusement, ranging from tennis and -scrub ball games and long walks, to the convention -of wags, wits, and philosophers, which -gathered every pleasant evening after dinner on -the high steps of Carter, and intermittently sang -songs and discussed men and things—mostly -men—to the vast entertainment of the listeners. -Here Brantwein, released for the time from the -burden of the peanut basket, was a protagonist, -with socialism as a general theme and every -exposed head as a target for his verbal shillaleh. -The crowd yelled applause for every crack he gave, -and lavished double measure on every telling -return.</p> - -<p>Good practice in the high hurdles amounts to -something more than daily exercise in starting, -running, and jumping. The course is one hundred -and twenty yards over ten hurdles, with fifteen -yards clear before the first, and fifteen more after -the last. Between each pair of hurdles lies a -distance of ten yards; each barrier is three feet -and six inches high. The runner must clear the -barrier in such a way as to interrupt his advance -as little as possible, by rising neither too high -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">239</span> -nor too low, by taking his jump neither too long -nor too short, by landing in the right position, by -adjusting his inter-hurdle strides to the distance -and to his own powers. It has been known -since the race was first practised that the average -man must take three strides between hurdles; -but the length of the jump, and the proper arrangement -of short and long strides, are even now -matters of dispute.</p> - -<p>Collins’s theory, which of course Sam followed, -was that the jump should be short rather than -long. He insisted that to prolong the distance -covered while in the air on the force of previous -effort is to cut short the opportunity to use the -legs; to overjump is to introduce into the race a -series of dead periods when the runner is passively -waiting for his feet to touch the ground before he -can become active again. So the trainer labored -with Sam to bring him over the hurdle to the ground -at the earliest possible moment; to teach him the -quick rotary whirl of the legs that neither drags -nor interferes with the step, the forward leg -doubled and slightly swung, the other brought -quickly around after it in a wide arc; to force -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">240</span> -him to take the landing step short—in order to -bring his feet under him—and to stretch the -other two strides. Sam’s handicap was his -slowness and a tendency to make his strides too -long. His advantage lay in staying power; he -could do twelve hurdles as well as ten. So the -clever trainer worked him day after day on starts -and over two or three hurdles, and once a week -sent him over eleven.</p> - -<p>“You don’t put me over the course enough, it -seems to me,” complained Sam, one day. “I’m -tired of that everlasting thirty-five yards.”</p> - -<p>“If you can do two hurdles right, you can do -ten,” answered Collins, calmly. “If you can’t -do the first two, you can’t do any.”</p> - -<p>“I should say that it’s speed between that I -lack,” pursued Sam. “I get over the hurdles -pretty well, but I lose momentum somewhere -between jumps.”</p> - -<p>“You take your first step too long, as I keep -telling you. Four to five feet is all you ought to -cover in that first stride after the hurdle. If -you come down right and take the first step right, -you can put speed into the other two and get just -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">241</span> -the right take-off to drop you over the next hurdle. -Speed will come in time.”</p> - -<p>“I wish it would!” lamented Sam.</p> - -<p>“It isn’t all in fast running,” said Collins, -“nor half. Taking the hurdles is the main thing. -There’s really only two running steps between, -if you throw out the short step. And what a fast -runner makes in those two steps, he’ll more than -lose on the hurdles, if he doesn’t do ’em right. -Three feet lost on a hurdle is thirty feet on the -race, a good second and a fifth. No one wins a -race by that much. The work that’s cut out for -you is to get your jump so near perfect that you -don’t lose anything in going over. Then just -steady, hard running will put you ahead of the -fellow who hasn’t your staying power.”</p> - -<p>“We all seem to have about the same amount of -that.”</p> - -<p>Collins hesitated. His first impulse was to -deny Sam’s statement; his second to let it go -unchallenged. After all, there was nothing so -important for Sam’s progress as that he should -continue to think that everything depended on -hard, steady work. Sam was one who could -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">242</span> -stand work. While he was occasionally discouraged, -he never became despondent; he did -not grow irritable under defeat nor refractory -at criticism. He disclaimed high expectations, -smiled at discomfiture, and plodded on.</p> - -<p>The school meet came and went, bringing little -glory to the name of Archer. That Fairmount -would beat him in the hurdles, Sam fully expected. -The start was fairly even, but Fairmount was in -the air above the first hurdle when Sam was leaving -the ground on his first spring; at the fifth Fairmount -was yards ahead. Yet at the tenth, -strange to say, Sam had almost caught him. -Archer finished less than two yards behind the -leader, and fully six ahead of Sanderson, his -nearest pursuer. Fairmount’s time was sixteen -and four-fifths. So Sam, according to Collins’s -estimate, had come close to seventeen seconds, a -gain of at least a second by a year’s work. From -this result, with which the trainer was fully satisfied, -Sam was at least inclined to draw more consolation -than discouragement. He had still another -school year before him.</p> - -<p>It was his defeat in the pole vault which caused -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">243</span> -him the most chagrin. Jones, of course, rose like -a bird soaring against the wind; his light, lithe -body arched the rod gracefully at ten feet, six. -Sam surmounted nine feet, six—but Mulcahy -reached nine feet, ten. It was not jealousy that -beset the defeated vaulter, nor wounded pride, -nor the mean ill-will that grudges success to a -rival. Sam’s heart had harbored only feelings -of congratulation towards Fairmount, who had -beaten him in the hurdles; his enthusiasm over -Jones’s achievements was genuine and whole-souled. -These two were sportsmen through and -through, to whom the joy of the contest, the -delight of winning, the promise of gaining points -for the school in the meet with Hillbury, constituted -the whole stimulus and reward. Mulcahy -cared for none of these things. At heart it -mattered not two straws to him whether the blue -or the red triumphed, as long as his own advance -was assured. To Mulcahy, athletics were but a -ladder by which he could mount, the means -necessary to a desired end. He wanted prominence -in school, distinction, prizes. He wanted -the Yale Cup as the crowning honor of his school -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">244</span> -career. To win this, he professed an enthusiasm -for athletics, as the unscrupulous politician professes -the principles that win votes.</p> - -<p>Ten days later Sam took part in his first contest -with Hillbury. In the interval he did some -work in preparation for the event which is not set -down in the coaching directions. When Collins -received from the secretary of the Academy the -list of those whose work was “up” and who were -therefore allowed to compete, the names of Fairmount -and Chouder were missing. There was -a hurried consultation with the faculty, resulting -in the announcement that if the backward work -were made up to the satisfaction of teachers by -the day before the games, the prohibition on the -two men would be removed. Bruce called upon -Mulcahy, who was known to have had experience -in tutoring. Mulcahy could not possibly -find time for extra work. Then Sam undertook -the case of Fairmount, and Moorhead volunteered -to coach Chouder. Both tutors labored -early and late to bring their charges into a condition -acceptable to the authorities. Moorhead -had the more difficult task, for Chouder was behind -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">245</span> -in two subjects, and learning came harder to his -slow, unreceptive mind than chopping wood or -running races to his sinewy body. It was Moorhead’s -first opportunity to do something tangible -for the school athletics, and he gave the best that -was in him, freely and patiently, hour after hour, -oblivious to the fact that there could be no public -recognition of his service, no personal glory in -victory. Fairmount triumphed over his geometry -with a C, while Chouder, to his infinite -satisfaction and the relief of his anxious tutor, -scraped through his examinations on a brace -of D’s.</p> - -<p>So it happened that Moorhead, as he perched -high on the cheering section at the Hillbury -games, felt that he had more part in the contests -than those who sat about him, mere longing hearts -and vociferous units in the chorus. When Chouder -took the two-twenty yards from Merton of Hillbury, -running from the start like a predestined -victor, Moorhead thrilled with the consciousness -that it was in part his race and his victory. In -the low hurdles his candidate was not so successful, -as the redoubtable Kilham of Hillbury led at the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">246</span> -finish, though Chouder pressed him hard. Fay -and Shirley had to content themselves with second -and third places in the hundred yards, but Bruce -won the quarter in a grand burst of speed that cut -the time down close to fifty seconds, and Weatherford -made sure of the half-mile. Jones sailed -deftly over the vaulting bar at ten feet, seven, -with Mulcahy a safe third at nine feet, eight. -And old Brandy Brantwein, feeling unusually -free from the trammels of society by reason of -the absence of the peanut basket, showed what -socialism will do for a man by throwing the hammer -four feet beyond the best cast of the Hillbury -individualist, and putting himself into second -place in the shot contest.</p> - -<p>The general issue was already decided when -the high hurdles were called. Seaton had won. -Under the inspiration of victory, Sam felt that -he, too, might achieve something worth while. -His start was good, but at the second hurdle the -two outside men, Kilham and Fairmount, were -already ahead of him. At the fourth they were -still farther ahead, but he pressed steadily on, -clearing his hurdles by two inches, dropping short -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">247</span> -and driving himself forward with the routine -pace. At the seventh hurdle only Kilham kept -his distance; Fairmount was nearer. The tenth -he passed at Fairmount’s side, with Kilham but -a stride beyond. In the finish, Fairmount sprinted -better and gained a yard, but was still behind the -leader by the thickness of his body.</p> - -<p>“If you hadn’t coached up Fairmount so that he -could pass his condition, you’d have been second -in that race instead of third,” remarked Duncan, -as they discussed the events of the day, after the -celebration.</p> - -<p>“And we should have lost one point,” answered -Sam.</p> - -<p>“One point wouldn’t have made any difference -in the result. You deserved second, anyhow, -by the way you’ve worked. Fairmount will be -gone next year, and then you’ll have things -your own way.”</p> - -<p>“There’s Kilham,” said Sam, wistfully. “He’s -only an upper middler. He’ll be in Hillbury next -year and beat me out again; then he’ll go to Yale -and I to Harvard, and he’ll beat me four years -more. That’s what I’m up against!” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">248</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, cheer up!” returned Duncan. “You’ve -improved a lot this year. You may beat him all -to pieces next year. They said that your race -to-day was in mighty good time, and you weren’t -much behind Kilham.”</p> - -<p>Sam shook his head with a smile of resignation. -“I haven’t won a thing this year, and I probably -shan’t do any better next, but I’m going to keep -right on. I’m too much used to losing to mind, -and there’s always a chance that by a fluke I may -win something.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a shame!” thought Duncan to himself. -“I’d never coach a fellow up just so that he could -take a prize from me, if the school never won an -extra point.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">249</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV<br /> - -<span class="medium">ROBERT OWEN, FRESHMAN</span></h2> - -<p>On the Monday following the Hillbury games, -Duncan rushed in with a letter in his hand, and an -eager look on his face.</p> - -<p>“Look here, Sam! Bob Owen’s sent me two -tickets to the Harvard-Yale Freshman ball game -on Wednesday. Do you suppose they’d let us -off to go?”</p> - -<p>“Who’s us?”</p> - -<p>“You and me.”</p> - -<p>Sam’s eyes sparkled. “Wouldn’t it be great! -Good seats?”</p> - -<p>“Right behind the back-stop. Just think of -seeing Owen bucking against McPherson and -Hayes! O’Brien, who used to pitch for Hillbury, -is going to be in the box for the Harvard Freshies, -and several old Hillbury men are playing with -Yale. It’s a queer jumble; Seaton catcher and -Hillbury pitcher against a mixed mess,—half -of them old Seaton and Hillbury fellows.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">250</span></p> - -<p>“I shouldn’t think you’d care much who wins,” -observed Sam. “You’ve got friends on both sides.”</p> - -<p>“I do care,” answered Duncan. “I’m with the -Harvard lot every time, and you are, too, only -I’ve got more reason for my stand than you have. -It’s Don’s class and Bob Owen’s class, and old -Bob’s captain.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I hope his nine will win. The Yale -fellows beat ’em in football, didn’t they?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and Bob was on the eleven. He’s -aching to get back at them. It’ll be a hot old -game, all right. The only question is whether -we can break away to see it. Who’s the most -likely prof for you to tackle? You’ll have to get -the permissions. I haven’t a pull with a single -man in the faculty, worse luck!”</p> - -<p>It was decided that Sam should try to win Dr. -Leighton to the cause, and through the strong -influence of the teacher float Duncan’s uncertain -craft across the bar. Duncan suggested various -subtle methods of appealing to Dr. Leighton’s -favor, but Sam preferred a simple, straightforward -course,—which was unquestionably the best one. -He called on his patron saint of the faculty that -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">251</span> -afternoon, explained to him with eager enthusiasm -the special opportunity which had been offered, -urged that neither had had out-of-town leave for -a long time, and promised, if they were allowed -to go, not only exemplary conduct while absent, -but compensation in diligent work on their return. -Dr. Leighton smiled a little mournfully at this -conception of diligence in school work as a favor -granted to a teacher, and promised to think the -matter over and do what he conscientiously could. -Sam departed, greatly encouraged.</p> - -<p>Two circumstances counted in favor of the boys’ -request: the fact that the invitation came from -Robert Owen, for whom Dr. Leighton cherished a -sincere regard, and his full confidence in Sam. -He believed, moreover, that an honest petition -for a legitimate purpose from an honest boy -should receive at least as much consideration as -some fictitious excuse of necessity trumped up -to satisfy a formal rule. More than once, as he -was sadly aware, had A’s candid request been -refused by the authorities, when B, who followed -with a lie on his lips, obtained a permission which -was used for precisely the same purpose. Dr. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">252</span> -Leighton’s commendation carried weight at the -office.</p> - -<p>They boarded the eleven o’clock train, jubilant -in spirit as any schoolboy released for a lark, but -self-contained as conscious Seatonians, who pride -themselves on being above the “kiddishness” -of minor schools. In Boston they snatched a -hasty lunch and took a car for Cambridge. The -car filled quickly. The Harvard track meet was -to be held in the Stadium at the same time with -the Freshman game on the ball field, and many -outsiders were tending Cambridgeward. On -Boylston Street a large, serious-faced young man -climbed upon the running board of the car, and -looking calmly over the crowded seats to spy -out an unoccupied place, winked solemnly at a -familiar face.</p> - -<p>“Look, there’s old Brandy!” exclaimed Sam, -nudging Duncan sharply in the ribs. “How did -he get here?”</p> - -<p>“How does he get anywhere?” retorted Duncan. -“On his cheek, of course.”</p> - -<p>Brantwein swung himself along to the seat -occupied by Sam and Duncan. He was dressed -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">253</span> -in his best, and carried himself with a noticeable -air of importance.</p> - -<p>“Going out to the game?” he asked coolly.</p> - -<p>“Yes, are you?”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to something, I don’t know what. -Either the track or to see the freshmen play.”</p> - -<p>“How did you get off?” questioned Sam.</p> - -<p>“I had business in Boston.”</p> - -<p>“Buying peanuts?”</p> - -<p>Brandy smiled. It was his regular armor-plated -smile against which all personal jokes -fell dead and harmless. “No, buying a peanut -farm and a burying-ground for fools. I’ve got -to lay out about a dozen up there at Seaton -before I leave. You fellows are feeling lively -to-day.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, we’re going to see Owen beat Coy again.”</p> - -<p>“Do you expect to see that?”</p> - -<p>“We hope so.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know but I’ll go there, too,” said Brantwein, -meditatively.</p> - -<p>“You may not be able to get a seat now.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t care about seats.”</p> - -<p>The three approached the entrance to the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">254</span> -grounds together, but there in the crowd Brantwein -disappeared. Our friends gave little heed -to the movements of their eccentric schoolmate, -being taken up with the pleasant excitement of -the quest of places. Duncan hailed several fellows -whom he knew, and pointed out several -others whom he knew about. While they were -waiting for the nines to appear, with Duncan -still busy over his search for familiar faces, Sam’s -eyes fell upon a well-known figure seated on one -of the benches reserved within the side lines for -coaches and old players.</p> - -<p>“Look there, Duncan,” he cried, “on the first -bench on the side line! Isn’t that Brandy?”</p> - -<p>“As sure as guns!” returned Duncan. “How -did he get there?”</p> - -<p>“Search me!” returned Sam. “He has the -most colossal nerve! He told me once that with a -two-foot rule in his hand he could get into any -building going up,—construction work, he called -it,—even if a man stood at the door to keep -people out. Perhaps Owen let him in.”</p> - -<p>“Owen nothing!” retorted Duncan. “He’s -worked one of his bluffs on the ticket-taker. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">255</span> -One of these days his nerve’ll carry him inside a -jail.” Duncan did not fancy Brantwein, even as -an amusement.</p> - -<p>But the players were appearing, and Brantwein -and his arts were forgotten.</p> - -<p>“That’s Owen, the solid fellow with the white -sweater, and the mask on his arm,” cried Duncan; -“and the tall fellow behind him is O’Brien, the -Hillbury man. The one just going out to left -field is Latter. He played on our nine last year.”</p> - -<p>He paused to watch the men taking their positions -for practice.</p> - -<p>“There come the Yale fellows!” exclaimed -Sam, whose gaze was wandering over the field. -“Now, which is McPherson?”</p> - -<p>Duncan hesitated for some time; the unfamiliar -uniforms confused him. “I think that’s McPherson -over by third base,” he said. The man at -third took a short bound and shot it underhand -to a companion. “Yes, that’s Mac. I should -know that twist of the shoulder in California. -Isn’t it a shame!”</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“Why, that he should be playing under Coy -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">256</span> -against Bob Owen. In the Hillbury game last -year Coy came near assaulting Mac for tagging -him too hard at second. Now they’re pals.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see anything strange in that,” rejoined -Sam. “He’s playing for his college as Owen’s -playing for ours.”</p> - -<p>So they chattered on, till the Harvard men took -the field for the game and a businesslike pair of -blue-stockinged legs appeared beneath a bat at -the plate. Then they watched with straining -eyes, their talk running to brief exclamations, -sighs for the discouraging gains of the visitors, -vain cries of exultation when the Harvard men -made promising plays.</p> - -<p>Three innings passed without a run on either -side. Then Coy, the first man up in the fourth, -hit a bounder which the Harvard third baseman -found too hot to handle, and Coy beat the ball -to first base. The next man waited while O’Brien -tried to tempt the runner to steal, and thus got -his base on balls. His successor hit to third again, -and while Manning hesitated and tried to touch -Coy, likewise made first. Number four went out -on a long fly to right field, but the speedy Coy -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">257</span> -got safely across the plate on the return throw, -with score number one. McPherson now made -a lucky single over shortstop’s head, which -brought in a second run. Then O’Brien caught -the Yale man playing off too far from second, and -the next batsman struck out.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img id="i279" src="images/i279.jpg" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“<span class="smcap">That’s Owen.</span>”—<i><a href="#Page_255">Page 255</a>.</i></p></div> - -<p>“Bad!” said Duncan, sadly. His unhappiness -was not relieved when the three Harvard men went -out on a fly and two easy infield hits.</p> - -<p>“They’re finding the ball, anyway,” remarked -Sam, trying to be courageous; “the game’s -young yet.”</p> - -<p>“It’s nearly half grown,” rejoined Duncan, -gloomily; “and you can see what kind of a beast -it’s going to be. Two runs is an awful handicap.”</p> - -<p>He was depressed still further in the fifth -inning, when the first ball pitched yielded a hit -that put a Yale man again on first. The Yale -coachers took a risk and bade their man steal -second. It was a poor risk, for Owen shot one of -his perfect throws down ahead of the runner, and -Williams, the Harvard shortstop, thumped him -with the ball as he slid gallantly into his fate.</p> - -<p>“What a daisy throw!” cried Sam, ecstatically. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">258</span></p> - -<p>“He can do those by the dozen,” remarked -Duncan, airily. “He has a special wire to second -base.”</p> - -<p>Manning now captured a foul off third, and -Latter took a long fly in left field. A Harvard -man got as far as second base and was left -there. The sixth inning profited neither side.</p> - -<p>The seventh began with another shock to our -friends’ nerves. Bryant made a two-bagger. -His two successors, however, went out on hits to -O’Brien, and presently Bryant himself, working -too far from his base, was cut off by a sudden -throw to second, and run down ignominiously -between second and third.</p> - -<p>“Now, Mr. Owen, do something!” muttered -Duncan, as the Harvard catcher came to the plate. -Owen responded to the unheard appeal by a hot -bounder over second which the Yale centre fielder -allowed to bounce past him, thus helping the -runner to second. Williams drove a troublesome -ball into McPherson’s hands, and while the -old Seaton second baseman was struggling to get -hold of it, Owen reached third and Williams -crossed first. The Harvard freshies now tried -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">259</span> -a squeeze play, and Manning not only met the -ball, but made a pretty little hit over Bryant’s -head, that would have brought Owen in, if he had -not already crossed the plate. A sacrifice now -advanced Williams and Manning to third and -second. Then Gooding, the Yale pitcher, got -three balls on his first three pitches to Silverton, -and the Harvard man, waiting for his good one, -drove a long single out between right and centre -fields that let in Williams and Manning with scores -two and three. Two easy outs followed.</p> - -<p>“Three to two!” cried Sam, joyfully. “Two -more innings!”</p> - -<p>“It’s too close for comfort yet,” said Duncan, -nervously. “I’d give a month’s allowance to -see the game end now. That’s Coy up, isn’t -it?”</p> - -<p>But Coy swung three times in vain at his old -pitcher’s curves. One of his successors reached -first, but two others went out and left him there. -The Harvard men fared no better.</p> - -<p>“Three more outs. It ought to be dead easy,” -muttered Sam, as the ninth began. The first -Yale man at the bat drove a ball into left field -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">260</span> -that looked good for two bases. But Latter -got in front of it and sent it in to second in season -to scare the runner back to first. A big bony -chap followed at the plate.</p> - -<p>“That’s Kleindienst. He used to play with -Hillbury. He can hit. They’re going to do us -right here. I feel it in my bones.” Duncan -jerked out his words in curt explosives. “There! -he’s done it!” he groaned, as the batsman drove -the ball in a long sweep over third base.</p> - -<p>“No, it struck outside the foul line!” cried -Sam, eagerly, as the applause on the Yale side -died suddenly away. “See! he’s gone back to -the plate!”</p> - -<p>“And got a strike for it, too,” said the reviving -Duncan. “That’s where the foul strike rule hits -’em.”</p> - -<p>While he spoke O’Brien sent in another pitch. -Kleindienst hit another foul. This time the ball -careened over towards the stands opposite first -base. Owen tipped off his mask and ran headlong -in pursuit. He took the descending ball with -hands outstretched; and while the howl of applause -was yet at its beginning, he turned sharply -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">261</span> -and threw to first base. The Yale man scrambled -wildly back, but the ball was there before him. -Williams fielded the next man out at first.</p> - -<p>“Come on! Let’s find him!” sang out Duncan, -and dashed down the aisle before the rising crowd -got under way. Sam followed. They rushed -out into the field and made for the close circle -gathering rapidly round the catcher.</p> - -<p>“I’ll wait for you,” said Sam. “He won’t -care anything about me.”</p> - -<p>“Won’t he!” cried Duncan. “Come and see!” -And dragging Sam along behind him, he screwed -his way into the cluster at the centre of which -Owen was fighting off the vehement attentions -of admirers. At the sight of Duncan he broke -through the circle and pulled the boy in.</p> - -<p>“Duncan Peck! I was wondering whether -you were here. Didn’t we have luck! Glad to -see you, Archer. How are things at Seaton?”</p> - -<p>But before the question could be answered, the -questioner was rushed in another direction, and -Sam and Duncan found themselves whirled to the -outside of the circle.</p> - -<p>Sam looked at his watch. “There’s just forty-five -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">262</span> -minutes before the train leaves. We’ve -got to hustle to catch it! We promised to take -it, you know.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose we did,” sighed Duncan. “I hate -to leave now. I haven’t seen Don at all. Go -ahead!” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">263</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV<br /> - -<span class="medium">JUNE TO DECEMBER</span></h2> - -<p>It was well for our young men that they could -share Owen’s victory, for Patterson, their school -captain, gave them none of their own to enjoy. -A pitcher cannot win a game alone; and Patterson’s -cleverness availed only to keep the Hillbury -score down; his followers balked his efforts with -errors, and only O’Toole hit the Hillbury pitcher -with any readiness.</p> - -<p>After the Hillbury game, Sam focused his -interest on the college examinations. Mr. Alsop -had at the last moment, with much misgiving, -granted him a provisional recommendation in -French; and Sam, eager no less to vindicate -himself than to get rid of the troublesome subject, -hammered away at it during the last few weeks -with a determination worthy of a great cause. -He was sure of his history and mathematics, and -reasonably confident in Greek and Latin; but -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">264</span> -English, the crank-ridden, and French, the elusively -easy, mocked him with promise of failure.</p> - -<p>Duncan likewise yielded himself to the spirit -of industry which was turning 7 Hale into the -workshop of scholastic cyclops. The latch was -kept down perpetually during these days of preparation. -Only Duncan’s tutor, the useful Moorhead, -and occasionally the irresistible Bruce -found entrance. Duncan was at last serious; -actually confronted by the alternative of passing -certain examinations and going to Harvard, or -failing and going to work, he understood that the -time for trifling was past. It is safe to say that -Sam Archer’s example and encouragement, and -Moorhead’s patient readiness to explain and help, -were of more use to Duncan in his weary battle -than class instruction or tutor’s drill.</p> - -<p>Duncan did pass his examinations,—he fell -sprawling, but across the line,—and Archer got -every point he had worked for. He missed an -honor which he had hoped to get, but he triumphed -in Mr. Alsop’s subject with a C, which, boy-like, -he regarded as a decision awarded him against -the teacher’s doubts, not as a proof of good instruction. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">265</span> -There followed for Sam an untroubled -summer of loafing and tennis, rowing and sailing; -of reckless squandering of time on pure play; -of reading books that were not required and -dreaming dreams of triumphs that would never -come to pass. He took back with him to school -greater physical vigor and clearer comprehension -of his own personal problem.</p> - -<p>Sam settled with Moorhead very comfortably -in his old room, and entered upon the tasks of his -senior year with the quiet purpose of making it -count. To accomplish this, he understood vaguely -but sufficiently that he must keep himself, physically -and morally, under good control, must work -steadily rather than frantically, and pursue a -sane ambition. This sane ambition, so far as -athletics were concerned, lay along the hurdle -path. Unless some phenomenon unexpectedly -appeared, he could reasonably count on becoming -the school champion in the high hurdles. To be -school champion, however, was but a half-success. -The Seatonian grudges honor to a man who leads -merely because there happens to be no one better. -The Seaton champion must prevail over the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">266</span> -champions of other schools, if he is to have the -credit of achievement.</p> - -<p>Sam knew this quite as well as any one else; -he appreciated its personal bearing as no one else -could. In the background of every picture called -up by a hopeful imagination, hovered the figure -of Kilham of Hillbury. Wherever Sam foresaw -a chance of distinction, there was Kilham to contest -it with him. At the winter competition in -Boston, at the interscholastic games, in the Hillbury-Seaton -dual meet, he must struggle against -this quick-starting, strong-running rival, who was -at least half a second better on the high-hurdle -course. Should he ever be able to beat that -fellow? Sam considered his own vain endeavors -to put speed into his long legs, and confessed -frankly that the odds were heavy against him. -But none the less, being of the smilingly persistent -kind, he went on with his practice undaunted, as if -he had battles to win instead of to lose. He also -gave close attention to his school work. Birdie -Fowle informed him one day that he was no good -any more; Moorhead had made a grind out of -him. Sam’s laughing comment was that he -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">267</span> -wanted to get into college decently if possible, -with a point or two to the good. This was true, -but it was not the fundamental reason for his -devotion to his studies.</p> - -<p>During the summer Archer had run across a -Hillburyite named Denton, at the seashore. -When he inquired of this Hillburyite what kind -of a fellow Kilham was, Denton declared him the -very finest sort of a fellow. Later Sam chanced -to ask how Kilham did in his studies, and Denton -returned a report distinctly favorable; he was not -the very best, of course, but much better than the -average. Sam considered these facts a full week. -At the end of that time he had made up his mind -that if he had to run second to Kilham in the -hurdles, he wouldn’t fall behind in the classroom, -too. This secretly nourished ambition to maintain -a rank that he need not be ashamed to have -compared with that of his Hillbury rival, increased -rather than diminished as the year slipped away. -Certain teachers who grew from month to month -more complacent over their stimulating influence -on Archer, would have been much surprised to -learn that the steady up trend of his rank line was -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">268</span> -due to an unacknowledged, unreal competition -with a student in another school.</p> - -<p>Sam’s fall hurdle practice was interrupted by -the summons to class football. Before the season -was far advanced, the captain of the senior team -was promoted to the first eleven squad, and Sam -was chosen captain in his place. With the care -of his eleven and the class games and the duty -of punting to practise the school backs, Sam -found small opportunity to play with his pair -of hurdles.</p> - -<p>The season was a fortunate one for the school -eleven, and still more fortunate for Mulcahy, -who stepped in mid-season into the shoes of a -big tackle who had ignominiously succumbed -to the measles; and he kept his place through -half the Hillbury game. He was thus a member -of a victorious school eleven, in a position to reap -the glory of the successful efforts of others. As -a matter of fact, the game was won by Kendrick, -or by Kendrick and Illerton, the new end, together, -after the line had been ignobly crowded to and -fro, up and down the field, for three quarters -of the playing time. But a victory is a victory, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">269</span> -and Mulcahy retained his good share of the prestige -which the members of a winning team enjoy.</p> - -<p>He made immediate use of this prestige to -attain a long-cherished ambition. In the fall -of the previous year, and again in the spring, he -had been balked in his efforts to become president -of the Laurel Leaf, largely through the influence -of Duncan Peck and his following. Duncan -Peck was now gone and many new fellows had -come. This time Mulcahy adopted less open -methods of soliciting. Swan was his manager, -a natural politician who loved the excitement -of a campaign. Swan cared nothing about -Mulcahy, but was down on Archer, who had -scorned an invitation to join the Mu Nu, Swan’s -fraternity, which ranked as the “yaller dog” of -school societies. Sam and Moorhead tried to -persuade Kendrick to run for the Leaf, and -failed. Then they fell back on Blankenberg, -a substitute on the eleven, who possessed solid -qualities and would have filled the office with -dignity. Then it was that Swan whisked into -the field to the support of the candidate whom -Archer opposed. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">270</span></p> - -<p>The contest was uneven. On the one side -Mulcahy, football player, editor of the “Seatonian,” -ready-tongued, of imposing personality, -offering a fine show, both of talent and of school -spirit; on the other Blankenberg, plain, honest, -conscientious, modest. Mulcahy triumphed with -votes to throw away. He came over to Blankenberg -after the affair was over with a very pretty -display of personal sympathy.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry you didn’t get it, really I am,” he -said. “I shouldn’t take it if so many hadn’t -voted for me.”</p> - -<p>“I’m glad you won, if the majority want you,” -returned Blankenberg, honestly.</p> - -<p>“I think your manager lost you votes,” Mulcahy -went on, pretending to joke, but avoiding -Sam’s eye. “I wouldn’t trust him again.”</p> - -<p>Blankenberg and Sam walked out together. -“Isn’t he the limit,” exploded Sam, when they -were alone, “for pulling the wool over people’s -eyes! He’s got everybody on the string from -the faculty to Dunbar Hall, and he hasn’t a -principle to his name. The school’s training -that fellow for a political boss.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">271</span></p> - -<p>“He didn’t need to be unprincipled to win -to-night,” remarked Blankenberg. “It was too -easy. I rather think he’ll find some way of -getting ’most anything he wants.”</p> - -<p>Sam struggled with an impulse to quote Mulcahy’s -statement that his supreme ambition was -to win the Yale Cup; but the feeling that Mulcahy -had spoken in confidence prevented his mention -of it. It seemed quite reasonable now that this -ambition should be attained.</p> - -<p>“There’s one thing he can’t get,” he said with -pardonable bitterness, “class day offices. The -class knows him too well.”</p> - -<p>But therein Sam was mistaken. The Omega -Omicron clashed with the Alpha Beta Gamma -over the election of President of the Day, neither -being willing to give in to the other. As a result, -the unfraternified, moulded into a temporarily -coherent force through the influence of the -vengeful Swan and the despised Mu Nu, united -on Mulcahy and swept him into office.</p> - -<p>“There seems to be nothing that that fellow -can’t rake in if he tries,” Sam grumbled to himself, -as he swung moodily homeward from the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">272</span> -class election. “Of course you’d expect the faculty -to be fooled, but here’s half the class voting -for him when nine out of every ten know he’s -a rotten fakir. Think of our bringing all our -relatives to class day, and that fellow sitting up -on the platform as the representative man of the -graduating class of Seaton Academy! The Yale -Cup?—Mulcahy, of course! Anything he wants. -He’s our color-bearer, sure enough! Rah, rah, -rah, Mulcahy!” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">273</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI<br /> - -<span class="medium">JANUARY TO MAY</span></h2> - -<p>The hurrying weeks brought Sam once more -face to face with his rival of Hillbury. Again -one of thirty-odd numbers, he mingled with the -confused throng of candidates near the starting -line of the forty-yard hurdles in Mechanics’ -Hall.</p> - -<p>“Who’s that fellow with the blue stripes across -his shirt?” asked a boy at his elbow, who wore -the colors of a Boston school.</p> - -<p>Sam gave his benighted neighbor a sharp glance -of surprise. “That’s Kilham of Hillbury!”</p> - -<p>“Any good?”</p> - -<p>“Good enough to beat me!” returned Sam.</p> - -<p>“I guess it lies between Sage of Worcester and -Doane of Noble’s,” said the lad.</p> - -<p>Sam smiled grimly. He knew that it lay -between Kilham of Hillbury and—somebody -else. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">274</span></p> - -<p>The first heat was run: Kilham led at the tape; -Sage of Worcester fell out. In the second heat -Number Eighteen was at the fore,—the programme -showed Number Eighteen to be Archer -of Seaton. The third went to Doane of Noble’s; -the fourth to Jessop of Boston Latin; the fifth—but -why detail the process of sifting? The -final heat was called. In it stood Kilham, Archer, -Doane, Whelan of the Boston High, and a nameless -white shirt from a small school, who by luck -and good natural ability had squeezed through -the early heats.</p> - -<p>Kilham gave Sam a nod of recognition. -“We’ve been up against each other before.”</p> - -<p>Sam smiled assent. “Twice.”</p> - -<p>“And shall be again, probably. Don’t let -those small school fellows beat us, anyway. If -I can’t win, I hope you will.”</p> - -<p>“The same to you,” answered Sam; but his -voice was lost in the starter’s call.</p> - -<p>On the “set” Doane tried to beat the starter, -and was put back a foot. All hung well on the -next trial, and the pistol shot sent them away. -Doane flashed into the front rank at the outset, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">275</span> -but he was clumsy on the second hurdle and lost -his advantage. Kilham and Archer rose from -the start together. Kilham reached the first -hurdle a foot ahead, but Archer gained on the -hurdle jump. It was the same on the second. -At the third hurdle, four runners seemed to -sweep the air abreast, but Doane and Whelan -lost a fraction of a second in clearing, and fell a -foot behind Kilham and Archer. On the final -stretch the Hillbury man drove himself to the -front. Sam strained at his sluggish muscles -with every power of nerve and brain, but Kilham -was the faster. Sam’s frantic efforts, though -insufficient to carry him past Kilham, at least -enabled him to hold a place ahead of his pursuers. -He crossed the line second, adjudged -to have the better of Whelan by a few inches.</p> - -<p>“What do you honestly think, Collins?” demanded -Sam, as the two talked over the day’s -happenings on the train that evening. “Shall -I ever be able to beat that fellow, or is he going -to do me right along for the next four years?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” returned Collins, frankly. -“Kilham’s a mighty good hurdler for a schoolboy, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">276</span> -but he isn’t the best there ever was. I’ve seen -him weaken a good bit on the last thirty yards -of the one-twenty. You’re about even on starting, -and he’s faster, but you’ve got the staying -power. It’ll depend on how you learn to take -the hurdles. You wouldn’t have the ghost of a -show on the low ones, but on the high—well, -I’ve seen a lot of good men beaten on the last -twenty yards of the high hurdles.”</p> - -<p>Such was the dubious form which Collins’s -encouragement took. Collins believed thoroughly -in the efficacy of work; he was also convinced -that Archer was slowly “coming,” but he was -not one to raise false hopes.</p> - -<p>“Then you really think I can improve on the -hurdle work?” pursued Sam.</p> - -<p>“Of course. You jump too high, and that -first stride when you come down is too long. -You bring your outer foot around well, but it -goes out too far. You ought to better that a -good bit in the spring practice.”</p> - -<p>Whatever Collins may have expected from the -spring training, he had no reason to complain -of Sam’s diligence. The average boy will work -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">277</span> -with great zeal for the first and last weeks of his -preparation for an important contest. He usually -starts with enthusiasm, allows his ardor to -ebb under the tiresome monotony of the daily -drudgery, and warms to his work again as the -crisis approaches. And not infrequently does -it happen that the loss by this middle period of -neglect proves so serious that the candidate drops -out discouraged before the test arrives. It was -one of Collins’s strong points as a trainer that -he tried to carry his charges all the way. He -did not trust all reports or accept every excuse. -He strove to know what his boys were doing, -how they were spending their time, what they -ate and drank, where they went. He made no -apologies for searching closely into the lives -which the boys were leading. Unless they lived -properly, played honorably, worked faithfully, -he would have none of them.</p> - -<p>If Collins had possessed a magic wand by the -touch of which slow muscles could be endowed -with marvellous speed, he certainly would have -given Archer the benefit of the first application -of it. Sam took the privations of training, as -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">278</span> -well as the regular drill, as parts of his normal -day. While he longed to win, and still dreamed -of the happy moment when he should show his -back to Kilham on the hurdle path, he could -laugh good-naturedly at his ambitions, and speak -frankly of the likelihood of failure. He did not -worry and did not lose courage. He played -tennis, enjoyed his friends, did his school work -as well as he could, got good hours of rest, shunned -the things that weaken,—and grew hard of -muscle and sound of wind, living his life with -happiness and zest.</p> - -<p>Toward the end of May he was sent with a -batch of Seatonians to take part in the inter-scholastics -in Cambridge. In the final of the -one-twenty hurdles, he fell in once more with -Kilham and Doane of Noble’s.</p> - -<p>“Hello, Archer!” called Kilham, cheerily. “We -meet again. It’s your turn to-day.”</p> - -<p>“I wish it was,” said Sam.</p> - -<p>But luck turned against him. The starter -held them a long time on the set, and Sam fell -over before the trigger was pulled. He was put -back a yard. On the next attempt he erred -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">279</span> -through overcaution, and lost another yard on -the start. Always slow in getting into his stride, -he saw his two rivals dash well ahead of him for -the first two hurdles. As Sam was topping the -third, Kilham and Doane were close to the fourth. -Hopeless though the race seemed, he pressed on, -taking his jumps in his best form, driving himself -in the inter-hurdles paces, as if each were the finish -of the race. And lo! he gained! With every -hurdle he drew up on the leading pair. At the -eighth he was at Doane’s heels. The tenth he -crossed abreast of the second man and beat him -out through greater strength in the final dash for -the line,—but Kilham as usual was first, this -time by only two feet.</p> - -<p>For a time Sam was disheartened. When he -compared the two feet advantage which Kilham -had over him at the finish with the two yards lost -at the start, and realized that he had plenty of -reserve force on the last stretch while Kilham -was running weak, he felt that fate was indeed -against him. But Collins soon got hold of him -and altered the hue of his thoughts. He had -never before been put back in a race; it wouldn’t -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">280</span> -happen again; he had run a yard farther than -the victor and finished but two feet behind him. -He would have another chance at the Hillbury -meet; let him but keep up his courage and work -hard, and he would win out yet!</p> - -<p>Yes, keep up your courage and work! That -had been Collins’s song these two years. But -what availed courage and work against fate and -a better man?</p> - -<p>“He’ll probably beat me,” thought Sam, as the -day of the Hillbury meet approached; “he’ll -probably beat me, for he always has beaten me, -but I’ll run him harder than I’ve ever done before!”</p> - -<p>On the day before the meet, Sam dropped in at -the Sedgwicks’ to offer two tickets to the games, -which his father had written that he could not -use. Margaret clapped her hands with delight -at the prospect. “We must go, mother, and -see Sam win. It’s our last chance. Do go!”</p> - -<p>“It’s my last chance, all right,” said Sam, -“but don’t go expecting me to win. I always lose.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll have to win, if we go. And we are -going, aren’t we, mother?” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">281</span></p> - -<p>“We’ll see,” answered the cautious mother. -“Sam had better stay to dinner and talk it over -with your father.”</p> - -<p>“Invite me next week, and I’ll come with joy,” -answered Sam, ruefully. “You have too many -good things to eat for a fellow in training.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Sedgwick and Margaret were on the Seaton -special that carried the school to Hillbury. Sam -sat in the seat opposite them, and for the time -enjoyed complete relief from anxious thoughts of -the contest. They parted at the station, when -Sam went forward to join the other members of -the team in the barge that was awaiting them.</p> - -<p>“You must show me your gold medal when -we go back,” said the girl, gayly, as she bade him -good luck. “You know we’ve come on purpose -to help you win it.” Sam lifted his cap and ran -smilingly away to quiet the barge-load of impatients -who were clamoring for Archer to quit his -“fussing” and get aboard. Miss Margaret’s blind -confidence had driven Sam’s fatalism to cover. -Could it be his day after all? -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">282</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII<br /> - -<span class="medium">ARCHER <i>versus</i> KILHAM</span></h2> - -<p>It was clear, two events before the high hurdles -came, that Hillbury was to win the day. In -four races Seaton had been beaten by feet and -inches in desperate finishes. It may have been -luck that the leaders in these four contests were -Hillbury men; luck certainly had nothing to do -with the fact that in each of the four the third -prize went to a wearer of the blue. Kilham -had taken the two-twenty hurdles; Hillbury with -Kilham in the lead had swept every place in the -broad jump. Mulcahy could crawl no higher than -third in the pole vault. Collins took the issue -philosophically, as a man might well do who had -toiled early and late to work second-class material -into a first-class product, and who, incidentally, -had accomplished more than any three members -of the faculty toward establishing throughout -the school a standard of right living and honest -striving. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">283</span></p> - -<p>But stoically as Collins took the issues of fate, -his real feelings broke through the mask of calmness -when the one-twenty hurdles were called, -and Sam and Pearson, wearing Seaton colors, -took the places assigned them and dug their -starting holes. Defeat may have its consolations; -and to Collins no consolation could be -quite so satisfactory as a victory for his long-legged -pupil, who had done his work month in -and month out like a man of years and responsibilities, -and had come up smiling after every -knockdown, with determination unquenched. -Miss Margaret, on the Seaton benches near the -finish line, strained her eyes to see the starting, -oblivious to the fact that her pulse was beating -ten counts faster than it had any right to. Sam -himself, having something definite to do, and -something definite to think of, was less agitated -than Miss Margaret, or even Collins. The something -definite to think of was the uncommon -solidity of the Hillbury hurdles. If he struck -one, it would throw him—or at least so he feared. -He must be sure to clear, even at the waste of a -few inches; and unnecessary inches in the rise -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">284</span> -meant, he knew full well, a fraction of a second -in total loss. On the full extent of this handicap -he did not dwell. It was enough that he must -keep well above the hurdles.</p> - -<p>The start was even—at least for Kilham and -Archer. They sprang for the first hurdle in step -together, like well-matched horses. Sam’s leap -was needlessly high; Kilham gained thereby a -small advantage, which he increased to a yard as -the third hurdle was passed. Then Sam, becoming -less fearful of the rise, brought his jump down -nearer the top of the hurdle and began to regain -lost ground. On the fifth they were together -again. After that Sam forged ahead, clearing -every obstacle just in front of his rival. As he -struck the ground after the tenth he realized that -his hopes depended on his holding his advantage -against a faster sprinter for a distance of less than -fifteen yards. He had been running at full tension -throughout the race; he could do no better now.</p> - -<p>As the runners swept past the seats where sat -Mrs. Sedgwick and Margaret, the girl uttered a -trembling scream of joy which was drowned in the -disorderly cries of the Seaton followers. Archer -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">285</span> -was ahead! The blue hurled shouts of encouragement -at their struggling champion, who tore along -after his rival. Seaton yelled congratulations -and encouragement, and Hillbury encouragement -and congratulations, for Kilham did close up on -Archer. The Seatonians thought they had it, -and then feared that they had lost it; while -the Hillburyites feared loss, and later exulted in -the thought that they had won. It all happened -in the shortest possible time, and at first nobody -knew the result, not even the judges. Collins, -who stood on a line with the finish, said it was -very close, but it looked like Archer; Bruce -declared that it was Archer by six inches; the -Hillburyites capered about, shouting that Kilham -had it by a foot. One judge said Archer; the -second Kilham; the other wasn’t sure. Kilham -ran off to his rub-down straightway; Sam lingered, -panting on Collins’s shoulder, to hear the decision. -Of course it was not for him to judge the race, -but he had felt the worsted thread tighten against -his breast, and he knew that a beaten man never -brushes the finish cord.</p> - -<p>The judges conferred and reported to the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">286</span> -announcer, who bellowed forth the news: a tie! -Whereat all hands applauded, except the special -friends of either contestant, who agreed in considering -it “a steal,” but disagreed as to the -party whose rights had been stolen. Sam’s first -emotion was one of grievous disappointment. -Kilham had beaten him often—but this time! -After all, it might have been worse. The judges -might have given the first place to Kilham, and -adjudged him second. Judges are but mortal. -The thought of the fate escaped comforted him -in a measure for the disappointment. At any -rate, he was not a loser. He had won the race -as much as Kilham had.</p> - -<p>An official appeared with the medals in his -hand, pretty shining things, one gold, the other -silver, bedded on heavy ribbons marked with -the colors of the two schools.</p> - -<p>“You’ll have to toss for these,” he said in a -businesslike way. “Where’s the other fellow?”</p> - -<p>The other fellow had disappeared. Richmond -Noyes, the Hillbury baseball captain, pushed -forward. “Kilham’s gone to get his rub-down,” -he said. “I’ll toss for him.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">287</span></p> - -<p>The official hesitated a moment as if uncertain -as to the propriety of the substitution, but a -colleague reassured him. “All right! You call, -Archer!” he said, and his practised hand sent a -coin spinning in the air.</p> - -<p>“Tails!” cried Sam, who had drawn an induction -from several experiences that tails were -luckier for him than heads.</p> - -<p>The official stooped and picked up the coin. -“Heads it is!” he announced cheerfully.</p> - -<p>Noyes clutched the gold medal and scurried -away in quest of Kilham. Sam took his portion -of the spoil, and dodging alike compliments and -condolences, went his leisurely way toward the -Seaton quarters. Could anything be more symbolic -than that toss! When after two years of -uphill work he was at last wholly ready to meet -Kilham in a square, even race, those heavy, clumsy -hurdles had to turn up and lose him three or four -feet; of course! Kilham, actually beaten by some -inches, was considered by the wall-eyed judges -to have led; of course! With equal chance to -draw the gold medal, he must needs get the silver; -of course! Did ever any one have such luck! -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">288</span></p> - -<p>“Archer! Oh, Archer! Hold on!”</p> - -<p>Sam turned in the direction of the unfamiliar -voice and beheld trotting toward him a bareheaded -youth, whose chief article of attire was a -bath robe. Behind the bath robe strode Noyes, -his blue-ribboned hat tilted back on his head, wearing -upon his face an expression of desperate disgust.</p> - -<p>“Look here, Archer,” began Kilham, eagerly, -while still a dozen feet away, “I don’t want this -thing. It belongs to you.”</p> - -<p>The “thing” in question was the gold medal, -which Noyes had carried off in a burst of delight -but a few minutes before. “Give me the other -one and take this,” Kilham went on, holding out -the first prize to the astonished Seatonian.</p> - -<p>“Why?” asked Sam, blankly.</p> - -<p>“Because I won’t take it, because it doesn’t -belong to me, because Rich here had no business -to butt in and get it. I didn’t want to toss for -the thing.”</p> - -<p>A look of eager joy flashed into Sam’s face, only -to fade away again as the character of the offer -which Kilham was making came home to him. -It was generous of Kilham, who had lots of prizes, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">289</span> -to refuse to deprive his rival of the only good one -which he had ever won. It was a fine thing to -do; but Sam could not profit by the pitying generosity -of a kind-hearted rival.</p> - -<p>“It didn’t make any difference who tossed for -it,” said Sam. “We accepted Noyes as your -representative. The judges gave the race a tie, -and we tossed for prizes. That settled it.”</p> - -<p>“It didn’t settle anything,” returned Kilham, -warmly. “Noyes had no more authority to toss -for me than that kid there. I didn’t win the race -and I’m not going to take the prize. You won -the race. I almost got you at the finish, but not -quite. You touched that thread before I did. -I’m sure of it.”</p> - -<p>Sam stared and pondered. “The judges declared -it a tie,” he said at length.</p> - -<p>“Then it will have to be a tie so far as the -official record goes. We can’t dispute the judges, -but we can divide the prizes as they ought to be -divided. I won the second prize. I’ll have that -or none!”</p> - -<p>“Then I’ll take the gold one,” decided Sam, in a -subdued voice. When the exchange was effected, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">290</span> -he held out his hand to his old rival, who seemed -to him at that moment more unreachable than -ever, and blurted out, “If there are many fellows -like you in Hillbury, I wish I had gone there!”</p> - -<p>So it happened that Sam Archer really did have -a gold medal to show Miss Margaret when he -met her again at the train, and with it a little -tale to tell of schoolboy honesty and generosity.<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">1</a></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">1</a> - If this incident of the medal sounds like the invention of -an unpractical moralist, the author pleads innocent to the -charge. It is a fairly accurate account of an actual occurrence -at a recent Exeter-Andover contest.</p></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">291</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII<br /> - -<span class="medium">THE YALE CUP</span></h2> - -<p>With the passing of the Hillbury meet, Archer’s -career as a school athlete was at an end. He -played tennis and scrub ball, but this was play, -not work. His training now was for quite another -kind of contest—the final wrestling match -with the college examinations. He shared as a -helpless onlooker in the disaster of the annual -ball game, when Noyes’s nine after a hard fight -took the Seatonians into camp. The football -men were the only victors of the year, since even -in tennis honors were divided. Sam smiled to -himself somewhat grimly as he considered how -fortune had cooperated with Mulcahy in his -ambitions for the Yale Cup. Against the background -of defeated teams, the football men bulked -large as athletes.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Archer came up to be present at the festivities -of graduation week. With Mrs. Sedgwick -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">292</span> -and Margaret, she started early for the chapel -exercises with which the school year formally -closed. As they crossed the yard, the seniors were -forming in a long, uneven double line that extended -from the steps of the main school building -across the lawn toward the outer fence. -Late risers were scurrying from the dormitories, -struggling, on the run, to work their arms into -the sleeves of their gowns and at the same time -to keep their mortar-boards safely balanced on -their heads. The marshals were zealously and -more or less effectually ordering the jeering -battalion. Sam, looking like a giant in the ample -gown that covered his bony length, raised his -cap over a face glowing with satisfaction as the -three visitors passed the head of the line, hurrying -to reach their places before the procession took -the right of way. “He’s a dear boy,” thought the -mother with pride, “if he is not a genius. He does -the best he can.”</p> - -<p>They were given seats on the side aisle, well to -the front; the middle section was reserved for -the class. Before the platform stood a heavy -table. On it were the score of prizes to be -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">293</span> -assigned, piles of books, impressive envelopes -containing the money awarded, and in the midst, -towering in cold stateliness above two minor -brethren, the shining form of the Yale Cup. -Solemn faces of benefactors and famous graduates -looked down disapprovingly from the walls; -there had been no such lavish display of prizes -in the simple old days when they were members -of the school, reciting Latin and Greek by candlelight -to austere, dignified gentlemen who revered -Cicero as the model for all language and ignored -French and German as the lingo of dancing-masters -and fiddlers. Flanking the platform -and facing the audience, ran a long line of chairs—“for -the faculty,” whispered Mrs. Sedgwick, -who had been present on such occasions before.</p> - -<p>Presently the tramp of feet was heard, and the -seniors filed in for their last chapel service. They -stood, when they reached their places, waiting for -the dignitaries, who were not slow to appear. -The principal entered with the president of the -board of trustees, two clergymen from abroad, -others of the trustees who were in town, and a -venerable alumnus or two to whom the school -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">294</span> -would do honor. These took places on the platform, -in the alcove behind the reading desk. -After them came the faculty, a motley line, in -which staid elderly men, of the wisdom which is -born of long intercourse with boys, touched -shoulders with youths fresh from the university—in -whom self-confidence and zeal must still do -duty for ripe experience and sound judgment. -When all were placed, the visiting clergymen -conducted the simple devotional exercises, the -hymns rolling with resonant vigor from two -hundred masculine throats. Then the president -of the board of trustees, encumbered by many -typewritten sheets, came forward beside the desk -for the formal business of the day.</p> - -<p>He began by addressing certain neatly worded -compliments to the graduating class. In this -task, which was in the line of his daily work as -an advocate before important courts, he acquitted -himself with dignity and impressiveness. When, -however, he came to the reading of the list of -those entitled to diplomas, his experience in -public speaking availed him little. He waded -on, undaunted, through fourscore names, pronounceable -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">295</span> -and unpronounceable, drawn from -all races and all lands. As each name was -read or attempted, its claimant rose in response, -until every wearer of a gown was on his feet. -Then the diplomas were passed out in bunches -to chosen delegates, who delivered them to their -proper owners.</p> - -<p>With a feeling of relief the president laid aside -the catalogue of seniors, and took up the short -list of honor men. After this he passed to those -of the school who had earned “honorable mention,” -finding new pitfalls in untried combinations -of letters which stood for certain deserving members -of lower classes. With the next sheet began -the announcement of prize-winners.</p> - -<p>Here was the climax of the day. Many were -the boys who listened with quick-beating hearts, -hoping to hear the sound of their names; and -many there were who listened in vain. The -president announced the prize and the award; -the secretary of the faculty took the prize from -the table and handed it to the principal; the principal -delivered it into the hands of its owner. -As one and another came forward, flushed with -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">296</span> -happy embarrassment, and received the reward -of his labor, the school gave abundant applause, -those who had nourished no hopes and those -who had hoped in vain uniting in generous congratulation -of the victors. So went the Latin -prizes, the Greek prizes, the prizes in English -composition, in Mathematics, in Bible study, in -History; the prize for general excellence in studies -and that for physical development. Sam’s interest -was keen in the result, for he hoped to see -his room-mate honored as a Latinist. He chuckled -with delight as Moorhead was called a second -time to the gift table, and brought back a sample -from the pile of twelve large volumes of Shakespeare -as a prize in English.</p> - -<p>There were but three or four awards still to be -made when Sam, seeing the secretary reach for -the big three-handled cup that mounted guard over -the remaining envelopes and books, knew that the -time for Mulcahy’s prize had come. He glanced -backward curiously over his shoulder at the astute -strategist who sat a few seats away, and marked -with amused interest the artful mask of indifference -which the young man wore. So fascinating -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">297</span> -was this study of Mulcahy the expectant, and -Mulcahy the ready-to-be-surprised, that Sam -very impolitely kept his eyes on the face in the -row behind until the president had finished the -long description: “The Yale Cup, given by the -Yale Club of Boston to the Senior who best -combines proficiency in athletics with good -standing in his studies.” As the reader paused, -Sam faced front and prepared to applaud the -name of John Joseph Mulcahy,—but the name -the president read was “Samuel Wadsworth -Archer”!</p> - -<p>The applause thundered forth sudden and -sharp, no perfunctory service of courtesy, but a -burst of enthusiastic approval that swept the -whole student company. It rose and fell and -rose again, vehement and long drawn out. The -boys in front twisted their heads around as they -strove, still beating their palms, to catch a glimpse -of the winner; those in the seats behind craned -their necks with the same laudable design. And -Sam sat with downcast eyes and glowing cheeks, -hearing but not believing, stupidly delaying the -exercises, yet hardly daring to answer the summons; -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">298</span> -until Westbrook, who sat beside him, -stopped clapping long enough to dig him in the -ribs with a sharp elbow and enjoin him: “Go and -get it, you fool. Don’t you see you’re keeping -the whole business waiting?” To this exhortation -Sam gave heed.</p> - -<p>During the remainder of the exercises Sam sat -with the precious cup clutched beneath his gown, -ecstatically demanding of himself again and -again how it could possibly be, and pitying the -unfortunate whose deep-laid plans had gone so -wholly wrong. When the audience was dismissed, -he was at once overwhelmed by boys who insisted -on shaking his hand and slapping his shoulder -and telling him that the award was “just right,”—and, -of course, handling the cup.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Archer, on her side, was a general target -for congratulations. She received them with -the composure of a mother who is never wholly -surprised at any honor bestowed upon her son; -but in her eyes burned a light of happiness and -excitement that belied her quiet manner, and her -gaze would wander to the group of gowns that -thronged her tall son and hid the white gleam -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">299</span> -of silver from the sight of the unprivileged -curious.</p> - -<p>“How did he happen to get it?” she asked -Dr. Leighton, as the teacher came to offer his -compliments. “I’m sure he hadn’t the slightest -expectation of its coming to him.”</p> - -<p>“Of course he didn’t expect it,” returned -Dr. Leighton. “The boy who deserves such a -prize rarely expects it. I can tell you how it -came to be awarded to him, because I was on -the committee. He won it by good honest -work. It was what he accomplished, not what -he chanced to do, that turned the scales in his -favor.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Archer’s look indicated that she was not -quite sure that she understood; but before she -could ask further, her son broke through the circle -of students, and came, sheepishly dangling the cup -by one of its heavy handles, to greet his mother. -Sam was not sufficiently experienced in prize-winning -to take his honors easily, especially -when Margaret Sedgwick roguishly assumed a -clean record of A’s as a part of his title to the -cup, and insisted on knowing all details. He -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">300</span> -managed to escape these embarrassing attentions -by calling up Moorhead and presenting him as the -banner prize-catcher of the class; and presently, -on the pretext of helping his room-mate carry -home his load of Shakespeares, he succeeded in -getting safely away.</p> - -<p>The next morning when Sam called at the -Sedgwicks’ to see his mother, he found her on the -garden piazza, with a Boston paper on her lap.</p> - -<p>“There’s a whole column here about the -Commencement,” she said, as Sam sat down beside -her. “Don’t you want to see it?”</p> - -<p>Sam laughed contentedly. “I don’t need to -read about it; I was there.”</p> - -<p>“And beside it is a report from the Hillbury -Commencement, too. Prizes aren’t so plenty in -Hillbury. There seem to be hardly half as many -as are given here.”</p> - -<p>The prizes at Hillbury possessed small interest -for Sam. He was satisfied to lounge quietly in -the comfortable chair, let his eyes wander over -the profusion of gay flowers in the old-fashioned -garden, and gloat in silence on the fact that school -recitations were, for him, forever finished. All -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">301</span> -at once he straightened up in his chair and demanded:—</p> - -<p>“Who got the Yale Cup down there? I wonder -if it’s any one I know?”</p> - -<p>“In Hillbury?” answered Mrs. Archer, taking -up the paper again. “Let me see—the Orton -prize, the Harper prize, the—oh, yes, the Yale -Cup: Winthrop Joy Kilham.”</p> - -<p>“Kilham!” cried Sam, in a sudden accession of -spirit. “Kilham! That’s great! The judges hit -the bull’s-eye that time, for sure!”</p> - -<div class="transnote"> -<h3>Transcriber's Note:</h3> - -<p>Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.</p> -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Yale Cup, by Albertus True Dudley - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YALE CUP *** - -***** This file should be named 54996-h.htm or 54996-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/9/9/54996/ - -Produced by Wayne Hammond and The Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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