"The eight bunched well together for the first half of the first 
 round." (See page 13.5.)
 
 SHADOWS 
 LIFTED 
 
 A Sequel to Saint Cuthbert's 
 
 BY 
 
 REV. J. E. COPUS, SJ. 
 
 [CUTHBERT] 
 
 Author of "Harry Russell," 
 "Saint Cuthbert's," etc. 
 
 With Frontispiece 
 
 New York, Cincinnati, Chicago 
 
 BENZIGER BROTHERS 
 
 Printers to the Holy Apostolic See 
 1904 
 
 VJNW. OF CALIF. LIBKAKY. LOS ANGELES
 
 BY THE SAME A UTHOR : 
 
 HARRY RUSSELL, a Rockland College Boy. 
 
 i2mo, cloth, with frontispiece, . ... $0.85 
 
 SAINT CUTHBERT'S. i2mo, cloth, with frontis- 
 piece, 0.85 
 
 For sale by all Catholic Booksellers, or --nailed postpaid on 
 receipt of price by the publishers. 
 
 BENZIGER BROTHERS, 
 
 New York, 36-38 Barclay St., Cincinnati, 343 Main St. 
 Chicago, 211-213 Madison St. 
 
 Copyright, 1904, by BENZIGER BROTHERS.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 AFTER VACATION 5 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 THE NKW PREFECT 13 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 A MYSTERY FOR CLAUDE 22 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 CLARENCE GILKINS ^i 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 A WONDER WORKER 4 1 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 THE HINDU'S STORY ,. r r 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MR. HILLSON LEAVES g 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A MOTHER'S MEMORY 6g 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 How GRAY TOOK CARE OF HIMSELF 8o 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 CLAUDE'S LETTER q 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 SOME FAMILY HISTORY oc 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 AN HONORABLE COMBINATION I0 , 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 PLANS 113 
 
 2126087
 
 4 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE GREAT DAY ARRIVES 122 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SOME TRACK EVENTS . *3 l 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 SOME DISCOVERIES H 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 IDENTIFIED 148 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 IN CLASS 155 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 A FATHER'S FEARS 165 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 WAS IT A COINCIDENCE ? . . 173 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 THE INVITATION 180 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 GILKINS FINDS FRIENDS 190 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 SOME HISTRIONIC FUN 199 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 RETROSPECTIVE 215 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 LEAVE-TAKING 226 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 CHUDWALLA 233 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 How IT ENDED , , , . 250
 
 Shadows Lifted. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AFTER VACATION. 
 
 ALL day long, by various trains, boys were returning to 
 old St. Cuthbert's college. In the yard there was much 
 bustle and confusion and hurrying on this second Tuesday 
 of September. Old boys, that is, those who had returned 
 to college, felt, and were, perfectly at home. Many were 
 taking advantage of the lax discipline of "first day" to 
 do certain things with impunity, fully conscious that 
 such attempts would not be tolerated a day or two hence, 
 when routine had been once more established. 
 
 Every now and then a teamster would drive into the 
 yard with a high load of trunks from the depot. These 
 were eagerly pounced upon by their owners, who soon 
 stowed them away in the trunk-room, in the far corner 
 of the yard. 
 
 The Rhetoricians and the Philosophers, among whom 
 we shall find our old acquaintances, had, with their supe- 
 rior experience, shipped their trunks before departing 
 from their homes. These grave doctors in Israel had now 
 merely to watch the bustle and noise and excitement of 
 the less experienced newcomers, laughing at the mishaps 
 of this one, teasing the more anxious, and not unfre- 
 quently lending a strong hand at lifting an unusually
 
 6 AFTER VACATION. 
 
 heavy box, which was perhaps filled by mother and sisters 
 with everything best calculated to cause the happy owner 
 to become an inmate of the infirmary for many days to 
 come. 
 
 Notwithstanding their vast, and to them immeasurably 
 superior experience, the "old hands" among the boys 
 those who had already returned four or five times felt 
 the strangeness of the position. Love their college as 
 much as they might and, as those know who have read 
 Howard Hunter's experiences, most of the boys with 
 whom we are concerned did love old St. Cuthbert's with 
 a love loyal and true yet they felt that college was not 
 home. Mother's sweet voice was not there, and sister's 
 kindly ministrations were now for a time things only to 
 be remembered. 
 
 "First day," no matter how often it is repeated, is, after 
 all, a strange day in one's college life. The transition 
 from the home life of the family circle to the necessarily 
 stricter, public, and unrelaxing discipline of a college is 
 always abrupt, and being so, it is unpleasant even to the 
 most college-hardened youth. 
 
 On this particular occasion the old place looked un- 
 wontedly strange, for there was some impertinent grass 
 actually growing right in the college yard a pathetic 
 token of a summer's neglect and desertion. It is the 
 experience of most boys, when they see grass growing on 
 their own special domain the yard on the first day of 
 term, that they cannot help taking its presence there as 
 a personal affront. Grass in the yard makes old boys 
 feel "blue" and young boys downright homesick. 
 
 Mr. Hillson, the prefect, was particularly busy assign- 
 ing beds in the dormitory, and selecting suitable desks
 
 AFTER VACATION 7 
 
 in the study-hall. The latter occupation was no easy task. 
 Knowing how much the results of class-work depended 
 on proper study, and how much good study depended on 
 a suitable selection of desks in the study-hall and on 
 suitable companions, the prefect was particularly anxious 
 to put as few troublesome boys together as possible. He 
 tried to scatter those known to be troublesome in such a 
 way as to prevent them being a positive detriment to the 
 better disposed and more studiously inclined. 
 
 The prefect of studies, with several assistants, was busy 
 examining the newcomers and assigning them to the 
 various classes according to their proficiency ; the kindly, 
 white-haired President held "open house" at his office, 
 giving hearty welcome to the old students as they came 
 flocking in to greet him, or kindly words of welcome and 
 of warning to those who had just arrived for the first 
 time. 
 
 Howard Hunter, Frank Stapleton, Harry Selby, and 
 Rob Jones sat on a tilted bench outside the study-hall. 
 Greetings among these old friends were over. They were 
 now watching the number of new faces as the strangers 
 wandered listlessly about amid their new surroundings. 
 
 "It's a gigantic shame," suddenly remarked Frank 
 Stapleton vehemently. 
 
 "What is, Frank?" asked Hunter. 
 
 "Oh, everything! Look at that grass! eugh! Then 
 look at those new boys. There doesn't seem to be a 
 decent fellow in the lot. I don't believe Claude Winters 
 is coming back either. And then to add to our misfor- 
 tunes, I have just learned that Mr. Hillson is not going to 
 stay this year. He told me he was going away to study 
 to be a priest. Just as if they couldn't ordain him at
 
 8 AFTER VACATION. 
 
 once and let him stay here. I'm sure he knows enough 
 why, he knows more than the President himself !" 
 
 The latter part of this boyish speech showed how highly 
 Frank Stapleton esteemed Mr. Hillson's learning and 
 abilities, for to the boys the President was Knowledge 
 personified. The speech also indicated how little he knew 
 of the requirements for the priesthood. 
 
 "Hold on, Frank," exclaimed Howard Hunter. "You 
 are making out too strong a case every way. These new 
 boys may not be so bad after all. Many of them, it is true, 
 do not look very prepossessing, but let us wait until they 
 get under college influence. Probably not one of them is 
 as bad as you are inclined to paint him." 
 
 "Oh, I know you," responded the other. "You wouldn't 
 let a certain personage be painted as black as he is." 
 
 "Humph ! that's what you say. But what you say about 
 Mr. Hillson is bad news indeed. Are you sure he is going 
 to leave us?" 
 
 "Sure he told me so just now," replied the other 
 gloomily. 
 
 "He told me, too," said Rob Jones, "and I'm terribly 
 sorry to hear it. If there's one man in the college that can 
 keep me straight, it's Mr. Hillson." 
 
 "Nonsense, Rob," said Hunter; "you don't want any 
 man to keep you straight, old fellow. You're straight 
 enough yourself now." 
 
 The last word was said slowly, and with hesitation. 
 
 "Now.; that's just it, Howard. Straight enough now, 
 but that is chiefly owing to Mr. Hillson, and you fellows. 
 Suppose we were to get a new prefect with whom we 
 couldn't get along ?" 
 
 "We won't suppose anything of the kind," said Hunter ;
 
 AFTER VACATION. 9 
 
 "it isn't fair to the new man. Let's see who he is, and what 
 he is like, and form our opinion afterward. But what 
 makes you think Claude Winters is not coming back, 
 Frank?" 
 
 "Because he isn't here," replied Stapleton. "This would 
 be the sixth time he has come to college, and he has always 
 come on the noon train of the first day, and now it's near 
 five o'clock. There's the whistle of the last train from his 
 direction. If he is not here in a quarter of an hour, I shall 
 put it down that he is not coming." 
 
 "Why, here's Ambrose Bracebridge from Rosecroft 
 Manor!" shouted Rob Jones, as the son of the Major 
 walked into the yard. 
 
 The boys gave him a hearty welcome to St. Cuthbert's. 
 As soon as the greetings were over they conducted their 
 non-Catholic friend, first to the President, and then to the 
 prefect of studies. 
 
 The President was much taken with the manly, gentle- 
 manly appearance of Ambrose. He saw a well-made 
 young fellow of about seventeen, neatly dressed, and bear- 
 ing a fine, open countenance. His well-rounded face bore 
 traces of good nurturing, without being at all fat or flabby. 
 The jaw was strong and showed determination, which 
 was emphasized by firm lips, which, when parted, revealed 
 a handsome set of well-preserved, laughing teeth. An 
 earnest look in the brown eyes gave a dignity to the 
 bronzed face. The forehead was rather low and was 
 ornamented with somewhat long, wavy hair, the rpots of 
 which grew far down in front. In a large city, Ambrose 
 Bracebridge would easily have passed, had he worn more 
 expensive clothing which, by the way, he possessed, but 
 had good sense not to bring to college for one of those
 
 10 AFTER VACATION. 
 
 golden youths of the modern club. But the President saw 
 in him more than the mere society butterfly. The old 
 gentleman thought he discerned here the makings of a fine, 
 honest, sturdy man, and he determined that if careful 
 training and much experience could do it, he would 
 develop all the best talents of the boy before him. With 
 what success the President's intentions met, this story has 
 largely to do. 
 
 After a few kindly words of welcome the President dis- 
 missed him, saying : 
 
 "You do not come, Bracebridge, as a complete stranger 
 to St. Cuthbert's. Your father's generous invitation to a 
 dozen of our boys last June has made you more or less 
 acquainted here. Keep the college rules. Study hard 
 and play hard, and then I am sure you will be happy 
 with us." 
 
 "I mean to be, sir," said the boy earnestly. 
 
 "That's right, that's right. Good-by, boys. Remember 
 I shall always be glad to see you." 
 
 In this way they were dismissed to make room for 
 others equally anxious to pay their respects to the head 
 of the college. When outside the President's door, Frank 
 Stapleton said to Bracebridge : 
 
 "One on you, old fellow." 
 
 "One what? What do you mean?" 
 
 "We all make breaks sometimes, don't we, Howard?" 
 and there was the usual mischievous twinkle in Frank's 
 eyes. 
 
 "Have I been guilty of any breach of etiquette? When? 
 where? how?" asked Ambrose in real distress. 
 
 "Don't alarm yourself," replied Hunter; "you have no 
 knowledge as yet of what a tease Stapleton is. What
 
 AFTER VACATION. 11 
 
 he refers to is your addressing a priest as 'sir,' while a 
 Catholic always says 'Father.' " 
 
 "Dear me, I am very sorry ! Do you think the President 
 is offended? I wouldn't have done it indeed I didn't 
 know you see how it is : I am totally ignorant of your 
 customs. Do you think he is offended? Shall I go and 
 apologize? Tell me what to do, please." 
 
 The boys were delighted with Bracebridge's evident 
 desire to make himself agreeable and not to give offense. 
 The gentlemanly training he had received at home showed 
 itself. 
 
 "It seems so strange to me to call any one who is not my 
 father by the sacred name of father," said the boy. 
 
 "Because of the sacredness of the name, and by reason 
 of the reverence in which we hold our priests on account 
 of their sacred office, we give them that most sacred of all 
 names," said Hunter. "It is the custom with us, and you 
 will soon get used to it." 
 
 Stapleton's teasing humor, however, was in the ascen- 
 dant at the moment. With a serious face he began again. 
 
 "I think, Ambrose, you had better go back, knock, enter, 
 fall on your knees, and " 
 
 "Rubbish," put in Jones, who saw that Bracebridge was 
 taking the matter in earnest, "why, man, you couldn't 
 offend the President if you tried." 
 
 This rather extravagant statement was taken for what 
 it was worth by the new boy, whose fears now began to be 
 allayed. 
 
 The four then invaded the office of the prefect of 
 studies, but the "old boys" were ignominiously dismissed. 
 Father Lovelace did not intend for a moment to expose 
 the newcomer to the annoyance of a semi-public exami-
 
 12 AFTER VACATION. 
 
 nation before he placed him in the class to which he should 
 belong. Ambrose's friends retired, therefore, as gracefully 
 as boys manage to do on such occasions. 
 
 In about ten minutes Bracebridge came out into the 
 yard, bearing a card in his hand. 
 
 "What class?" asked his friends, excitedly. 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know. I don't know your system yet, 
 you know," was the reply. 
 
 "I know, you know, that you don't know, you know, but 
 as soon as I know I'll let you know, you know," said 
 Stapeton, as he reached for the card. 
 
 But Jones was too quick. He seized it and read it. 
 
 "Great land of the snark!" he shouted. 
 
 "Is that on the card !" asked Hunter. 
 
 "No, but look at that, will you !" 
 
 Howard took the card and was surprised at what he 
 saw. He read one word : "Rhetoric." 
 
 "How in the name of all that's rhetorical did you get 
 that high class and a new man, too !" asked Stapleton, in 
 real surprise. 
 
 Such a thing had never been heard of before, that a new 
 boy should be fit for the highest classical class in the 
 college. 
 
 "How on earth did you do it?" asked Jones. 
 
 "I don't know, really. You see I graduated the year 
 before last at a private semi-military academy in the East 
 There they certainly taught classics and mathematics well. 
 Then, knowing that I was coming to St. Cuthbert's this 
 year, I have been brushing up a bit during vacation and 
 so I found I could satisfy Mr. Lovelace." 
 
 "Satisfy whom ?" asked Frank, in feigned horror. 
 
 "Oh, bother ! I mean Father Lovelace. Really, gentle-
 
 THE NEW PREFECT. 13 
 
 > 
 
 men, I hope you won't be offended with me when I make 
 these mistakes. I'll get used to the proper titles in time." 
 
 The boys paid small regard to his mistakes, for just at 
 that moment Rob Jones, in order to give an outward and 
 adequate demonstration of the satisfaction he felt in having 
 Ambrose Bracebridge as a classmate, and forgetting the 
 dignity belonging to a Rhetorician, actually indulged in 
 that most small-boy amusement of turning a hand-spring, 
 which he did with as much abandon and as regardless of 
 consequences as if he were one of the small boys with no 
 tremendous weight of rhetorical dignity to sustain. 
 
 A ringing laugh at his expense followed his extravagant 
 mode of expressing satisfaction, and his handsome sun- 
 burned face flushed deeply as, busily rubbing the dust from 
 the palms of his hands, he rejoined his companions. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE NEW PREFECT. 
 
 BY five o'clock the greater part of the hurry and excite- 
 ment of "first day" had subsided. School affairs, so the 
 boys thought, were assuming normal conditions with 
 appalling rapidity. Often during the few hours since the 
 reunion of our young friends had they discussed the possi- 
 bilities with regard to the new prefect, an event in college 
 life of more importance than changes of government or of 
 dynasties. 
 
 All had agreed that, be he who he may, he could not be 
 expected to be as much liked or as popular as was Mr. 
 Hillson. This was a settled conviction among the larger
 
 14 THE NEW PREFECT. 
 
 students. The boys believed that there was only one Mr. 
 Hillson in all the wide world and they had him at St. 
 Cuthbert's. And now they were to lose him! Oh, the 
 pity of it! Their regret was in proportion to their love 
 for him, and their love and confidence were very thorough, 
 for he had the happy faculty of winning both. 
 
 Mr. Hillson had been five years at St. Cuthbert's, and 
 the college had rarely seen a more successful manager of 
 boys. It was almost entirely owing to him that such a 
 splendid college spirit existed at the close of last year. It 
 can easily be understood how anxious our friends were 
 about his successor. 
 
 Many of the higher classes were old enough to remem- 
 ber Mr. Hillson's first year of prefecting at St. Cuthbert's. 
 It was within their recollection how he had worked to 
 create a real college spirit, not only in religious matters, 
 but also in studies and in sports. They remembered how 
 year by year he had weeded out the undesirable elements, 
 and had brought the discipline to what it now was, an 
 almost perfectly smooth-running machine "smooth as a 
 first-class wheel" as Claude Winters had remarked in the 
 previous June. 
 
 There was a good deal of truth in Stapleton's grumb- 
 ling remark that the newcomers in the large yard appeared 
 to be anything but a desirable set. Howard Hunter, too, 
 although he had put the best face on the matter, as was his 
 wont in all doubtful cases, could not help surmising that 
 had Mr. Hillson remained, even he would have found 
 plenty of trouble this year. 
 
 Much, then, depended on the impression which the new 
 prefect would make on the boys, and very much indeed 
 on first impressions.
 
 THE NEW PREFECT. 15 
 
 Just as our acquaintances began for the tenth time 
 within the hour to offer conjectures about the new and 
 unknown man who was to be so intimately connected with 
 them for the next ten months, an active, business-like, 
 broad-shouldered, pleasant-faced person came hurrying 
 out of the college building, and almost ran into the group 
 that was still standing around Bracebridge. 
 
 "How do you do, boys ? How do, how do ?" and he held 
 out his hand. "Glad to make your acquaintances. Glad to 
 be at St. Cuthbert's. Heard about it very often. Wanted 
 to come very much. Old boys? Yes, yes, I could know 
 that at a glance. Fine college, eh ? Fine yard ; fine boys, 
 of course ; yes, yes, all fine, very fine !" 
 
 Howard Hunter and his friends were at once captivated 
 by his genial manner and his enthusiasm. They saw a 
 round, smiling face. There was a merry twinkle in the 
 eyes eyes, nevertheless, which took in everything at a 
 glance. Yet there was a kindly, warm-hearted look in 
 them, too. The one peculiar feature of the face was a 
 pair of large and over-hanging bushy eyebrows, which 
 were partial curtains to eyes which at times were very 
 scrutinizing, as many a boy in a school-boy scrape after- 
 ward learned. 
 
 The new prefect appeared to be a man always in a hurry,* 
 always immersed in business of importance. He moved 
 rapidly, and spoke with force as one accustomed 'to give 
 quick and important decisions, and to direct others. There 
 was an air of good humor and enthusiasm about him that 
 was contagious. Hunter and the other boys of the group 
 were at once under its influence. 
 
 "Boys, I am going to tell you a secret," he continued ; 
 "tell it not in Gath, publish it not in the streets of Ascalon !
 
 16 THE NEW PREFECT. 
 
 Would you believe me if I were to say that I am just the 
 least bit blue homesick !" and he laughed aloud. 
 
 The boys opened their eyes in real amazement. A 
 member of the faculty of St. Cuthbert's homesick ! Im- 
 possible ! The prefect, of all persons in the world, blue ! 
 What was the world coming to? 
 
 The new man saw the look of amazement on their faces 
 on not a few he noticed an expression of incredulity. He 
 burst out laughing again. 
 
 "I told you a secret, boys, and you must keep it. The 
 fact is I have left a class of Rhetoric boys in the college 
 where I was teaching last year whose equal I do not think 
 can be found from Maine to California. Oh, they were 
 splendid fellows ! Such students, and such gentlemen, too ! 
 But I couldn't bring them with me, you know. Too bad, 
 too bad!" 
 
 The listeners were not quite certain that the prefect was 
 not quizzing them, yet they were certainly pleased with the 
 loyalty he displayed toward his former pupils. They 
 argued correctly that if he were loyal and enthusiastic 
 about a former set of boys, he would be so about them- 
 selves too, in time, if they were deserving. 
 
 Bracebridge did not quite understand it all. His pre- 
 vious education had been managed on entirely different 
 lines from those of St. Cuthbert's. He wisely kept quiet 
 for a time. He was soon to learn the spirit of confidence 
 and of respectful familiarity that existed between pro- 
 fessors and prefects and the boys of St. Cuthbert's. 
 
 The others of the group had already mentally voted the 
 new prefect a jolly good fellow. 
 
 "I hope you will find us, too, sir, fair specimens of 
 college boys," remarked Harry Selby.
 
 THE NEW PREFECT. 17 
 
 "I am sure I shall. Quite sure. Dear me, to hear all 
 that Mr. Hillson says about some of you one would sup- 
 pose that already wings had begun to sprout ! Ha, ha ! 
 But then Mr. Hillson is partial, yes, very partial, yes, yes, 
 very." 
 
 "But Mr. " began Frank the Fearless, and then he 
 
 remembered that he had not yet heard the new prefect's 
 name. He consequently stopped short in his speech, and, 
 boy-like, blushed awkwardly. 
 
 "Oh, I beg your pardon, all of you," said the prefect. 
 "I should have introduced myself at once. My name is 
 Shalford Joseph White Shalford." 
 
 The boys bowed. 
 
 "But, Mr. Shalford," urged Frank Stapleton, respect- 
 fully but freely, for the boys saw at once that they could 
 talk without restraint "but, Mr. Shalford, if Mr. Hillson 
 is partial, what about a certain Rhetoric professor of last 
 year in regard to " 
 
 "Oh, you rogue!" exclaimed Mr. Shalford. "So you 
 would catch me in my words at our first meeting! Yes, 
 I confess I am partial to that class. They were the finest 
 boys I ever knew,; but that does not say there are no other 
 good boys in the world, or no other good students, eh? 
 Hello ! look there. There's a poor little homesick fellow 
 actually crying. That won't do. I must go and console 
 him. Good-by, boys, we will soon get better acquainted." 
 
 "Good-by, sir," came the hearty chorus and the hearti- 
 ness of the response convinced Mr. Shalford that he had 
 already some friends among the boys. 
 
 In a few minutes the boys, who had watched closely, 
 saw the little fellow, under the prefect's winning manner, 
 dry his tears and begin to smile. It was not long before
 
 18 THE NEW PREFECT. 
 
 they heard him break out into a hearty laugh the best 
 panacea for all schoolboy ills, and a mortal enemy to home- 
 sickness. 
 
 "Well, fellows, what's the vote?" asked Stapleton, after 
 he had cast a glance at the now silent group. 
 
 "I think- he's just splendiferous," said Selby, enthusias- 
 tically. 
 
 "If I may be allowed to express myself intelligibly," 
 remarked Rob Jones, "I should say Mr. Shalford is a 
 
 "Brick !" broke in Stapleton. "Correct, go to the head 
 of the class." 
 
 "I think we shall get along splendidly with Mr. Shal- 
 ford, eh, boys?" asked Howard Hunter. 
 
 "Look, look, gentlemen, see who is coming up the road 
 from the station !" said Rob Jones. 
 
 All in the group turned to look in the direction pointed 
 out. They saw a short, solidly built, neatly dressed boy, 
 whose sturdy legs and square' chest denoted an excellent 
 physique. 
 
 "That's Claude, for certain," remarked Frank ; "there's 
 not a boy in the yard who plants his feet more firmly 
 when walking than he does." 
 
 "Nor uses them faster when running away," put in 
 Selby. "Oh! the dear old fellow. Isn't it grand that he's 
 back? Now our company is complete. 'Rah for Claude !" 
 
 "There's something strange about him," remarked 
 Jones, who was closely watching the approaching figure. 
 "How is he changed? He's not the same Claude that 
 left here last June, and who is that little fellow by his side, 
 I wonder?" 
 
 "Wait till he conies closer," said Hunter. "I cannot 
 make out what the change is as yet. But there is one."
 
 THE NEW PREFECT. 19 
 
 "Great and little fishes ! I have it," from Frank. 
 
 "What is it?" asked several. 
 
 "Pants !" 
 
 And so it was. Claude knew he was to be in the gradu- 
 ating class this year, and the day before he started for 
 college he had put on long pants for the first time in his 
 life. He had worn short knee-pants in the Rhetoric class 
 and all his friends had declared that he had no sense of the 
 fitness of things, no regard for the proper dignity of the 
 class, no respect for his compeers ; that he was bringing 
 things down to the level of the kindergarten, etc., etc., 
 but through all their bantering he remained firm. He 
 would not give up his cool and comfortable black stock- 
 ings and knee-breeches. His will was as sturdy as his 
 thick, short legs. As the readers who have thus far fol- 
 lowed Claude Winter's career are aware, Claude was by 
 no means a dull boy. Certainly there was not a lazy bone 
 in his body, and to his activity there was allied a corres- 
 ponding determination of will. So he had borne all last 
 year's chaffing and bantering with a firm resolve to go 
 home as he had come, in short pants, or, as he preferred 
 to call them, knee-breeches. Too appreciative of their 
 comfort in vacation time, he had no thought of changing 
 while by lake and wood, or climbing mountain paths. But 
 the time came for returning to St. Cuthbert's and Claude 
 had to make a decision. 
 
 His father, upon being consulted on this all-important 
 step, amusedly left the decision to the boy, with the 
 remark : "It is time for you to learn to make decisions for 
 yourself." 
 
 His mother had as much reluctance to grant the per- 
 mission as some mothers have to purchase the first razor
 
 20 THE NEW PREFECT. 
 
 for the eldest boy. So Claude had to decide, and, truth to 
 tell, from the time he made the decision up to the present 
 moment he felt extremely awkward in trousers. 
 
 The boys watched him approach. In a hurried con- 
 sultation they decided upon the manner of his reception. 
 No one was to know him. All were to require an intro- 
 duction. 
 
 By this time Claude was within thirty paces of the group 
 of friends. He stopped a moment to speak to his diminu- 
 tive counterpart by his side. 
 
 "Stay here just a moment, Ernest, and your brother 
 will bring his friends over to you. You are not afraid, 
 Ernie, are you ?'* 
 
 "N-no," came the doubtful answer; "but this place is so 
 big and there are so many people here. It isn't a bit like 
 home, and mamma!" 
 
 "Of course it isn't like home, Ernie. It's college, you 
 know. This is the great St. Cuthbert's college. Grand, 
 isn't it? 
 
 "Y-yes, but" 
 
 "Well, you just wait here one minute. I won't be gone 
 more than a minute. Be brave. Nobody will hurt you. 
 You won't mind ? You won't cry, will you ?" 
 
 "No," and this time there was something like Claude's 
 own firmness of will displayed in the reply. 
 
 "That's right. Only a minute," and Claude Winters 
 bounded across the yard to his friends of last year, with 
 eyes sparkling with pleasure, and his vacation-browned 
 face one huge smile. With hands outstretched he began 
 speaking before he reached the group. For the moment 
 he had forgotten all about his uncomfortable long pants. 
 
 "Oh, how do, Frank ! Awfully glad to see all you fel-
 
 THE NEW PREFECT. 21 
 
 lows ! How are you, Howard ? Ah, Rob, glad to see you. 
 How are you all? And Bracebridge! How do you do? 
 My, it's fine to get back to St. Cuthbert's! Shake, old 
 fellows." 
 
 He was greeted with a cold, expressionless stare by 
 all. 
 
 Claude was astounded. He did not withdraw his hand, 
 but stood with it outstretched, and with wide-open mouth. 
 
 Presently Stapleton, imitating one who uses an eyeglass, 
 holding an imaginary one in its place, looked down on the 
 stoutly-built small boy. 
 
 "Aw ! ah ! a stranger here, friends ! Your name, if you 
 please, sir ?" 
 
 "Frank !" exclaimed Claude in surprise. 
 
 "Frank. Frank who, sir?" 
 
 "Oh, come, you fellows, what's the matter with you? 
 As if you didn't know me !" 
 
 "Know you ? How can we know why I do declare, 
 boys," said the actor, Stapleton, "if it isn't Claude and in 
 long pants !" 
 
 They all rushed around him. With a tremendous dis- 
 play of affection they pump-handled his arm until it was 
 sore. 
 
 Under all this bantering and teasing, it must be under- 
 stood, there was a genuine welcome to the late comer. 
 Suddenly Stapleton struck an attitude of mock tragedy. 
 
 "Oh, shade of Shakespeare! look! look at his face!" 
 
 All turned and stared at Claude. 
 
 "What's the matter with my face?" he asked, as he 
 quickly rubbed both cheeks, thinking that perhaps some 
 mud or dust of the journey was disfiguring them. 
 
 "You can't brush it off, Claude. It's no use trying."
 
 22 A MYSTERY FOR CLAUDE. 
 
 "Brush off what ? You fellows seem to be losing your 
 senses. What's up, now?" 
 
 "I'm sure it's positively against college rules. Let's go 
 and see the President about it, boys. We can't stand this." 
 
 Claude was more mystified than ever. 
 
 "What on earth are you fellows driving at?" 
 
 "How many on a side, Claude ?" asked one. 
 
 "Why, nine on a side, of course," said some one else. 
 
 "Two nines, enough for a game of ball." 
 
 Then Claude blushed outright. He was now conscious 
 they were quizzing him on the incipient mustache, which, 
 during the vacation, had begun to make its appearance. 
 
 "Oh, I say, you fellows, you but never mind. Wait a 
 minute until I bring my little brother over here. I want 
 you to make him feel at home." 
 
 "Do, Claude," said Selby. "You must be a perfect 
 pagan to leave the little fellow standing all alone in a 
 strange place." 
 
 Claude Winters turned and looked toward the spot 
 where he had left his brother standing. He was gone. 
 He scanned the large boys' yard. Not seeing him, he ran 
 in haste over to the small division yard. There was not 
 a trace of Ernest Winters. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A MYSTERY FOR CLAUDE. 
 
 CLAUDE WINTERS went to the spot where he had left his 
 younger brother. Not finding him there he surmised that 
 he had already formed acquaintance with some of the boys
 
 A MYSTERY FOR CLAUDE. 23 
 
 of the junior division. He soon found that no one there 
 had seen him. 
 
 "The youngster became tired of waiting. He must have 
 started out to inspect the buildings, I suppose," thought 
 Claude. Acting upon this idea, he began a systematic 
 search. Going first to the President's room, and then to 
 that of the prefect of studies, he next went through all 
 the class-rooms, visited the gymnasium, reading-room, 
 bath-rooms, game-rooms, study-halls, infirmary, chapel, 
 and finally went to each professor's room. He could find 
 no trace of the missing boy. 
 
 Winters now began to be anxious. One of the pro- 
 fessors suggested that Ernest might have wandered 
 toward the kitchen. Claude ran there. Barely taking time 
 to shake hands with the serving-boys, with whom he was 
 a great favorite, he went from kitchen to sculleries, pan- 
 tries, dairy, bake-shop. shoe-shop everywhere, but Ernest 
 was nowhere to be found. Claude returned to his friends 
 in the yard and told them of the sudden and mysterious 
 disappearance of his younger brother. 
 
 Immediately all was excitement. The most extravagant 
 conjectures were indulged in. No one seemed to be able 
 to offer any solution to the problem. 
 
 While the boys were earnestly discussing the difficulty, 
 Mr. Shalford approached unobserved. 
 
 "Well, boys, what's the matter? You all look as scared 
 as if you had seen a ghost. There's been no quarrel, eh? 
 No disagreement among you boys, that's sure. What's 
 wrong?" 
 
 He was told the cause of their uneasiness. Mr. Shal- 
 ford liked Claude's appearance and open, frank counten- 
 ance.
 
 24 A MYSTERY FOR CLAUDE. 
 
 "If your brother is like you," he said kindly to the 
 anxious boy, "you may be sure he is not in mischief, 
 wherever he may be." 
 
 Claude loved Mr. Shalford from that day. 
 
 "Ah !" continued the prefect, "I have it! You walked 
 from the railway depot you two did you not ? Yes ; 
 well, he saw that candy store half way between here and 
 the station, and, as I suppose he has some money in his 
 pocket yet, that must have been the attraction. Run, Win- 
 ters, and see if he is not there making himself sick with 
 pies and tarts." 
 
 Just as the big college bell rang for supper Claude ran 
 in hot haste up the road to the candy store. He burst into 
 the little shop : 
 
 "Have you got my brother here, Mrs. Lane ?" 
 
 "Why, no, Master Claude. I ain't seen no brother of 
 yours whatever. Never knew you had one. Do you want 
 some of my taffy to-day?" 
 
 "Oh, hang your candy. I have lost my brother ! You 
 are hiding him behind the counter there." 
 
 "Lawks sakes, Master Claude, what you do be sayin'! 
 There ain't no brother of yours ever come here this day. 
 Come behind the counter and see for yourself." 
 
 "Excuse me, ma'am," said the boy immediately, like the 
 true little gentleman he was ; "I forgot myself. I cannot 
 think where he has gone. I do hope no harm's come to 
 him. If you see a little boy that looks like me 
 
 "How is he dressed?" interrupted the woman. 
 
 "He has on a black velvet Sunday coat, with silver but- 
 tons, and a broad linen collar, with black stockings and low 
 shoes. He's got long black curly hair, and a 'shanter' hat. 
 And oh ! if you catch sight of him, let us know, won't you ?
 
 A MYSTERY FOR CLAUDE. 25 
 
 If you find him, perhaps it's best to keep him here and 
 send some one to the college." 
 
 "That I will, sure, if ever I sets my eyes on him. Here, 
 Master Winters, take some of these," and the sympathetic 
 woman thrust into his hand some of the newly made 
 "taffy." 
 
 In spite of his troubles Claude was too much of a boy 
 to refuse the candies. Hastily thanking the donor he at 
 once ran home again at full speed. 
 
 By this time there was considerable excitement in the 
 yard. The word was passed hurriedly from mouth to 
 mouth that Claude Winters' little brother was lost. What 
 made his rediscovery more difficult from the boys' point 
 of view, was that no one knew the lost boy, as yet no 
 one had seen him, and there were many new faces on the 
 junior division on the first day of term. 
 
 A search party was suggested by Roy Henning. With 
 the permission of Mr. Shalford three or four small groups 
 .were organized to go in different directions. Mr. Hillson, 
 who knew the country better than the new prefect, gave 
 directions to each group. Claude did not leave the 
 grounds. Again and again he ran through the various 
 rooms and halls of the college, as well as through all the 
 out-buildings and offices and even the barns and stables of 
 the farm. The four search parties were to return by nine 
 o'clock. If by that time there were no traces of the miss- 
 ing boy, then some of the workmen and farm hands were 
 to continue the search farther afield on horseback. Tele- 
 grams were sent up and down the line, as it was possible 
 that Ernest Winters had been enticed to take a ride on a 
 hand-car by some repair men who were known to be work- 
 ing in the neighborhood.
 
 26 A MJSTERT FOR CLAUDE. 
 
 About nine o'clock all the unsuccessful searchers re- 
 turned. The workmen were at once dispatched, with 
 special instructions to look out for tramps and vagrants. 
 
 About ten o'clock that night the President turned the 
 light low in his room, and walked to the door of the pre- 
 fect of studies, to have a further consultation on the very 
 mysterious affair. Father Lovelace suggested that 
 Claude's father be telegraphed to, but to this the President 
 objected, saying that there would be time enough for that 
 in the morning should the boy not be found by that time. 
 By wiring at once it would be uselessly alarming the 
 family without putting them in a position to render the 
 slightest assistance. If some accident had happened to 
 Ernest Winters, bad news would travel fast enough. 
 
 While the two priests were talking together, they heard 
 the clatter of horses' hoofs along the hard gravel road. 
 Some of the workmen were returning. The two went to 
 the door. 
 
 "Any tidings ?" 
 
 "Not the slightest trace, Father," was the reply. 
 
 The two men were completely mystified. That a boy, 
 in broad daylight, from amid a crowd of over two hun- 
 dred and fifty, should be wafted away as completely as if 
 the earth had opened and swallowed him up such a thing 
 had never come within the experience of either. 
 
 They talked in a low tone, so as not to disturb other 
 members of the faculty living on the same corridor, who 
 had long ago retired to rest. Suddenly in the stillness of 
 a hot, close, September night, the two priests heard a 
 strange voice : 
 
 "That's mine ; gimme my hat ! Oh, what a big crowd of 
 boys ! Now I lay me down to " The sentence ended in
 
 A MYSTERY FOR CLAUDE. 27 
 
 some indistinct mumbling. In a second later the words 
 "pray for us sinners," were heard, then more indistinct 
 mutterings, which soon sank into the silence of sleep. 
 Some one had been disturbed by the clatter of the horses' 
 hoofs as they had approached the college. 
 
 The President and his subordinate stared at each other 
 in mute surprise. 
 
 "Where on earth did that sound come from?" enquired 
 the former. 
 
 "From the Bishop's room," answered Father Lovelace. 
 "Wait till I get a light." 
 
 The Bishop's room was situated between the rooms of 
 the President and the prefect of studies. It was, of course, 
 the best furnished room in the college, being reserved for 
 the bishop of the diocese, or any other particularly honored 
 guest. 
 
 The door stood ajar. With the light held above their 
 heads, the two cautiously entered the room. What was 
 their surprise when they saw a boy fully dressed, with 
 his beads around his neck and resting on his now sadly 
 crumpled broad collar, fast asleep on the large bed. 
 
 The sleeper was Ernest Winters. 
 
 The two men gently removed the boy's shoes. They 
 then put him into bed without awakening him. 
 
 Father Lovelace then went to find Claude, to tell him of 
 the discovery, and thus put the now almost frantic boy's 
 mind at rest. All the boys had gone to bed except Howard 
 Hunter, who had been permitted, as the one best fitted to 
 soothe his anxiety, to keep Claude company. Father 
 Lovelace found both kneeling at the altar-steps and recit- 
 ing their beads. Like the true Catholic boys they were, 
 they had sought strength and relief at the tabernacle door.
 
 28 A MYSTERY FOR CLAUDE. 
 
 As may well be supposed, Ernest was the hero of the 
 hour the next morning. He had to tell the story of his 
 sudden disappearance over and over again. We give the 
 story as he told it to his brother the next morning. 
 
 "Why, Ernie, where have you been?" asked Claude, as 
 the boy jumped out of the Bishop's bed ready dressed. 
 
 "I don't know, Claude. I can't remember much. But 
 he had such big black eyes, I had to follow him." 
 
 "Who had big black eyes?" 
 
 "The tall, dark-looking man. He looked just like the 
 picture of the Hindu pa has at home in the dining room." 
 
 "What are you talking about? That picture has a big 
 white turban that comes down over the ears. There isn't 
 anybody who dresses like that in this country. I guess 
 you have been dreaming." 
 
 "No, indeed, I wasn't dreaming. When you left me 
 standing alone when you went to speak to those big boys, 
 I felt like crying because I felt lonesome and I didn't know 
 anybody. You were gone ever so long. I got tired and 
 began to look around." "* 
 
 "Why, Ernie, I wasn't away from you two minutes," 
 said Claude ; but the fact was that he was away for more 
 than ten, although the time did not appear so long to him. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Then, when I looked around, I saw this tall, dark 
 man with big eyes just around the corner of that smaller 
 house there" L and Ernest went to the window and pointed 
 to the infirmary, which was separated from the main 
 building of the college "and I was afraid, but his eyes 
 drew me on and I could not help going toward him. 
 'What is your name?' he asked in such a funny, solemn 
 way. I told him Ernest Winters. Then he said 'Ah !' "
 
 A MYSTERY FOR CLAUDE. 29 
 
 "How was he dressed?" asked Claude. 
 
 "Just like pa dresses when he leaves home and goes to 
 New York once a year." 
 
 "What happened then, Ernie?" inquired Claude. 
 
 "He beckoned me on, and I felt as if I were in a dream. 
 At the gate down there, see," and he pointed out of the 
 window "there was a carriage. Without saying a word 
 we got in, and the carriage drove off. All the time he kept 
 his big eyes on me and I didn't dare move. Soon we came 
 to a big house I think it was a hotel and without saying 
 a word, we left the carriage and went in and up stairs into 
 a beautiful room with large looking-glasses all around the 
 walls. I stood in the middle of the carpet without know- 
 ing why I was there or what he wanted of me. All the 
 time I hadn't spoken a word. 
 
 "Then he left me and went through a door covered all 
 over with looking-glass and I was alone. Then I began to 
 be frightened and wanted to cry but I didn't. In about 
 a minute, the same man came back. All the time he was 
 there I could only look at his eyes and when I did that it 
 seemed as if I couldn't do anything else." 
 
 "What did you do next?" asked Claude with breathless 
 interest. 
 
 "He clapped his hands, suddenly, without speaking a 
 word and another door opened one of those looking-glass 
 doors and another person, dressed just the same as he 
 was, came in with a tray on which were fruits and a 
 bottle of water. When the servant had put down the tray 
 he made a low bow, like those we read of in the Arabian 
 Nights, and then stood with his arms folded across his 
 breast. I guess the fellow with the big eyes was the boss, 
 and the other the servant,"
 
 30 A MTSTER7 FOR CLAUDE. 
 
 "All this time neither of them spoke!" said Claude. 
 "Look here, Ernie, I guess you have been dreaming and 
 are now telling me a fairy story out of your Arabian 
 Nights. You know you were reading it only this week." 
 
 "No, cross my heart, Claudie. Then the funniest thing 
 happened. First place, he, the big-eyed fellow, took 
 his eyes off me, and then I didn't mind. Then the two 
 began to say something I couldn't make out, but it sounded 
 awful funny, just like the conjurer fellows use when they 
 do their tricks. They mixed a few English words with 
 their funny talk, and I seemed to make out that Big Eyes 
 was asking the other something about me. The servant 
 appeared to deny what the other fellow was saying. I am 
 sure I caught the words 'not old enough/ 'too small,' 
 'should be twenty.' " 
 
 "Good gracious!" exclaimed Claude, with a laugh, 
 "perhaps those fellows are after me. You know, Ernest, 
 I shall be twenty next Christmas. But what followed?" 
 
 "Somehow they didn't seem to agree. Then, with many 
 bowings and scrapings, the smaller man went out of the 
 room backward." 
 
 "What followed then, Ernest?" 
 
 "Big Eyes walked up and down the room several times. 
 Then he went to the table and poured out some of the 
 water from the bottle and put a white powder in the glass. 
 It fizzled up. Then he stroked my head quite kindly and 
 offered me the glass." 
 
 "Did you drink it?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 'What did it taste like?" 
 
 "Something like that sherbet papa once gave us at 
 home."
 
 CLARENCE GILKINS. 31 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "That's all." 
 
 "That's all ? What do you mean, Ernie ? How did you 
 get back here, and into the Bishop's room of all places in 
 the college?" 
 
 "Oh, Claudie, I don't remember anything more till I 
 woke up this morning. Isn't this the room I am going 
 to have? It isn't half as nice as our room at home any 
 way." 
 
 Claude laughed aloud. He assured his brother most 
 emphatically that it was not the room he would occupy. 
 He promised that after breakfast he would show him his 
 bed in the dormitory. 
 
 It is needless to say that Claude Winters wrote a full 
 account of this strange occurrence to his father, but while 
 he is waiting a reply from his father a letter which is to 
 contain very important information for our young friend 
 we will make the acquaintance of several of the new 
 boys of the large yard, as several of these bright and 
 delightful youngsters will have to enter into the history of 
 this year at St. Cuthbert's. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CLARENCE GILKINS. 
 
 MR. JOSEPH WHITE SHALFORD, prefect of the large di- 
 vision, stood talking to his assistant on the morning after 
 the occurrences we have related in the last chapter. There 
 was a satisfied look on his face. Claude Winters was 
 telling the two officials the curious story he had heard
 
 32 CLARENCE GILKINS. 
 
 before breakfast from his brother. When the boy had fin- 
 ished, he said: 
 
 "Don't you think it all very strange, sir? If Ernie had 
 not told me all this himself I wouldn't have believed it, 
 but he never tells a lie." 
 
 "That's good. Yes, it's strange indeed. Where is he 
 now ?" 
 
 "Over in his own yard, sir. May I go, please, and show 
 him his bed in his dormitory?" 
 
 "Yes, if the small division prefect will permit you. As 
 you go, Winters, send that tall fellow, who is leaning 
 against the corner of the candy-store, to me. Do you see 
 the boy I mean ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. I'll send him to you," and Claude ran at full 
 speed across the yard and almost into the boy for whom 
 he had the message. 
 
 "Say, Cornstalks, the prefect wants you. Better hurry 
 up, he's waiting for you," was his greeting to the new 
 boy. 
 
 "The what ?" asked the boy. 
 
 "The prefect, the manager of this menagerie, the boss. 
 See, there he stands waiting for you. Better hurry." 
 
 "Don't know as I will. If he wants me he had better 
 come for me." 
 
 "My goodness ! does it hurt ?" asked Claude, apparently 
 with great solicitude. 
 
 "Does what hurt?" 
 
 "Why, that bad temper." 
 
 "I'll show you whether it hurts/' and he made a vicious 
 kick at Claude's shins, but as he had his hands buried 
 deeply in his pockets he was not quick enough for the 
 smaller boy, who jumped away and began chaffing him
 
 CLARENCE GILKINS. 33 
 
 most unmercifully, relying on the swiftness of his legs in 
 case of any attack. 
 
 The big boy sauntered over to where the prefect was 
 waiting for him, his hands still in his pockets and his hat 
 well down over his eyes. 
 
 "What is your name, my boy?" asked Mr. Shalford in a 
 kindly way, as the boy shambled up to him. 
 
 "Gilkins." 
 
 "Gilkins what?" asked the prefect, as he gave the boy 
 a piercing glance from under his bushy eyebrows a 
 glance which the boy perfectly understood, although he 
 gave no indications that he did. 
 
 "Gilkins nothing," answered the boy impudently. 
 
 "Oh, yes it is, you know," and there was a look in the 
 prefect's face which was a revelation to the boy, who saw 
 at once the man before him was master and would stand 
 no trifling. 
 
 "Gilkins what?" came more sternly. 
 
 "Gilkins, sir." 
 
 "Ah ! And what is your Christian name ?" 
 
 "Clarence, sir." 
 
 "Ah ! What a nice name. What a pity to have so nice 
 a name and so ugly a temper one of the finest names in 
 all history. Now, Clarence Gilkins, go to the wash-room 
 and put on a necktie." 
 
 "I don't want no " began the boy. 
 
 "Go !" and the prefect pointed sternly toward the door. 
 There was a force in the gesture and a determination in 
 the tone which were again revelations to Gilkins and to the 
 boys standing around. Whatever might happen the boys 
 saw that Mr. Shalford was not to be trifled with. The 
 boy went.
 
 34 CLARENCE GILKINS. 
 
 In about ten minutes he returned wearing a flaring red 
 tie. He had evidently put it on to vex the prefect. In 
 this he failed. As soon as Mr. Shalford saw Gilkins 
 emerge from the wash-room, he went over to him, and 
 shook hands. 
 
 "Ah, that's something like, my boy. Always try to 
 dress neatly. See, all our boys pride themselves on their 
 natty appearance and taste." 
 
 The shot, however, was lost on Gilkins. 
 
 "Did you enjoy it ?" suddenly asked the prefect. 
 
 "Enjoy what? I mean, what, sir." 
 
 "Oh, come, my boy, let's be friends. You are not such 
 a bad fellow if you only knew it. Did you enjoy your 
 extra smoke? There now don't blush. Besides, I can 
 smell the smoke on you now. It didn't take twelve 
 minutes to tie that tie, that's sure. I think if I were a boy 
 and had the same chance as you had for an extra smoke, 
 I'd take it, too. Wouldn't you, boys?" he said, suddenly 
 turning to the bystanders. 
 
 Many laughingly responded in the affirmative. 
 
 "I don't doubt but what you would," responded the 
 prefect, dryly. 
 
 Gilkins began to think that Mr. Shalford was "not so 
 bad" after all, and that perhaps it would be just as well to 
 keep on his good side. Like many another improperly 
 trained boy, he had allowed himself, unfortunately, to 
 believe that every one in a position of authority was his 
 natural enemy. He had taken it for granted that Mr. 
 Shalford was so, and was now more or less surprised to 
 learn that he could enter exactly into a boy's own manner 
 of thinking about things. 
 
 By a movement, which the boys who had gathered
 
 CLARENCE GILKINS. 35 
 
 around the two quickly understood, Mr. Shalford 
 intimated that he wished to talk to Gilkins privately. 
 When the rest had dispersed Mr. Shalford said kindly : 
 
 "I hope you will be happy and contented here, Clar- 
 ence." 
 
 "Guess I won't though, if everybody is going to be 
 down on me, like they were at my last school," said the 
 boy. 
 
 "But, my dear lad, there is no one here who has the 
 slightest intention of doing any such thing. I suppose 
 people were 'down on you' as you express it, because you 
 didn't behave well and broke the rules and did all sorts of 
 things." 
 
 "Who told you all that?" 
 
 "No one. I do not know where you were last year, 
 and I do not care to know. I only judge from my knowl- 
 edge of boys, and from the way you express yourself." 
 
 "Well, sir, I expect you will soon be the same as all the 
 others were toward me." 
 
 There was a strange pathos in the tone. It indicated 
 many things previous misunderstanding of his nature, 
 blunders which had made his education almost a tragedy, 
 and a longing, a desire for better things and a fresh 
 chance. Mr. Shalford saw all this. He replied : 
 . "I see no reason why I should. It rests entirely with 
 yourself. Make me your friend and make a reasonable 
 effort to keep straight, and you will be as happy as a king. 
 By the way, do you play ball ? Are you any good at foot- 
 ball ? you know the practice season opens in a few days." 
 
 "I was center rush on our team last year." 
 
 "Capital ! You are big and strong enough to make a 
 good one. In training at all now?'
 
 36 CLARENCE CILKINS. 
 
 Gilkins put his fingers to his head and flicked his arm 
 muscles. 
 
 "Good! Muscles as hard as iron! First rate. Why. 
 man, if you watch yourself, you will be an acquisition to 
 St. Cuthbert's yet." 
 
 The boy felt pleased at the interest taken in him. He 
 began to talk freely about matches, and gridirons, and all 
 the technicalities of football. Matters began to look dif- 
 ferent to him. Instead of being exiled from home as a 
 covert punishment for unmanageableness, Gilkins began to 
 see that it was quite possible that the year might prove a 
 most enjoyable one to him after all. He felt as if he were 
 going to get a "fair show" as he called it. Under such 
 pleasant conditions his better nature came uppermost, and 
 he surprised himself by the following remark: 
 
 "I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Shalford : You are just 
 the first man that ever spoke to me like that, and I'm going 
 to try to get along." 
 
 "That's a good resolution. Try hard to keep it. By the 
 way, Clarence, when did you go to Communion last?" 
 
 "I made my Easter, and and " 
 
 "I see, my boy, I see it all. For six months you have 
 foolishly been neglecting the very means to enable you 
 to do right and be happy and contented. Well, we'll 
 change all that, won't we? And remember, my dear boy, 
 I expect great things from you." 
 
 The conference ended by the prefect tactfully securing 
 a promise from Gilkins that some time during the day he 
 would make a visit to the venerable chaplain or spiritual 
 director of the boys. The prefect knew very well that if 
 this zealous old Father once got a boy under his influence 
 everything would soon be all right with him.
 
 CLARENCE GILKINS. 37 
 
 Clarence Gilkins was of an unamiable disposition. He 
 had the unhappy faculty of showing his very worst side 
 to others. A heartless system of harshness at home had 
 stunted all the boy's aspirations and destroyed his ideals. 
 Nor were matters at all mended during the two years he 
 had spent at school previous to his coming, this year, to 
 St. Cuthbert's. Already marks of hardness and of cyni- 
 cism were beginning to show in rather strong lines around 
 the mouth and habitually tightened lips. At a casual 
 glance, a stranger would call him a "tough" boy. He was 
 so in a certain way, but it was mostly on the exterior. 
 The heart was in the right place. 
 
 He was big, awkward, loose-jointed. His clothes did 
 not fit him well. He had not as yet acquired those habits 
 of neatness in dress which make so much for self-respect. 
 Unquestionably he had many faults, and we shall have to 
 chronicle many of his failings. Behind all this array of 
 undesirable qualities there were latent many good ones, 
 and it required just such experience as his prefect 
 possessed to bring them to the surface. 
 
 About an hour later Gilkins once more approached Mr. 
 Shalford. This time the prefect noticed that his hands 
 were not in his pockets, and he also observed that the boy 
 touched his cap, as was the general custom, when he spoke 
 to the prefect. 
 
 "Would you mind lending me the key again, sir?" 
 Without inquiring why he wanted it, the prefect immedi- 
 ately handed it to him. The boy at once realized he was 
 trusted. He was pleased. In two minutes he returned. 
 The flaring red tie had been removed, and one much 
 neater and of a more sober color had been substituted. 
 The reader may regard this as a small matter and scarcely
 
 38 CLARENCE GILKINS. 
 
 worth recording, but Mr. Shalford saw its full signifi- 
 cance. 
 
 "I'm not much of a critic in high art colors, but un- 
 questionably necktie number two is an improvement," he 
 said laughingly, as he again pocketed the key. 
 
 The boy walked away with a satisfied smile on his face. 
 
 "He'll do, if others do not influence him too much," 
 said the prefect to himself. Gilkins walked slowly back 
 to his companions. He was thinking deeply. He had 
 taken a liking to the prefect. He was determined to keep 
 the promise he had made to see the chaplain. But this he 
 knew meant confession, ultimately, and confession meant 
 the breaking away from a class of boys whom he had 
 become acquainted with only yesterday, but who, he had 
 already learned, would for the present, neither go to con- 
 fession, nor be much influenced by him if he were to try to 
 set them an example of keeping straight. 
 
 In his heart of hearts he felt that he was not an alto- 
 gether bad boy. In a dim sort of way he realized that cir- 
 cumstances had been against him : that his chance com- 
 panions had often been undesirable ones : that the mistaken 
 home training of harshness and repression with all its 
 unpleasant consequences had been a misfortune for him. 
 He could not have stated these feelings so clearly as they 
 are set down here, but in some confused manner he felt 
 them. 
 
 The kindly manner of the prefect ; his evident intention 
 to trust him, and, if he himself did not prevent it, to make 
 him happy and contented for the school year, touched him 
 deeply. It aroused within him a desire to recover his self- 
 respect; to make a vigorous effort to rise out of the 
 slovenly, ungentlemanly habits into which he had drifted.
 
 CLARENCE GILKINS. 39 
 
 "By Jove !" he said, half aloud, and then checking him- 
 self "humph ! my patron saint at all events for some 
 time past ! Guess Fll drop that way of talking any way. 
 It seems to me that with a man like that Shalford to look 
 after a fellow there is no reason for me to go to the dogs. 
 Guess I won't, either." 
 
 Now these resolutions, good in themselves, were natu- 
 ral, and were valuable in so far as his natural determina- 
 tion bore him up. By many a breakdown, by many a lapse 
 and fall, he was to learn they were not sufficient of them- 
 selves. It took Gilkins a long time to look to other and 
 more real source of strength than his own will alone, and 
 it caused him many a bitter day, many a hard, hard strug- 
 gle before he arrived at the knowledge that it was not safe 
 to trust himself or to rely solely on his own natural powers, 
 in order, as he expressed it, "not to go to the dogs." 
 
 However, under the influence of his present good reso- 
 lutions he did the correct thing. Instead of returning to 
 the crowd of discontented and more or less maliciously 
 inclined boys with whom he had so far associated, he 
 walked over to where Roy Henning, Selby, and Staple- 
 ton were talking over the prospects of the coming football 
 season. 
 
 Just as he arrived from one direction Claude Winters 
 came from another. They met face to face. Claude was a 
 little frightened and feared for the consequences of their 
 first meeting. He was just a little ashamed at his own 
 rather rude way of addressing a stranger, but he put on 
 a bold face on the matter. 
 
 "Say, Gilkins, what did the prefect say to you?" 
 
 "Look here, young fellow, I don't want you to call me 
 'cornstalks' or any other name any more, d'ye hear?"
 
 40 CLARENCE (HLKINS. 
 
 "I hear ; but what did Mr. Shalford say, anyway ?" 
 
 "No matter. He's a fine man, and I'm going to get 
 along with him." 
 
 "Shake, old fellow. That's the talk," said Claude; "but 
 what a pity you can't play on the gridiron this fall. You 
 are big enough and strong enough to break through any 
 line." 
 
 And Winters, after the fashion of the young Roman 
 who bet his sesterces on the gladiator, began to pat Gilkins' 
 muscular arm. 
 
 The new boy did not know what to make of Claude. 
 He was half-inclined to think he was being patronized. 
 He felt his pulse quickening with anger. Stapleton took 
 in the situation at once. 
 
 "Shut up, Winters let him alone, can't you? You 
 mustn't mind him, Gilkins. Here, you know," and Frank 
 touched his forehead with his forefinger as if to indicate 
 that Claude was not quite sound in the head. 
 
 Winters clenched his fists, making pantomime motions 
 at Frank as if he would presently annihilate him. 
 
 "All right, Claude. I understand. Pistols and coffee 
 for two to-morrow morning before breakfast," he said 
 laughingly. "All the same, if you'll excuse us, Gilkins 
 and I want to talk of football matters," and Stapleton 
 walked off with his newly found acquaintance.
 
 A WONDER WORKER 41 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A WONDER WORKER. 
 
 ABOUT a year before Ernest Winters' strange disap- 
 pearance at St. Cuthbert's college, a number of people had 
 gathered on a hillside, close to the ruins of a temple of 
 Brahma, not many miles from Simla, in northern India. 
 Professional Hindu beggars, squalid and in tatters, and 
 carrying empty rice bowls, were there. They wore the 
 yellow robes which distinguished them as holy mendi- 
 cants. Tall, lithe, dark-skinned and straight-featured men 
 were also there, with yards upon yards of fine Indian 
 muslin rolled turban-fashion around their heads, leaving 
 only the lobe of the ears visible. Many wore white, flow- 
 ing robes reaching to their feet. The white garments 
 lent, by contrast, a brilliancy to the rich Oriental coloring 
 of the various costumes which gave a variety and pict- 
 uresqueness to the scene. 
 
 There were not many Europeans present. Here and 
 there could be seen the redcoat of the British soldier, 
 whose round, red face would indicate his nationality, 
 even without the assistance of his conspicuous uniform. 
 On a few tanned and sun-darkened faces could be dis- 
 tinguished the genuine imperial and goatee of the typical 
 sharp-featured and polite Frenchman. Two long-coated 
 Germans were stolidly smoking china pipes with evident 
 satisfaction. Most of the gathered crowd were expectant. 
 While waiting, many of the natives sat cross-legged on 
 the ground indulging in the fascinating narghile, and if 
 one stood near enough, he could hear the smoke bubbling
 
 42 A WONDER WORKER. 
 
 through the bulb, and observe with what delight the 
 smoker enveloped himself in a cloud of deliciously per- 
 fumed tobacco smoke. 
 
 To some of the company assembled the gathering 
 appeared to have the significance of a religious ceremonial, 
 but by far the greater number had come together for pur- 
 poses of amusement. No people under the sun are so fond 
 of the wonderful and the inexplicable as are the natives 
 of India. They revel in mysticism, provided it be not of 
 too violent a kind. The genius of the people tends to that 
 "Nirvana where the silence reigns" to rest and to indo- 
 lent repose. Nevertheless there are no people on earth that 
 delight more in the wonderful, and the present gathering 
 composed chiefly of Hindus, had congregated in the blaz- 
 ing sun for no other purpose than to witness some extraor- 
 dinary feats of jugglery which a famous wizard had 
 announced he would show them. 
 
 The sightseers were arranged in the form of two-thirds 
 of a circle, the remaining third being occupied by a 
 moderate-sized tent of black goat-hair cloth, before which 
 was erected a low platform about two feet high. 
 
 The great conjurer appeared apparelled in a red fez and 
 a flowing black robe ornamented profusely with hiero- 
 glyphic and cabalistic designs in gold and crimson threads. 
 He held in his hands a short, white, polished wand. 
 
 The performance commenced with the ordinary leger- 
 demain tricks, such as the clever manipulation of swords, 
 of brass balls, of spinning plates and a pretty butterfly 
 trick. This latter performance seemed to please the audi- 
 ence very much. Taking tissue paper of various colors 
 the performer deftly manufactured some paper butterflies. 
 By a gentle movement of his fan he set them in motion,
 
 A WONDER WORKER. 43 
 
 made them hover around his head, settle on his left hand, 
 hover again and settle on a bouquet of flowers. Finally he 
 fanned them high into the air and a slight breeze wafted 
 them among the audience to the intense satisfaction of 
 those who could secure one of them. 
 
 After some snake-charming, the wizard came to the 
 most important part of his entertainment. 
 
 Producing a long sack, which was capable of holding 
 a man, he showed it to the audience, turned it inside out 
 several times and beat it on the floor of the platform. 
 Then he clapped his hands and an assistant appeared 
 clothed in the scantiest of garments, consisting of the 
 Hindu hip-cloth of the water-men of the rivers. 
 
 This man entered the sack which the conjurer held. 
 The conjurer then tied the sack over the assistant's head. 
 He then began to ring violently a good-sized hand-bell. 
 While doing this the wizard's eyes shone brilliantly, giving 
 him a strangely fascinating appearance. 
 
 Untying the sack the occupant's head just appeared 
 enveloped in a large white turban. As the folds of the 
 sack fell from his shoulders it was seen that he was dressed 
 in a full white flowing robe. The audience were much 
 astonished when the whole figure was revealed, to dis- 
 cover that the assistant, now fully costumed, held in one 
 hand a dish of cooked rice actually steaming, and in the 
 other a candlestick containing a lighted candle. 
 
 The next trick was even more startling. The performer 
 went to his tent and brought out a wicker-basket, large 
 enough to hold his assistant. The basket was placed upon 
 end, the lid thrown open and was moved about in various 
 positions so that every one could see that it was a real 
 basket, and empty. While it was being shown to the
 
 44 A WONDER WORKER. 
 
 audience, the assistant stepped to the stage and stood in 
 one corner with arms folded across his breast, motionless 
 as a statue. 
 
 The wizard, placing the basket in the middle of the 
 stage, invited, by gestures, the other to enter it. The 
 latter refused, with evident anger which could be seen in 
 his large black eyes. The wordless entreaty continued for 
 some little time, but the smaller man remained obdurate. 
 He would not move. The conjurer, in anger, ran to the 
 tent and brought out a dangerous looking Damascus blade, 
 with which he threatened the other, who, however, did not 
 appear to be much concerned. 
 
 Seeing he could effect nothing by theatening, he threw 
 down the sword and recommenced his blandishments and 
 persuasive gestures. The other began to relent. He 
 looked at the basket, to the intense satisfaction of the 
 principal actor. All this time, and throughout the won- 
 derful performance no word was spoken. 
 
 The assistant looked at the basket again, stepped nearer 
 to it, and finally consented to get into it. The black-robed 
 master of magic was suave and genial now, but as soon 
 as the man was fairly within the basket his manner 
 changed. He hurriedly and angrily closed the lid, fasten- 
 ing the hasp with a stout, wooden peg so that it could not 
 be opened from the inside. 
 
 It was evident to the audience that, as soon as the assis- 
 tant had entered the wickerwork-basket and had seen his 
 master close the lid on him, he had repented of his 
 acquiescence, for all could hear him striking the under 
 part of the lid. He bent the willow lid in his efforts to get 
 free. 
 
 This seemed to make the magician still more angry.
 
 A WONDER WORKER. 45 
 
 His eyes glared angrily. His whole body shook with pas- 
 sion as he paced up and down the small platform. Every 
 moment his anger was rising, and his passion becoming 
 less under his control. 
 
 Suddenly, in his frantic rage, he caught sight of the 
 sword where he had thrown it. Seizing it he rushed to the 
 basket, which he pierced. When he withdrew the sword it 
 was dripping with blood. An unearthly, agonizing shriek 
 followed such a shriek that it made many of the dark 
 faces of those who were witnessing the strange proceeding, 
 turn several shades lighter. Many believed that the 
 magician had suddenly gone insane. All were sure that 
 he had massacred his faithful assistant. The audience 
 rose to its feet at the horror of the situation. Some were 
 calling aloud, others were trembling, and not a few would 
 have rushed to the stage to secure the murderer. 
 
 The sight of blood on the sword served only to enrage 
 him the more. Again and again did he thrust the sharp 
 instrument through the wickerwork, and each thrust was 
 responded to by a fresh shriek until at last they died away. 
 The assistant's life had evidently been sacrificed to a 
 momentary insane fury of his master. 
 
 There was the intensest excitement among the natives. 
 A hurried consultation was held by about a dozen of the 
 more prominent members of the village community. They 
 hastily decided upon the conjurer's capture. Some made 
 a rapid movement toward the platform. 
 
 The now perspiring actor ran to the front of the stage, 
 and threw down the blood-stained sword. Immediately he 
 returned to the basket. Undoing the fastening, he tilted 
 it on end, with the lid toward the excited audience. He 
 then opened it.
 
 46 A WONDER WORKER. 
 
 The basket was empty! 
 
 A reaction followed. The sightseers stared in astonish- 
 ment at the wonder worker. Never had they seen any- 
 thing half so marvelous. To add to their amazement a 
 moment later the assistant walked from the tent, smiling 
 and bowing. The two clever performers went to the front 
 of the platform and made a profound salaam. The per- 
 formance was over. 
 
 Among the audience was a sharp, business-like native 
 of the United States. He was one of those men who 
 can be found in almost any part of the world. He was 
 shrewd and keen, with an eye ever open to the main 
 chance. He was a purchaser of elephants, lions, and other 
 wild animals, engaged Albanians for dime museums, could 
 drive hard bargains in live snakes, and was ever on the 
 lookout for curios and freaks. The only American in the 
 audience was an agent for a large amusement syndicate 
 in New York. 
 
 "I do declare," he said, half aloud ; "if I could only get 
 those two men to come to the United States, they would 
 make a tremendous hit. I would give them their own 
 terms almost. They'd be the greatest thing of the sea- 
 son, sure.''" 
 
 He determined to make an engagement with them, if 
 possible, but he knew that would take some time. Busi- 
 ness matters in India especially outside the larger cities 
 do not move as rapidly as on Broadway, New York. He 
 knew, also, that he would have to procure the consent of 
 the chief, or head man of the village, if he wished to avoid 
 much opposition and perhaps have the neighboring Eng- 
 lish garrison about his ears. He set about "interviewing" 
 the chief at once, which resulted in a somewhat lighter
 
 A WONDER WORKER. 47 
 
 purse and an arrangement to meet the two clever jugglers 
 at the chief's bungalow that evening as soon as the moon 
 had risen. 
 
 When the moon was flooding the landscape with a soft, 
 hazy light, touching with silver every palm leaf, and 
 beautifying the daylight unsightliness of the village, the 
 American agent went to the bungalow of the village chief. 
 He paid little attention to the exquisite saffron hues on the 
 western horizon, or to the black wall of night in the east, 
 or to the moon itself, which appears so near the earth in 
 these regions. His mind was too full of the project of 
 securing ''attractions" for American pleasure-seekers to 
 give much attention to the charms of nature. 
 
 "Will the Sahib be pleased to enter ?" said a soft-voiced 
 coolie, as the Westerner neared the chief's house. 
 
 "I will that," he replied emphatically. "Just tell your 
 boss that Peter Jenkinson has arrived." 
 
 The servant bowed and went into the house, reappear- 
 ing an instant later. 
 
 "The Sahib will be pleased to follow. The master 
 waits." 
 
 Mr. Jenkinson was shown into a large, rather low room, 
 decorated with Indian art muslin. On the walls were 
 ornaments of shields, spears, and long guns. Here and 
 there on the bare floor of polished wood were stretched 
 handsome tiger skins. 
 
 Three piles of cushions were arranged on a low platform 
 at one end of the room. Immediately in front of the 
 platform stood the ever ready narghiles, or pipes, with 
 their ivory mouthpieces and long, flexible coils, resemb- 
 ling cobras ready to spring. 
 
 Za, the village chief, and the wonderful magician rose
 
 48 A WONDER WORKER. 
 
 as Mr. Jenkinson entered. In true Oriental style they 
 made profound salaams. 
 
 The room was dimly lighted by an antique lamp sus- 
 pended by a silver chain, and fed by an aromatic oil which 
 produced a pleasing odor similar to the perfume of frank- 
 incense. 
 
 When the three were seated on the divan, the old man 
 sounded a small silver gong by his side. Servants ap- 
 peared from behind the arras at certain points around the 
 room. One brought cooled fruit, another coffee in tiny 
 cups, a third a decanter of ice-cool water and a fourth 
 brought cocoa-palm arrack. A fifth servant, who appeared 
 to be a kind of steward, stationed himself in the middle of 
 the room, watching the others arrange the refreshments 
 on a low table not more than a foot high, which they 
 placed immediately in front of the visitor. 
 
 At a given signal from the steward a servant appeared, 
 carrying what seemed to the American guest to be the 
 top part of a cone of white sugar, but which he found on 
 closer inspection to be a white, sweet paste liberally 
 sprinkled with peeled almonds. 
 
 The well-trained coolies moved noiselessly, with cat-like 
 grace and ease. Having fulfilled their duties they stood 
 motionless as statues around the walls, until at a given sig- 
 nal from the steward they disappeared as suddenly and as 
 noiselessly as they had entered. The aged servant awaited 
 a signal from his master. A slight wave of the hand by 
 the chief indicated that he, too, was dismissed. 
 
 As soon as the refreshments had been partaken of, Mr. 
 Peter Jenkinson broached the subject then nearest to his 
 heart. 
 
 "Would Chudwalla, the great conjurer, be willing to
 
 A WONDER WORKER. 49 
 
 come to the United States, and bring his assistant with 
 him? What were his terms? For how long would he con- 
 sent to remain there? What would he consider good 
 terms ?" 
 
 These and many more questions Jenkinson asked. It 
 was soon found there was no indisposition on the part of 
 the clever magician to come to an agreement. Chudwalla, 
 however, insisted upon one peculiar stipulation. Every 
 fourth week he would not perform in public. He must 
 have one week in each month, in which to do as he wished 
 and go where he pleased. Mr. Jenkinson knew what his 
 "drawing" power in the States would be. He therefore 
 saw with regret that he would not be as lucrative to the 
 syndicate, by just one-fourth, as he had anticipated. After 
 the arrangements had been finally settled, and the arrack 
 and coffee partaken of, Za, .the chief, remarked: 
 
 "The Sahib knows not the real reason why I have urged 
 Chudwalla to accept his proposal." 
 
 Mr. Jenkinson smiled knowingly, remarking that he had 
 a pretty good notion. 
 
 "Ah ! the Sahib mistakes. If he will but listen I will tell 
 the real reason." 
 
 "Fire away, then, Mr. Za. These soft cushions, pro- 
 viding my cheroots do not give out, are just the things on 
 which to listen to a good yarn," and he lay back luxu- 
 riously and let the blue smoke curl lazily from his lips. 
 "Shall be glad to hear the whole shooting-match !" 
 
 "The Sahib speaks many words in a strange tongue." 
 
 "Great spooks, no ! That's United States." 
 
 "Ah ! the great people speak in strange ways. It is not 
 like the English tongue which I have learned in my old 
 age."
 
 50 A WONDER WORKER. 
 
 "By the woolly horse of Barnum, I guess not! Why, we 
 beat the Britishers in tongue-wagging every time. Man 
 alive ! we can keep our words locked up in a box and use 
 them when we want them without the trouble of speaking." 
 
 Za threw his palms outward as a sign of his utter 
 inability to comprehend such marvels. 
 
 "The Sahib is amusing himself at our expense," he said. 
 
 "Don't you believe it, old gentleman ; that's no fairy 
 story. In our country we think nothing of talking to one 
 another five hundred miles away." 
 
 "Ah! now I am sure that your worship is talking for 
 amusement, for he means that men talk to each other by 
 means of scrolls." 
 
 "Not a bit of it. We hear each other's voices." 
 
 "Wonderful!" 
 
 "Well, I guess 'tis kind o' wonderful, come to think of 
 it. The fact is we have in our country the greatest kind 
 of wizard the world ever saw. The things he does beat 
 Chudwalla's all hollow." 
 
 "Beats mine?" said Chudwalla. "I should like to see 
 him." 
 
 "All right. As soon as we get to New York we will go 
 over to New Jersey and leave our cards. But what's your 
 yarn, chief? Let's hear your story."
 
 THE HINDU' 8 STORY. 51 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 THE HINDU'S STORY 
 
 ''You saw the ruins of a temple of Brahma on the hill 
 behind Chudwalla's tent this afternoon," began Za, as he 
 stroked his long silver beard reflectively. "My story has 
 much to do with that place, which was once one of the 
 most sacred shrines in Upper India. 
 
 "I was not always as you see me now, the petty chief of 
 this village of Chour, which, as you know, lies at the base 
 of a spur of the Himalaya mountains, and is about forty 
 miles from Simla. 
 
 "I was once a Rajah of considerable importance, and 
 Purkundee, Seran, Loodheana, Sirbind, and other towns 
 in the Seik states under British protection, held me in great 
 respect or paid tribute to me. 
 
 "The reason of my prosperity was the possession of a 
 talisman, which had been handed down from father to son 
 in our tribe for generations. This talisman was a won- 
 derfully yellow diamond. It was so peculiar and so 
 brilliant that merchants who came from afar offered me 
 large sums if I would but sell it. 
 
 "It was so famous a jewel that it was known through- 
 out Hindustan by the name of 'The Eye of Brahma.' Be- 
 sides its special brilliancy the diamond possessed many 
 other remarkable qualities. People who gazed at it long 
 became transfixed to the place, and were unable to con- 
 ceal any secret which others might demand of them. It c
 
 62 TEE HINDU'S STORY. 
 
 application was said to cure the bite of most venomous 
 snakes. In addition to all this it brought the most 
 unlimited good-fortune to the possessor. To it was at- 
 tributed the power of curing any form of sickness from 
 which any member of the family who owned it was suffer- 
 ing. 
 
 "You may be sure I guarded such a treasure with the 
 utmost caution. One day some Brahmins of the temple 
 of Chour came to me with a proposition. Would I 
 allow the Eye of Brahma to be kept in the temple? It 
 would very much increase their revenues if this were 
 permitted. I did not wish to part with the precious talis- 
 man, but they persuaded me that by placing it in the 
 temple it would be considered as still in my possession 
 and I could always have some one of my own household 
 to safeguard it. I still held out. The priest then offered 
 to give me one-third of all the offerings that were made 
 by Hindu pilgrims. Under these conditions I consented. 
 The Eye of Brahma was placed in the forehead of the 
 statue of Brahma. 
 
 "The Eye of Brahma made the temple of Chour the 
 most famous shrine in all India. Thousands upon thou- 
 sands of pilgrims came yearly to this temple. I grew 
 wealthier every year." 
 
 "Kind o' struck a bonanza, eh ?" remarked the American. 
 
 "I do not know whit the Sahib means, but I know that 
 everything prospered with me, so that the English at 
 Lahore in the Punjaub to the north of us, and at Delhi to 
 the south, looked at me askance and thought that I was 
 becoming too powerful a native chief. 
 
 "Whether the events I am about to relate were insti- 
 gated by the English I do not know, but in the light of
 
 THE HINDU'S STORY. 53 
 
 subsequent events I have every reason for believing they 
 were. 
 
 "One year a great pilgrimage was announced to the 
 temple of Chour for the last week in June. For days 
 before the event hundreds of people had arrived and 
 pitched their black, goat-hair tents through all the low- 
 lands around the temple hill. 
 
 "On the night of the pilgrimage I had taken home, as 
 my share of the temple profits a larger bag of coins than 
 I had ever done before. As I was going along from the 
 hill to my house I passed a great many men who were 
 prowling about, and who appeared to be watching me. 
 Every tree and shrub seemed, that night, to be alive with 
 them. They were hiding in every dark corner. I reached 
 my house, however, unmolested, and put my money in the 
 large chest where I kept my wealth. 
 
 "There were strange and ominous signs of some coming 
 trouble. I became anxious for the safety of my talisman, 
 although I remembered that Chudwalla our friend here, 
 then a member of my household was guarding it night 
 and day in the temple. 
 
 "As soon as possible I returned to the temple. I had 
 scarcely entered the private door of the priests when I 
 heard the alarming sounds of an attack on the big doors. 
 Heavy beams were used to break them down. Huge rocks 
 were hurled. At length they gave way. Hundreds of 
 swarthy Hindus rushed into the edifice. The keepers of 
 the temple tried hard to prevent the pillage. I was 
 attacked and left senseless on the floor. Chudwalla was 
 thought to be dead from the injuries he received. 
 
 "When I recovered consciousness my diamond was 
 gone. Weak and bleeding I crawled down the hill to my
 
 54 THE HINDU'S STORY. 
 
 house. It was in flames. My treasure chest had been 
 rifled. The savings of years had been stolen. My ser- 
 vants had fled in terror. 
 
 "Weak as I was from the injuries I had received, I col- 
 lected my tribesmen. Before daylight we set off in haste 
 toward Patialah with the intentions of overtaking the 
 marauders if possible, and of compelling restitution of the 
 jeweL" 
 
 "A regular Donnybrook, eh?" again interrupted Mr. 
 Jenkinson. 
 
 "I understand not the term, Sahib, but we captured the 
 chief of the Patialah tribe and held him prisoner. Then 
 the British authorities interfered and we w r ere all com- 
 pelled to travel down the Dooah canal, a distance of nearly 
 two hundred miles, to Delhi, to have the case tried accord- 
 ing to the slow fashion of English law. The judge ordered 
 the return of my wonderful diamond. I was overjoyed. 
 
 "When the officers began to put the sentence into exe- 
 cution, alas! my talisman was nowhere to be found. It 
 had as completely disappeared as if it had never existed. 
 A year later some of my tribe traced it to London, but 
 after that we lost all trace of it completely. 
 
 "And you expect Chudwalla to find that bit of char- 
 coal for you in the United States !*' exclaimed Jenkinson, 
 now thoroughly interested. "Don't forget that the United 
 States is a terrible big place." 
 
 "Wait, Sahib, and you shall hear my reasons for so hop- 
 ing. I consulted a member of the Holy Brotherhood, the 
 monk Attra, who is an adept of our esoteric Brahminism. 
 He has prophesied that unless I send some one in search 
 of my talisman, who has seen the Eye of Brahma, and was 
 present when the temple was pillaged, I shall never recover
 
 THE HINDU'S 8TOR7. 55 
 
 it. or my fortunes. It has been my fate to long and wait 
 for years, for this person. To-day I have found the 
 favored one in the great magician, for I have discovered 
 that he is the Chudwalla that formerly guarded my 
 precious treasure." 
 
 "Well, I do declare!" said the agent, "if you Hindus 
 don't beat just everything. Do you mean to say. stranger, 
 that you place reliance on such a story? Well, well! If 
 I ever ! Dear me ! Well, well ! Strikes me, partner, that 
 a Xew York newsboy would have a fine sight better chance 
 to get that back for you than our friend, the conjurer, 
 here. By the way, what makes you think the jewel is in 
 my country?" 
 
 "The American Sahib must know," replied the old 
 chieftain, "that the great pundit, Attra, has often projected 
 his astral form into the land of the fresh-water seas, and 
 has more than once seen the Eye of Brahma in that land 
 where no thirst can come." 
 
 Mr. Peter Jenkinson turned and looked sharply into 
 the face of the chief, who, he imagined, was quizzing him. 
 Seeing only the most perfect credulity there, amusement 
 began to take the place of suspicion, although he recog- 
 nized there was indeed something pathetic in the old man's 
 sorrow for his losses. 
 
 "Unfortunately," continued Za, "Attra has been unable 
 to exactly locate the diamond. When his astral form 
 his other self reunites itself with his own body, in some 
 strange manner, his memory loses all consciousness of the 
 place where he has seen the Eye." 
 
 "Look here, old man," said the practical Yankee, "all 
 this is undoubtedly a 'fake/ You tell Mr. Attra so, with 
 my compliments, when you see him again." And the buyer
 
 66 THE HINDU'S STORY. 
 
 of elephants leaned back on the soft cushions, with his 
 hands behind his head, and the right foot resting on the 
 left knee, the picture of luxurious rest and self-confidence. 
 
 "I am sure the guest of Za does not wish to insult his 
 host," said the chief, with a dignity which surprised and 
 checked the agent. 
 
 "Pardon me, partner ; no offense, you know." 
 
 "If the Sahib is not convinced that I speak truly," con- 
 tinued the chief, with an impressive native dignity, "I 
 shall be pleased to show him a few wonders. I, myself, 
 have reached to no small attainment in Brahminical mys- 
 teries, although I cannot control the powers of nature in 
 any such degree as the wonderful Attra." 
 
 "All right, old man; go ahead. I shall be delighted 
 to see some more monkey tricks, but I don't expect they 
 will beat Chudwalla's anyway." 
 
 Za clapped his hands. The old coolie appeared from 
 behind the arras where he had heard all that had passed. 
 He knew what his master wanted. He placed a brass 
 tripod of equisite workmanship in the center of the room, 
 about fifteen feet away from the low refreshment table at 
 the foot of the divan. The tripod was an excellent speci- 
 men of Indian handicraft, representing three wonderfully 
 wrought and lifelike-looking snakes, whose heads were on 
 the ground, and whose undulating bodies were so arranged 
 .that the three tails supported a curiously wrought brass 
 dish. Below the dish was a shelf on which was a lighted 
 spirit-lamp, which had already well-heated the dish above 
 it. 
 
 At a signal from Za, the servant placed some pieces of 
 sandalwood on the dish, and over them scattered a white 
 powder. He then retired as noiselessly as he had entered.
 
 THE HINDU'S 8TOKY. 57 
 
 Very soon a faint, white smoke rose from the dish. It 
 resembled the meadow reek on a warm summer night. 
 A delicious, soft, languorous odor began to be perceived 
 by the American searcher for curiosities. He enjoyed the 
 delicate perfume. He imagined himself reclining on rose- 
 colored clouds, seeing in the mist before him the most 
 beautiful of landscapes, embroidered by the fairest of 
 earth's flowers. To his imagination, singing-birds filled 
 the air with melody, and he pictured to himself, in the 
 thin vapor, that most delightful of all things in a hot 
 country a cascade of cool, limpid water. 
 
 Jenkinson propped his 'head with a pillow and looked 
 fixedly at the tripod. Those spiral folds of the brass 
 snakes were certainly moving and writhing! 
 
 The brazier now sent up a white column of perfumed 
 smoke, completely hiding the light of the single lamp 
 above. It filled the distant part of the room and hid the 
 silken arras. 
 
 Za, sitting on the left of the American, began to grow 
 rigid. Stretching out his long thin arm, with stiffened 
 forefinger, he pointed to the white cloud. 
 
 "Look !" 
 
 "Who is it?" asked the agent in an awed whisper. 
 
 "Attra of the Holy Brotherhood !" 
 
 What did Jenkinson see, or at least, what did he ever 
 after declare he saw? 
 
 In the center of the white vapor, now massed in the 
 far part of the room, he discovered the faint, indistinct 
 outlines of a human figure. Gradually it grew more dis- 
 tinct, and he saw the tall form of a Brahmin mendicant 
 priest clad in a long, yellow robe, cinctured about the 
 waist, from which was suspended a string of prayer stones.
 
 58 THE HINDU'S STORY. 
 
 He held in his hand an empty wooden rice bowl. His 
 eyebrows were shaven and the finger nails were dyed 
 black. His eyes had the deep, cavernous look of a 
 Brahminical mystic. 
 
 The figure appeared about three feet above the ground. 
 The agent was much interested, arid, perhaps, not a little 
 startled. He was about to ask Chudwalla whether he 
 could not reproduce this illusion when he came to America, 
 when Za made a peremptory gesture for silence by putting 
 his finger to his lips. 
 
 "Look again, Sahib." 
 
 Once more Jenkinson turned his eyes in the direction 
 of the white vapor. Looking intently at the still visible 
 figure of Attra, he discovered at his side the faint out- 
 lines of another person. In a short time the filmy figure 
 had assumed definite shape. Jenkinson was intensely sur- 
 prised, for in the mist he saw himself. His own face and 
 features ; his soft felt hat, well back on his head, standing 
 collar, cutaway coat, and even his high pants and low 
 shoes. He saw a perfect picture of himself. The vision 
 even went into details, and he perceived himself in his 
 usual attitude, his hands in his pants' pockets, with the 
 ever-ready cheroot in his mouth. 
 
 The agent sat with wide-open mouth, staring intently 
 at the vision of himself. For once in his life he had seen 
 something which his practical, business mind could not 
 account for which he could not price or estimate. 
 
 "Well, I do declare! Well, I do declare!" -fie repeated 
 time and again. 
 
 Chudwalla and Za smiled with satisfaction. They had, 
 at least, shown their visitor something the secret of which 
 he did not pretend to fathom.
 
 THE HINDU'S STORY. 59 
 
 The apparition, which had lasted for the space of about 
 ninety seconds, now began to fade. Smoke had ceased to 
 ascend from the metal dish. In two minutes the room was 
 clear of the heavily perfumed vapor. 
 
 "The American Sahib will give us credit for being able 
 to accomplish some wonders," said the now pleased old 
 man. 
 
 "You may stake your last dollar on that," remarked 
 Jenkinson, as he rose to go. "Well, then, Chudwalla, 1 
 meet you at the P. & O. steamers' docks in Bombay on the 
 tenth of next month." 
 
 Chudwalla bowed assent. 
 
 "I have one word to add to my story," said Za, as he 
 led his guest to the veranda of his bungalow. "Should the 
 present holder of the precious Eye of Brahma, when dis- 
 covered, be found to be an honest man and willing to 
 return to me what is my own and which the English' court 
 at Delhi has declared to be my own, I will, for his honesty, 
 give him or his son, five hundred acres of the richest land 
 here around Chour." 
 
 "I tell you what it is, my friend," replied the agent: 
 "it is my belief that you will never have the occasion to 
 part with your land, although it is Peter Jenkinson who 
 wishes you luck in your search. Put it there old man." 
 
 As he again shook hands with the old chieftain, he 
 asked one more question. 
 
 "Say, squire, just tell me now, won't you, how those 
 figures appeared in or on that smoke ? I am sure it beats 
 any other trick I have ever seen in any part of the world." 
 
 The Hindu stroked his long silvery beard and smiled, 
 but remained silent. And so Mr. Jenkinson never learned 
 the mystery. Whether he had seen the astral form of
 
 60 MR. H1LLSON LEAVES. 
 
 which there is so much talk, or a vision, or whether 
 his own brain had been over-excited so that he imagined 
 he had seen things that had no reality, he is unable to 
 determine to this day. 
 
 As he walked to his lodging-place, he began to think 
 over the events of the evening. 
 
 "Five hundred acres, eh ! poor old man ! What strange 
 fancies and delusions there are in the world ! Guess he'll 
 keep his land for many a year to come. Great Scott, five 
 hundred ! Why, the railroad will be running from Lahore 
 and Simla to Delhi in a year or two right through this 
 valley. There would be money in land then. I do declare, 
 when I get back to the United States if I am not going to 
 have a hunt for that stone myself. It's queer if Peter 
 Jenkinson don't get some trace of it." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MR. HILLSON LEAVES. 
 
 ONE of the pleasures of our young tnends on returning 
 to college as members of the graduating class, was to find 
 a cosy class-room ready for them. Mr. Hillson had 
 thought long about doing something for the boys whom he 
 was about to leave. He wished to make a special parting 
 gift, by which they would remember him. 
 
 He was at a loss what to do. He had thought of adding 
 something to the gymnasium, but both it and the game- 
 rooms were abundantly stocked with everything necessary 
 and useful for all indoor exercise or amusement. Then 
 he thought of purchasing some sets of favorite authors for
 
 MR. HILLSON LEAVES. 61 
 
 the boys' library, but he relinquished that idea. None 
 that were really valuable were wanting. Finally he hit 
 upon the plan of furnishing the class-room of the Phil- 
 osophers in as comfortable a manner as was consistent 
 with the good hard study which was expected from the 
 graduating class. He procured a fine ornamental swing- 
 lamp, some lace curtains, three or four steel engravings 
 of pictures by great masters. The old and whittled desks 
 were removed and each Philosopher was provided with 
 a private desk and a very comfortable chair. The desk 
 and platform of the professor were taken away, and a long 
 green-covered table substituted ; at the head of which a 
 very comfortable arm-chair was provided for the profes- 
 sors who were to introduce these boys to the mysteries of 
 logic, ontology, psychology, natural theology, and Cath- 
 olic ethics. 
 
 Perhaps my readers will be inclined to say that the boys 
 deserved such a room if they had to study such hard sub- 
 jects as those just named. Well, let them wait until they 
 arrive at the last stage in their college career and they will 
 find this formidable array of subjects to be not quite so 
 formidable as they appear on paper. Our young friends 
 did not find them so difficult after they had once become 
 used to the terms, and had learned how to "use their tools" 
 as it were. But of this we shall speak later. 
 
 On the day following their arrival, accompanied by Mr. 
 Shalford, the members of the Philosophy class were taken 
 by Mr. Hillson to their class-room. 
 
 As he unlocked the door and told the boys to enter, he 
 was amply repaid for all the trouble he had taken by wit- 
 nessing their surprise and delight. 
 
 "This is glorious," said Stapleton. "Who did it all?"
 
 62 MR. HILLSON LEAVES. 
 
 "Splendid!" "Fine!" "Grand!" "Great!" was the 
 chorus of admiration from the delighted boys. 
 
 "Who did it all ?" again asked Frank Stapleton. 
 
 Mr. Hillson was silent. 
 
 "I'll tell you who did it," said Mr. Shalford; "there's 
 the culprit" pointing to the retiring prefect, who, the 
 boys afterward declared, actually blushed. "He is the 
 kind, thoughtful man who can never do enough for you 
 boys. I do not believe there is a Philosophy class-room 
 in any college in the country equal to this." 
 
 "I don't believe there is, sir," said Hunter. 
 
 "And you must show your appreciation of Mr. Hillson's 
 kindness, not only by taking care of these fine desks and 
 chairs here, but also while you have things very comfort- 
 able, not to waste your time in idleness. Believe me, boys, 
 your semi-annual examinations come terribly soon. I 
 know they did for me when I was a boy," he added, laugh- 
 ingly. 
 
 "You will not be much overlooked this year," he con- 
 tinued ; "you will be left considerably alone. You will do 
 your studying here, so you are free from all study-hall 
 routine. I need hardly say that Mr. Hillson has procured 
 you that privilege, and it is my opinion that he is over- 
 kind, over-indulgent, and of course, is spoiling all of you 
 yes, spoiling all of you." 
 
 The laughing twinkle in his eyes belied his words. 
 
 "No, no, no, no," came the chorus in earnest protest. 
 They scarcely knew whether Mr. Shalford meant what he 
 said. 
 
 "Well, I have my doubts. Yes, I have my doubts, but 
 time will tell. But, seriously, boys, your position is a 
 responsible one in the college. You are the highest class.
 
 
 MR. HTLLSON LEAVES, 63 
 
 All the boys look up to you. The moral tone of St. Cuth- 
 bert's depends largely on you ten boys. 
 
 "At Mr. Hillson's earnest solicitation I put no obstacle 
 in the way of his plans for your comfort. You have now 
 to show your appreciation by acting honorably and in a 
 manly way throughout the whole year. I am sure it would 
 wound Mr. Hillson very much if he were to learn that 
 you had lost, by any bad conduct on your part, a privilege 
 he had great difficulty in obtaining for you, "and I must 
 candidly confess although I do not believe those wings 
 will sprout this year I must confess, that I do not antici- 
 pate any trouble from you." 
 
 "Don't you fear for us, Mr. Shalford," said Claude 
 Winters. "I'll keep these fellows straight you'll see." 
 At which remark all the rest burst out laughing. 
 
 "And we, sir, will constitute ourselves a committee of 
 the whole to look after the little man in long pants," re- 
 marked Selby. 
 
 "Oh ! I'll pay you for that when I get you alone," said 
 Claude. 
 
 "Well, good-by, boys," said Mr. Shalford. "I'll leave 
 you for a last talk with Mr. Hillson. Oh, I forgot one 
 thing, which I may as well state now and then everything 
 will be understood between us. This room is open to you 
 at all times, but it is not free to any boy, big or small, 
 who does not belong to the Philosophy class, nor can any 
 one come here without having first obtained my permis- 
 sion. Please, let this be well understood. Is it all clear, 
 boys? Everything clear?" 
 
 They all answered that they understood the regulations 
 fully. 
 
 "Well, then, I leave you now. I'm very busy. I leave
 
 64 MR. HILLSON LEAVES. 
 
 Mr. Hillson to your tender mercies, ha, ha!" and he was 
 gone. 
 
 It was a pleasant time, that next half hour. It was 
 never eradicated from the memory of several of the boys 
 present. At first there was a little restraint on the part of 
 the boys. All wanted to say something suitable, and no 
 one seemed able to think of the right thing. The one 
 thought predominated. They were about to lose their 
 true and tried friend. 
 
 Mr. Hillson, in his tactful way, came to the rescue. He 
 became reminiscent, going over all the years he had spent 
 at St. Cuthbert's. He remembered these strong, big, full- 
 grown boys when they first came, little, timid fellows in the 
 small division. He recalled this famous hand-ball game, 
 that celebrated baseball victory, or that long day's rabbit- 
 hunting. 
 
 He remembered them on the day when this almost iden- 
 tical group, four years ago, came over to the large yard. 
 He recalled the various events of interest, year by year, 
 until they were surprised by the accuracy of a memory, 
 which could bring up details of events long since forgotten 
 by themselves. Finally, in his chatty way, he went over 
 the principal events of the previous year. He touched upon 
 the mad freak of the boys at the haunted mill, and of Hun- 
 ter's subsequent illness. He brought back to their memory 
 how Hunter had suffered mental tortures afterward 
 through the slanders of Finch and Buckley, of the part 
 the now changed, but then misguided Jones had played 
 in that miserable affair, and how everything was event- 
 ually righted. 
 
 He enquired whether those lines were ever recited for 
 the attempted trial of the Testy Tailor for the murder of
 
 MR. HILL SON LEAVES. 65 
 
 the living witness, who testified that he was murdered. 
 The catching of the thief and his expulsion the visit to 
 Rosecroft manor and the baptizing of the dying man on 
 the hillside last year, were all recalled with much more 
 fullness of detail than recorded in a former volume, and 
 from each event he drew some good lesson, which tended 
 to form character, admonish, or give encouragement. 
 
 But Mr. Hillson was at his best when giving these boys 
 he loved so much some good advice for the future advice 
 which, if followed, would enable them to avoid the snares 
 and pitfalls of a great college, where all sorts of charac- 
 ters and dispositions must necessarily meet and have their 
 influence for good or ill on one another. 
 
 It would be impossible to reproduce his words. Pen 
 and ink will not convey the glance of the eye, or record 
 the earnest, loving tones of the spoken words. Cold type 
 would be but a poor medium by which to convey to the 
 reader a notion of the respect and love in which these boys 
 held their former teacher and prefect. 
 
 He spoke earnestly and in a heartful way to hearts that 
 were full also; full of deep feeling and of good resolve 
 and noble purpose. All he said fell apparently on good 
 soil, which he himself had taken years to prepare. 
 
 After having spoken seriously for some time, he as- 
 sumed a lighter vein. He did not want the strain to be too 
 great. 
 
 "And now, boys, I want to say a word about your study 
 of philosophy. Work hard. Be united, and when the 
 time comes for having circles (not wheels. Claude,) try 
 earnestly to put each other in the sack !" 
 
 All this was, as yet, worse than Greek to the boys. He 
 continued :
 
 66 MR. HILL SON LEAVES. 
 
 "Master well your terms. They are your instruments 
 of mental warfare. Always argue in syllogistic form. 
 How is this for a syllogism, Claude? 'Either it rains, or 
 it does not rain. But it does not rain ; therefore, it rains' ?" 
 and Mr. Hillson laughed aloud at the boy's perplexity. 
 As yet it was too much for him. None of them, at that 
 stage, could detect the evident sophism. 
 
 "Never mind, Claude. Wonderful wisdom will come 
 to you by and by. Don't be in a hurry. And now, boys, 
 as I have only half an hour left before the train starts, and 
 as I have to say good-by to several members of the faculty, 
 I must leave you with one word : Consider well, this year, 
 what your calling in life is to be. Choose well, but pray 
 much before you choose. Some people say Catholic col- 
 leges are instituted for the purpose of securing young men 
 for the priesthood. This is not true. A Catholic college 
 will foster a vocation if a boy has one, but it cannot give 
 it. A vocation to the sacred ministry is a gift of God. 
 If any of you feel that you have a vocation to the sacred 
 ministry, in the name of God, do not neglect it, but guard 
 it as you would the most precious jewel you could possess. 
 Among the thousands of priests who are engaged in paro- 
 chial work there is scarcely one who does not do two men's 
 work, and often more. It is as true to-day as ever that 
 the harvest is great, but the laborers are few. And, boys, 
 do not sneer and think the less of those rural priests be- 
 cause their worn coat may be shiny at the collar, or the 
 knees of their pants are over-smooth. They are the heroes 
 and noblemen of the Church in this country, who, being 
 refined, educated, polished, give up every convenience of 
 life for souls. Oh, I could " 
 
 But he stopped short and hastily looked at his watch.
 
 MR. HILLSON LEAVES. 67 
 
 "Really, my dear boys, I could say a great deal about 
 these grand characters, but I have not time. Now, may 
 God bless you. May Almighty God bless you. I, I will 
 pray for you always. Good-by, good-by !" 
 
 The young fellows crowded around him with choking 
 hearts. Long were the hand-clasps, mostly in silence. Full 
 hearts would not trust trembling lips to speak. "Good-by, 
 good-by, sir," was about all any one trusted himself to 
 utter. The pity of it, that when our hearts are fullest our 
 words are weakest. Brief indeed were the words they 
 used, but they were eloquent of mutual love and esteem, 
 mutual well-wishings, and mutual regrets at parting. Out 
 of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh, but 
 there are times, also, when the heart is so abundantly 
 filled with solemn emotion that words are useless and 
 almost a sacrilege. 
 
 More than one big tear rolled down from Mr. Hillson's 
 eyes. At last the hand-shaking was done. Once more 
 the loved prefect said, "Good-by, boys," but no one would 
 trust himself to speak. So in silence Mr. Hillson left the 
 room. 
 
 Big Frank Stapleton went to the window, and by some 
 unaccountably sudden cold in the head, was busy blowing 
 his nose. Several of the others tried hard to look uncon- 
 cernedly out of the windows and failed miserably, while 
 others sat in more or less disconsolate attitudes at their 
 desks or on the table. 
 
 "Say, boys, there's the carriage ! The idea of us staying 
 here, and hot seeing him off !" 
 
 "Why, of course ! What are we thinking about ?" said 
 Stapleton. The tension of the emotion was thus broken. 
 The boys, a moment before so affected by the parting from
 
 68 A MOTHER'S MEMORY. 
 
 their friend, were now all animation. Rushing downstairs 
 to the yard, they soon collected all the boys at the front 
 entrance to the college. 
 
 After a few minutes the front door was opened and 
 the venerable President appeared, warmly shaking Mr. 
 Hillson's hand. They both stepped outside and then the 
 late prefect saw the whole college gathered in front of the 
 steps. For a moment he appeared about to withdraw from 
 the impending ovation. 
 
 The President saw the motion and laughingly pushed 
 him forward. This action the boys took as a sanction for 
 all they should do. Cheer upon cheer rent the air. Hats 
 and caps were tossed and the enthusiasm seemed to know 
 no bounds. Mr. Hillson was reaping the rewards of faith- 
 ful service, and of thousands of kindly actions. The older 
 boys noticed with satisfaction that none cheered more 
 loudly nor longer nor lustier than their new prefect, Mr. 
 Shalford. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 A MOTHER'S MEMORY. 
 
 "LooK at George McLeod, fellows ; doesn't he seem to 
 be badly in the dumps ?" said Rob Jones to a group of boys 
 near the grand stand on the baseball field. 
 
 "He certainly does look as if something were the mat- 
 ter with him," remarked Ambrose Bracebridge. 
 
 "Haven't you heard about the fuss he got into on 'first 
 day' ?" asked Fred Nash, who was near by, waiting to take 
 his turn at the bat in a scratch game of ball.
 
 A MOTHER'S MEMORY. 69 
 
 "No; what's the matter?" asked several. 
 
 "I can't tell you now there! that fellow is out. I'll 
 tell you what I know when I fan out," and the speaker 
 went toward the home-plate. 
 
 The little group, including Howard Hunter and Claude 
 Winters, watched McLeod as he slowly walked alone 
 along the mile track which skirted the diamond. The boy 
 looked sad and disheartened. His cap was down over his 
 eyes, his hands in his pockets. He appeared to be in some 
 great trouble. 
 
 "It's a pity to see that jolly fellow in trouble," said Rob 
 Jones. "I wonder what it can be. He is, if I mistake not, 
 a sodalist, and even a minor officer, censor or something 
 of that sort. I wonder what is the matter with him." 
 
 "I'm surprised you fellows haven't heard about the 
 scrape he got into," said Nash, who had promptly fanned 
 out according to his own predictions, "but as you live so 
 much in your furnished apartments you Philosophers 
 of course you don't hear half that is going on in the yards." 
 
 "Humph ! I'd like to know who stays more in 'Hillson's 
 parlor' than you do, Nash," said Winters. "But anyway, 
 tell us all about McLeod, there's a good fellow." 
 
 "It is pretty serious, I believe," said Nash. "He came 
 here this year a day ahead of time." 
 
 "That wouldn't make him so blue " interrupted Winters. 
 
 "Just wait, can't you, for what I have to say. He came 
 ahead of time, as I say, and was allowed to go where he 
 liked until the crowd came. Well, in the morning of your 
 arrival he went into town and came back acting very 
 strangely. Father Lovelace saw him and demanded an 
 explanation, which he refused to give there was some 
 trouble. That's all I know."
 
 70 A MOTHER'S MEMORY. 
 
 "Pshaw ! You are a great story-teller ! That doesn't 
 explain much," said Winters. 
 
 "Well, if you want further information, you had better 
 go and ask Mr. Silverton, the division prefect. I've told 
 you all I know." 
 
 Winters did not seek the division prefect, nevertheless 
 Mr. Silverton was puzzled. Rarely had he met a boy that 
 he could not manage. There was a harshness and an un- 
 manageableness about McLeod he could not understand. 
 The lad's character was an enigma to him, and it was not 
 for two or three weeks after the above conversation had oc- 
 curred that he discovered the key. George was a bright, 
 intelligent, and generally well-behaved boy. He was 
 always well and neatly dressed. He had a fine clear skin 
 and well-cut features. Owing to somewhat weak sight, 
 he wore eye-glasses. He was thirteen years old and he 
 had been at St. Cuthbert's one year. 
 
 Notwithstanding his really prepossessing appearance 
 there was evidence of a hardness, amounting almost to 
 cynicism in the boy's character, which caused no little 
 anxiety at home and at college. 
 
 His father was wealthy, to a large extent over-indul- 
 gent, and had allowed George to have his own way. He 
 had permitted him to attend a public school in a fashion- 
 able locality for two years. Perceiving, at length, that his 
 character was not being developed in the right direction, 
 Mr. McLeod had sent him to St. Cuthbert's, where, 
 although a big boy for his age, he was placed under the 
 care of Mr. Silverton in the junior division. 
 
 Upon his arrival the newcomer was placed in the Third 
 Academic class, where he was to begin the study of Latin. 
 It was soon evident that the new scholar was hard to man-
 
 A MOTHER'S MEMORY. 71 
 
 age. After the novelty of being at a new school and 
 among a set of boys who were strangers to him had worn 
 off, George McLeod began to give trouble. Very often 
 the teacher sent him from the class-room to the prefect 
 of studies for punishment for some grave misdemeanor. 
 Time and time again it was found that the youngster, in- 
 stead of going to the office of that dread functionary, had 
 quietly slipped out of the yard and spent the hour on his 
 back watching the clouds, under the trees in the blue 
 grass. 
 
 Mr. Silverton was not a believer in the doctrine of total 
 depravity. He had the happy faculty of finding out and 
 cultivating the best side of a boy's character. He studied 
 each boy. Precisely because of the dangerous tendencies 
 already more or less developed in this case, he made an 
 especial study of George McLeod. 
 
 "I do not like the boy's hardness of face, nor that 
 frequent cynical shrug of the shoulder, especially in one 
 so young," the prefect said to his assistant ; "but there is 
 one hope left. The boy, this year, has joined the First 
 Communion class. It is quite late for him, but you know 
 he has been to a public school for some time. I suppose 
 his father was careless about the matter. I hope his First 
 Communion will solve the difficulty." 
 
 "I am told, George, that you have joined the First Com- 
 munion class," he said, as the boy came up. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "That's good. Now we may hope for an improvement, 
 eh?" 
 
 The boy was silent. He would make no promise. Sev- 
 eral weeks passed from the time of Nash's remarks on the 
 ball-field and there appeared little difference in George's
 
 72 A MOTHER'S MEMORY. 
 
 conduct. As the time for the great event approached, Mr. 
 Silverton spoke earnestly to the boy. He ended by saying : 
 
 "Now listen, George. You must know that it is simply 
 impossible for you to go on in this way and to think you 
 will be allowed to make your First Communion." 
 
 The warning had a good effect. For several days his 
 professor and Mr. Silverton saw, or at least they thought 
 they saw, an improvement. Giving the boy every benefit 
 of every doubt, as well as relying on the effects which 
 the First Communion would produce, the President 
 decided to allow McLeod to make it with the rest of the 
 class. 
 
 A holiday was granted to the First Communion class 
 on the Monday following, the boys being permitted to 
 attend an early Mass, in order to spend a long day in the 
 woods. 
 
 On the Tuesday morning, the day after the holiday, 
 during the students' Mass, Mr. Silverton was very much 
 surprised to see George McLeod and his friend Bruce 
 Goodwin engage in an animated whispered conversation 
 during the whole time of Mass, interspersed not infre- 
 quently with snickering and suppressed giggling. 
 
 Not wishing to publicly humiliate a boy so soon after 
 his First Communion by making him stand out in the aisle 
 for the rest of the Mass, the prefect caught George's eye, 
 and by a glance conveyed the unspoken reproof. The 
 effect was instantaneous, but transitory. The whispering 
 was resumed almost immediately. 
 
 "Wait for me outside," said Mr. Silverton, as the two 
 delinquents were leaving the chapel. The boys remained 
 in the yard. Bruce Goodwin touched his hat and looked 
 ashamed and sheepish as the prefect came up to him.
 
 A MOTHER'S MEMORY. 73 
 
 George McLeod stood with his hands behind his back, 
 with that detestable half-leer on his face, so incongruous 
 in one so young. 
 
 "I am very sorry, George, to see such conduct at Mass, 
 so soon after the great event of last Sunday, too. What 
 does it all mean ?" 
 
 "What's the matter, sir?" 
 
 "Matter ! You know well enough to what I refer 
 your conduct at Mass this morning. Is this the way a 
 First Communicant should act?" 
 
 "You didn't say anything 
 
 "No, because I did not want to disgrace you. I wanted 
 to save you the shame of being publicly punished in chapel 
 so soon after the great event of your life. As it is, those 
 who saw you are much shocked." 
 
 The curl on the boy's lips became harder. There was 
 a nasty gray look in his eyes. Mr. Silverton sighed as he 
 saw his words had little effect. 
 
 "Last Sunday," he continued, "should have been, and 
 was, a turning-point in your life. Before that time you 
 were considered to be more or less only a little animal, 
 moved by instinct rather than reason. When one has 
 made his First Communion he must begin to think to 
 allow his reason to control his actions. He is no longer 
 irresponsible. If you were ignorant this morning at Mass 
 there might have been some excuse, but you are suffi- 
 ciently instructed to know that during the Holy Sacrifice, 
 Jesus Christ is present on the altar. You know this, do 
 you not?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Well, then, you deserve punishment for your irrever- 
 ence ; so, after breakfast, both of you will bring your Latin
 
 74 A MOTHER'S MEMOR7. 
 
 grammars. George, you will stand at that post there, and, 
 Bruce, you take the second one." 
 
 The prefect told them to learn a table of declensions 
 and decline a number of adjectives, having found out they 
 were behind their class in the perfect knowledge of these. 
 
 During the day Mr. Silverton noticed that McLeod had 
 not attempted to learn his penance, but for the most part 
 of the time had stood literally "at his post" with his book 
 defiantly closed and under his arm. Bruce Goodwin had 
 made, at least, an attempt to learn something. After class, 
 in the morning, George followed his usual tactics. Of 
 course, he spent the usual half-holiday of Tuesday in the 
 yard. Wednesday passed in the same manner. Thursday 
 half-holiday approached, yet the boy had made no prog- 
 ress. 
 
 The prefect began to fear it was a case of obstinate 
 refusal, which would probably cut short his college career. 
 Having determined to take plenty of time before acting, 
 he waited until Friday. During the recess on that day, 
 which was a wet day, George was stationed in the corridor, 
 having for company his unwelcome Latin grammar. 
 
 Much to his regret, the prefect noticed all the time on 
 the face of McLeod that cold, hard, obstinate sneer, which 
 gave such little hope of a change of sentiment. In the 
 evening before study time, Mr. Silverton spoke to the boy. 
 
 "Well, George, do you know any of your penance ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "No sir." 
 
 "Do you mean to learn it ?" 
 
 George merely raised his chin and shrugged his shoul- 
 ders.
 
 A MOTHER'S MEMORY. 75 
 
 "What does that mean? You do not think I am trying 
 to be revenged on you ?" 
 
 "No, sir," came the answer, quickly. 
 
 "You know what your penance was given for?" 
 
 "For cutting up during Mass." 
 
 "Cutting up, as you call it yes, that was it. Do you 
 not think the penance was well deserved?" 
 
 "I don't know that I did much " and the young and 
 withal handsome face, looked more defiant than ever. 
 
 "Oh, George, George ! this from a well-instructed boy 
 who has just made his First Communion! You don't 
 know that you did much ! And yet you behaved in that 
 manner before the Blessed Sacrament !" 
 
 He paused. McLeod merely gave another shrug of his 
 shoulders. 
 
 "But think, my lad, think of the kind of conduct you 
 are guilty of. And then, what would you think of your- 
 self if your mother were to see all this?" 
 
 Suddenly there came a change which fairly electrified 
 the prefect a scene such as but few men engaged in edu- 
 cational pursuits see once in their lives. 
 
 Without a moment's warning the little fellow burst into 
 a loud passion of sobs and tears. Tears flowed in streams 
 down his cheeks. He hid his face in his hands, giving way 
 to a perfect abandon of grief. 
 
 "Oh, oh, for her sake, don't mention her ! Perhaps 
 you don't know, but she is dead dead and I can't bear 
 any one to mention her name don't don't don't !" 
 
 Mr. Silverton was unwontedly affected. Had the cir- 
 cumstances been different he probably would have mingled 
 his tears of sympathy with those of the weeping boy, for 
 the more or less uncongenial work of the disciplinarian
 
 76 A MOTHER'S MEMORY. 
 
 had not dried up within him the well-spring of a warm 
 heart. He saw, with joy, that he had struck the right 
 note by which he could reach the boy and touch his better 
 nature. He saw, also, that now he had an instrument in 
 his hands with which he could break through the crust of 
 coldness and apparent cynicism, which, after all, could be 
 only very superficial in one so young. 
 
 "Oh, don't mention her, sir ; I can't stand it !" continued 
 McLeod, between his now really pitiful sobs. 
 
 "Come, come, my boy; this is only sentiment after all. 
 I am aware that your mother is dead, and, as we both be- 
 lieve, now in heaven. Why should that prevent us speak- 
 ing of her?" 
 
 "No, no, no, no, don't ! I can't bear it !" 
 "But still I insist. Your grief shows how much you 
 love her. Well, then, show your love for her by doing 
 what is right and what you know would please her were 
 she here show her that you love her still by doing your 
 duty now." 
 
 There was a suddeji pause in the sobbing while the boy 
 looked straight into the prefect's face. 
 
 "I never looked at it in that way !" 
 
 "That's the best way to look at it, my child. Love con- 
 sists more in actions than in words." 
 
 Eagerly the boy snatched the book from the window- 
 sill, and, even while drying his eyes with his coat-sleeve, 
 began in earnest to learn the lesson. 
 
 Mr. Silverton stood watching the now transformed boy, 
 who sobbed at intervals the last soughs of the storm 
 that was passed from the excess of his recent strong 
 emotion. 
 
 And that face ! All the hard lines were gone out of it.
 
 A MOTHER'S MEMORY. 77 
 
 Once more it looked natural in its young, innocent beauty. 
 The enthusiastic trainer of youth thanked the Sacred 
 Heart for the victory, for he knew the hard lines in the 
 face, the sneer, the incipient "toughness" of character had 
 gone forever melted out of the little fellow's nature by 
 the alchemy of love's tears. 
 
 Mr. Silverton was on the point of forgiving the boy his 
 penance, but his experience told him that would be folly. 
 With a few kind words he left George McLeod in the 
 corridor, now hard and earnestly studying his task. Com- 
 ing back within an hour the prefect asked : 
 
 "Well, George, do you know any of the lesson yet?" 
 Without answering, the boy simply offered him the book, 
 beginning at once to repeat. Three or four nouns were 
 well learned. It was evident there had been an honest 
 effort to do something. 
 
 "Very good ; that's a good start. At this rate you will 
 soon be able to decline the last adjective on your list. 
 To-night you must try to learn as much of your penance as 
 you can. We will get it off our hands as soon as may 
 be." 
 
 On Saturday morning the back of the penance was 
 broken. What was better, George McLeod was himself 
 again. All his naturally open, ingenuous nature was bud- 
 ding out afresh. 
 
 Poor boy ! Deprived of a mother's gentle care when he 
 needed it most, for three years he had kept her sacred 
 memory green in his heart. This, in spite of untoward 
 circumstances, had safeguarded him. Although he had 
 acquired a certain exterior un-Catholic demeanor, yet the 
 memory of her love and her training had had their effect. 
 Beneath all it had kept the young heart fresh. What
 
 78 A MOTHER'S MEMORY. 
 
 may not a mother's love accomplish? How foolish the 
 boy who neglects it ! 
 
 After class on Saturday afternoon, the boy came to the 
 prefect. He respectfully touched his cap, saying: 
 
 "Mr. Silverton, I have a great favor to ask." 
 
 "Well, George, what can I do for you ?" 
 
 "The President, who had our First Communion class, 
 told us that we should go to Holy Communion on the 
 Sunday after our First Communion, for our parents. He 
 asked us to remember him, as well." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "Now, sir, if I go to Holy Communion to-morrow, I 
 shall have to go to confession now. Would you, therefore, 
 excuse me my penance for to-night ? I think I shall finish 
 it by Monday." 
 
 "Certainly, I'll do that. So you are going to Holy 
 Communion again to-morrow ? Then let me recommend 
 to you a very special intention. Fervently ask our divine 
 Lord, when you receive Him, to give you the grace to 
 behave always with proper reverence at Mass and Bene- 
 diction, and, in fact, every time you enter a church where 
 the Blessed Sacrament is reserved. Ask it not only for 
 the present, but that it may remain with you for your 
 whole life. Did you ever observe, George, how very few 
 men are really reverential toward the Blessed Sacrament 
 and yet their case is not like yours, arising from boy- 
 ish thoughtlessness, but from a kind of criminal negli- 
 gence. And, of course, I would not object if you were to 
 remember me also in your Holy Communion to-morrow." 
 
 "Why, sure, sir; I'll remember you and pray ever so 
 hard for you, too." 
 
 The penance was finished on the Monday. The boy was
 
 A. MOTHER'S MEMORY. 79 
 
 a changed boy. There now existed a perfect understanding 
 between him and Mr. Silverton. Many and beautiful were 
 the talks these two afterward had about the dear de- 
 parted mother. Many were the lasting lessons young 
 George McLeod learned from the enthusiastic prefect, 
 who in turn learned not a few things while studying the 
 child. 
 
 "How came you to mention her, sir?" asked McLeod 
 about a month after Nash had seen him so despondent on 
 the ball-field. 
 
 "I really do not know, my boy," was the answer. "Her" 
 always meant George's mother to these two. 
 
 "No one, not even my father, ever speaks of her to me, 
 but I have thought of her night and day. You were the 
 only one who ever mentioned her. When you did, I felt 
 you had conquered me, and that night when I went to bed 
 I loved you and felt that I would do anything for you. 
 How was it you came to mention her, sir ?" 
 
 "As I say, I really do not know. I had thought of 
 nearly everything likely to touch you and get you out of 
 that ugly humor. It must have been the grace which you 
 had merited by your First Communion that caused me to 
 say the right thing just at the right time." 
 
 "I'll tell you what I think it was," said the boy with that 
 candor and confidence which are found nowhere in such 
 perfection between pupils and teachers as in Catholic col- 
 leges. "I don't believe it was I, nor do I believe it was 
 you, but I believe it was mamma praying for me in 
 heaven. I have never forgotten her and I am sure she 
 has never forgotten me." 
 
 "Doubtless you are quite correct."
 
 80 HOW GRAY TOOK CARE OF HIMSELF. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HOW GRAY TOOK CARE OF HIMSELF. 
 
 ABOUT two weeks after the term had started, and when 
 everything was quietly dropping into the regular routine 
 of study, of class, and of play; when the professors had 
 become fairly acquainted with the newcomers in each 
 class, and when the prefect had almost sufficient time to 
 learn the tendencies and idiosyncrasies of the boys when in 
 the yards, or field, or on the track there came to the col- 
 lege a new boy. 
 
 Now, there is nothing remarkable nor, perhaps, worth 
 recording in the fact that a boy came two weeks late, 
 especially as it was the custom at St. Cuthbert's to receive 
 boys at any time during the first term. But this particular 
 boy had some peculiar characteristics which for some time 
 after his advent, made him a somewhat conspicuous per- 
 sonage. He came on the last day of September, and was 
 immediately ushered into the President's office. That 
 functionary gave him a grave but kindly welcome to St. 
 Cuthbert's. The boy was evidently displeased with his 
 new surroundings. 
 
 "What is your name?" asked the Father. 
 
 "Dear me, don't you know my name, Father? Why, 
 Father Holloway, in our village, wrote to you to say I 
 was coming." 
 
 "Indeed !" said the Rector, amused ; "and how am I to 
 know whether you are the boy of whom he wrote unless 
 you tell me who you are ?"
 
 HOW GR&Y TOOK CARE OF HIMSELF. 81 
 
 "My name is Gray John Philip Watkins Gray. The 
 VVatkins are great people where I come from own most 
 of the land thereabouts, and father's a justice of the peace, 
 
 too." 
 
 "Indeed !" said the priest, still very much amused, but 
 not at all impressed by the personage before him, nor by 
 his gratuitous information, "and may I ask how far John 
 Philip Watson Gray is advanced in his studies ?" 
 
 "Watkins, Father, not Watson, if you please. Every- 
 body knows the Watkinses and the Grays where I come 
 from." 
 
 "Very likely, my boy, most likely. But what do you 
 know ? How far advanced are you in studies ?" 
 
 "Head of the school, Father, there. First in sums, and 
 in g'ography, and there ain't a boy in the place that can 
 down me at a spellin' bee." 
 
 "Humph! I notice you haven't given much attention 
 to grammar." 
 
 "Oh, lots. I know all the parts of speech and can parse 
 every word in the Fifth Reader. I'm wide-awake, I am, 
 Father, and there are very few who can get ahead of me, 
 sure's you're livin'." 
 
 The President gave the boy a searching glance. He 
 took Father Holloway's letter from a pigeon-hole in his 
 desk, and deliberately read it, making some audible com- 
 ments as he did so. 
 
 "Yes, doubtless, a good boy a little heady not a 
 doubt about that will buy his experience certainly, and 
 perhaps dearly untutored, crude, inexperienced quite 
 right, quite right." 
 
 Then he read in silence for some time, paying not the 
 slightest attention to the boy. It was Gray's first lesson.
 
 82 HOW GRAY TOOK CARE OF HIMSELF. 
 
 He stood there awkward and blushing, feeling exceedingly 
 small. Perhaps for the first time since he had entered 
 his teens he did not know what to do with his hands. 
 Made much of at home, the best, or at least the biggest 
 boy in the village school, he had imagined he was the cen- 
 tral sun of his own little universe. At home, he was so. 
 Now, for the first time, he was away from home, and in 
 the presence of the head of the college, he did not feel 
 half so important a person as he did when he left his 
 father's house, his sisters waving their sun-bonnets, and 
 his father's hired hands their caps as he rode off in 
 triumph. His brief hour of triumph and importance was 
 over. He would not care for his sisters to see him just 
 now standing first on one leg and then on another, twirling 
 his hat in as approved a fashion as the smallest boy in the 
 small boy's yard could have done. 
 
 The kindly old President regarded him with an amused 
 twinkle in his eye. How many of just such boys had he 
 seen in his long career! He could have told that boy what 
 his experience would be at St. Cuthbert's for the next six 
 months with unerring accuracy. He merely said: 
 
 "Father Holloway's letter about you is, in the main, 
 quite satisfactory." 
 
 Gray's self-esteem began to return. The only man 
 whom he really feared although he respected him, too 
 was his parish priest. He began to hold up his head again. 
 
 "Can I go, then, Father?" 
 
 "Yes, I hope you will be happy here. Study hard. 
 Remember, your father goes to a considerable expense 
 to send you here." 
 
 "Oh, my father's well off. He has seven hundred acres 
 of land, and the Watkinses "
 
 HOW GRAY TOOK CARE OF HIMSELF. 83 
 
 "That's not the question, boy," said the President, 
 sternly. "Your father has not money to throw away on a 
 worthless son who idles away his time." 
 
 Changing his tone he added : 
 
 "But it is not fair to suppose you will do this. Be a 
 good boy and you will get along. Come and see me when- 
 ever you like." 
 
 The boy turned to go. 
 
 "Wait one minute, Gray. This is the first time you have 
 ever been among a large crowd of boys. You will prob- 
 ably find some who are fond of practical jokes. Beware 
 of them. Be on your guard. Sometimes these jokes lead 
 to unpleasant consequences." 
 
 "Don't fear for me, Father," answered the boy. "I 
 would like to see any fellow who could catch me. I'm 
 wide-awake, I am. I know a thing or two." 
 
 The President merely smiled. With a wave of the hand 
 he dismissed him. The first person Gray met in the yard 
 was Mr. Shalford. 
 
 "New boy, eh ? Glad to see you. Hope you'll soon feel 
 at home. What class? Third Commercial, eh? Very 
 good. If you want to get along you have to work hard 
 and keep the rules. If you don't do the first why, home 
 you go, and if you don't do the second well, there's 
 trouble, see?" 
 
 "I guess I know all about that, sir." 
 
 "Glad you do ; glad you do." 
 
 "The head of this institution told me just about the 
 same thing. Guess you people are mighty strong on these 
 points." 
 
 "Pretty strong, I assure you." 
 
 By this time Mr. Shalford had seen through the boy
 
 84 HOW GRAY TOOK CARE OF HIMSELF. 
 
 fairly well. He, too, most probably saw what was in 
 store for him. 
 
 "By the way, what's your name?" 
 
 "John Philip Watkins Gray." 
 
 "Phew! Say, you had better drop half that here. I 
 advise you to do so. It's too big to carry around here. 
 Better call yourself Gray, or John Gray. You must 
 excuse me. I could never think of all those names. Life's 
 too short." 
 
 "But the Watkinses are big people at home. They own 
 nearly all the land in " 
 
 "Of course, of course. But, my dear boy, don't you see, 
 the boys here won't care one red herring about that, and 
 they'll make no end of jokes on you, see? Look here, 
 Gray, better look out for tricks. Some of the boys might 
 consider you a good subject for experimentation." 
 
 "That's just what the boss said." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "I mean the head man here. What do you call him 
 the President. That's just what he said, but I guess I can 
 take care of myself well enough." 
 
 "Glad to hear you say so, but if anything happens, please 
 do not say I did not warn you. Hello ! here come the boys 
 from the class-rooms. Clavering, show this boy around 
 and introduce him to some of the Commercial boys ?" 
 
 It took, as the boys say, "no time at all" for them to 
 discover all the good as well as the bad traits of Gray. 
 Boys are quick to learn one's foibles. The very first even- 
 ing in the study-hall, an opportunity occurred by which 
 those near him could test Gray's capacity of taking care 
 of himself. It happened that the electric bulb just over 
 Gray's desk was dark.
 
 HOW GRAY TOOK CARE OF HIMSELF. 85 
 
 "Let's see what he will do," whispered a boy to his 
 neighbor. Then turning to Gray he said : 
 
 "Say, sonny, here's a match; just light up that bulb, will 
 you ?" 
 
 - The boy who "could take care of himself" struck the 
 match on the sole of his shoe and held it up to the bulb 
 while he peered and peered for a hole into which to insert 
 the burning piece of wood. He knew nothing of using the 
 key to turn on the current. He stood there puzzled until 
 the match burned his fingers. There was a general titter 
 through the study-hall. The professor who was keeping 
 studies walked up to the boy and whispered: 
 
 "Sit down ; go on with your work," and then turned on 
 the current. 
 
 Secretly, during that hour of study, a note travelled 
 to almost every desk bearing the following legend : 
 
 "Question. What color is Gray? Answer. Green." 
 
 Innumerable were the tricks and jokes played on him 
 during the recesses between the evening study-hours. 
 
 One night during this time it had been arranged that 
 Dick Clavering, Roy Henning and Shiller were to induce 
 Gray to go to the game-room. With pretended secrecy 
 they were to engage in a game of cards. As soon as 
 they saw their plan would work, Fred Nash ran up 
 to the sacristy and secured a server's cassock and a black 
 beretta. 
 
 The others in the plan were to be sure to have the light 
 in the game-room turned only moderately high. They 
 were to pretend there was great extremely great danger 
 of being caught. They were to impress upon Gray the 
 necessity of caution, and to tell him that Mr. Shalford 
 was simply "death" on card-playing, especially in the
 
 86 nOW GRAY TOOK CARE OF HIMSELF. 
 
 game-room, and more especially during recess at night, 
 and then to dare Gray to run all risks. 
 
 "He bites; in fact, he has swallowed the bait whole," 
 whispered Shiller to Nash. Nash gave himself plenty of 
 time to put on the soutane in the dark passage outside the 
 game-room. It was arranged that Gray was to be seated 
 with his back to the door. A loud cough from one of the 
 players was to be the signal for Nash to make his quasi- 
 prefectorial raid. Nash was not well known to Gray. 
 
 "Who said Gray was afraid?" said Clavering. as he 
 shuffled the cards. 
 
 "You may just bet I'm afraid of nothing in this place," 
 boasted John Philip Watkins Gray. "Old Shalford cairt 
 catch me in a hurry." 
 
 "Not even on electric lights," remarked Shiller, mis- 
 chievously. 
 
 "Oh, give us a rest on that. How is a fellow to know 
 everything ?" 
 
 "Of course he isn't, and doesn't," answered Clavering, 
 but Gray did not perceive the thrust. "But, my gracious, 
 if Shalford should catch us! Phew! No more conduct 
 cards for the rest of the year. No more baseball nor 
 football for any of us. Not allowed to go to any of the 
 Christmas plays. In jug for three months, and perhaps 
 expulsion would be the least he would give us." 
 
 Gray, not perceiving the exaggeration, began to realize 
 in some degree what he considered the danger of his posi- 
 tion. The consequence was that there was a little paleness 
 around his lips and his hand was not perfectly steady as 
 he held his cards. Secretly he wished himself out of 
 it. What would Father Holloway say if he were sent 
 home!
 
 BOW GRAY TOOK CARE OF HIMSELF. 87 
 
 "Then, card-playing here," continued Clavering, relent- 
 lessly, "may be punished by corporal punishment in fact 
 a sound thrashing from Father Lovelace or his deputy." 
 
 Beads of perspiration stood out on Gray's forehead. He 
 felt uncomfortably warm under the collar. His hand be- 
 came more unsteady. Just then Clavering coughed loudly 
 two or three times. 
 
 "Cave! You'll give us away with your cough," said 
 Shiller. "Look out ! Here's some one coming," as he 
 heard the door knob squeak. Suddenly the bogus prefect 
 opened the door and stood behind Gray's chair. 
 
 "What is this?" said Nash, in a well-disguised voice. 
 "Cards! Why will you boys get into trouble? What do 
 you mean by this conduct, Gray?" 
 
 "I I didn't mean I" 
 
 "Nonsense. You did mean, or you wouldn't be here. 
 Mr. Shalford or the President may send you boys home 
 for this. I'll do what I can to prevent that. You three 
 boys bring your Latin text-book to me to-morrow morn- 
 ing before breakfast. You, Gray, will write out 'I will not 
 play cards any more,' five hundred times and give the 
 lines to me before nine o'clock." 
 
 The imitation prefect then left the room in a hurry, 
 shouting in the passage to some imaginary boys : 
 
 "Make less noise there, you boys ; make less noise." 
 
 "I guess we are in for it now," said Clavering, with a 
 very long face, which he assumed to perfection. 
 
 "Will he send us home ?" asked the frightened Gray. 
 
 "It is most probable he will not, at least, if your lines 
 are done by half past eight," answered Shiller. "I should 
 recommend you to get at them at once. Don't let the 
 study-keeper catch you writing them next hour, for if
 
 83 HOW ORA? TOOK CARE OF HIMSELF. 
 
 he does he will double them, and then you couldn't save 
 us." 
 
 During last recess that night, and even before Mass the 
 next morning, and then after breakfast, steadily until about 
 twenty minutes to nine did Gray work at those lines. 
 
 "They are done in time, anyway," he said, at length. 
 Carrying seven or eight large sheets of paper closely 
 written on both sides he went to find Mr. Shalford. 
 
 "They are done in time, sir," said the unconscious dupe 
 who could take care of himself. It was a curious coin- 
 cidence that Henning, Shiller, and Clavering should just 
 at that moment be on the spot. 
 
 "Dear me ! What's this, what's this ?" 
 
 "The penance, sir ; and I hope you won't send us home 
 this time." 
 
 "Send you home ! Why " but his eye caught the first 
 line, "I won't play cards any more," and he checked him- 
 self. 
 
 "Umph ! Who gave you this penance ?" 
 
 "The tall prefect. I don't know his name, sir. He 
 caught us last night." 
 
 "The tall prefect? Was it the second prefect in this 
 yard ? See, he stands over there, look." 
 
 "No, sir ; not he." 
 
 "Was it Mr. Silverton?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Nor the other prefect of the junior division?" 
 
 "No, sir; I know him, too. It was one I don't know. 
 What is his name, Clavering?" 
 
 Clavering was conveniently deaf just at that moment 
 
 "And I hope, sir, we shall not be thrashed." 
 
 This was too much for the three conspirators. They
 
 HOW GRAY TOOK CARE OF HIMSELF. 89 
 
 burst into loud laughter and scattered across the yard, as 
 they held their sides. Then Mr. Shalford understood. 
 
 ''Gray." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Didn't you assure me that you could take care of 
 yourself?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Do you think you can ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," came the response promptly. 
 
 "Then let me tell you you can do no such thing. See 
 that group of boys over there all laughing ? You may rest 
 assured that you will find the supposed prefect among 
 them. They have fooled you most egregiously." 
 
 "You don't say," said the astonished Gray. "But he 
 who caught me wore a cassock like yours." 
 
 "You dear simpleton ! Do not the boys who serve Mass 
 wear cassocks, and are there not dozens of them in the 
 sacristy ? Go and tell those boys I want them." 
 
 The four boys came,, not knowing exactly what to 
 expect. 
 
 "That was good, more or less, but listen. Don't do 
 it again." 
 
 The boys understood thoroughly. 
 
 "I guess the joke was on me, boys. Come, let's go to 
 the store and get some candies." 
 
 The boys liked the way their dupe took the fooling, but 
 John Philip Watkins Gray was not yet completely cured. 
 Some boys require more experience than others. Gray 
 required a great deal.
 
 90 CLAUDE'S LETTER. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 CLAUDE'S LETTER. 
 
 THE letter which Claude Winters wrote to his father 
 describing the sudden disappearance of his brother on the 
 day of his arrival at St. Cuthbert's and the mysterious way 
 he was discovered in the Bishop's room, remained unan- 
 swered for more than two weeks. 
 
 He, as well as Ernest, had received letters from their 
 mother and from their sister Laura in the meantime, but 
 no mention was made of Claude's first letter, nor had Mr. 
 Winters written a line. 
 
 Thinking it somewhat strange that he should receive no 
 word from his father, ten days after the first letter Claude 
 sent off another, again stating all the circumstances of the 
 disappearance and return of his brother. 
 
 After dinner, on the day following the successful ruse 
 played on Gray, the boys were, as usual, clustered around 
 the prefect at mail-time. They stood in a solid mass, 
 resembling a swarm of bees resting after a long flight. 
 
 The distribution of the mail at college is an anxious five 
 minutes to every boy. Eager eyes watch the big handful 
 as it grows smaller and smaller. The lucky recipients of 
 letters saunter off with a contented smile. The less fortu- 
 nate ones more slowly disperse. 
 
 Claude was lucky to-day. At a glance he recognized the 
 handwriting to be that of his father. It did not take 
 Claude long to cross the yard. Up three steps at a time
 
 CLAUDE'S LETTER. 91 
 
 he rushed like a tornado into the Philosophy class-room, 
 and to his own desk. 
 
 "Not at home for half an hour, gentlemen." 
 
 The others understood. The expression was a conven- 
 tion used when any one of the class wished particularly to 
 be let alone. Winters tore open the letter in his usual 
 impetuous manner, hurriedly gave a glance at the con- 
 tents and then read more slowly. 
 
 There was news from all. Mamma was poorly. Laura 
 was not very bright. The writer believed she was pining 
 for her little brother Ernest, but she would soon get over 
 being without him. The parrot talked as well as ever. 
 The cat was getting fatter and lazier than ever, etc., etc., 
 etc., 
 
 All these and many more similar items Claude read 
 hurriedly. Ah! here, at last, was the matter of real 
 interest to him. 
 
 "The disappearance of Ernie, which you speak of in 
 your letter, puzzles me very much. Except for one or two 
 reasons, which I cannot mention at present, I should be 
 inclined to laugh at the occurrence, and say that your 
 brother had wandered up to town alone and then back 
 again, and entering the first room he came to, had fallen 
 asleep at once and dreamed all you tell me in your letter. 
 You know Ernie must have been very tirec.1 with his long 
 journey. 
 
 "However, for reasons at which T have hinted, I attach 
 much more importance to this event than I tan at present 
 explain to you. When your mother read your letter at 
 breakfast that morning, she was much disturbed. Upon 
 inquiring why she should be so strangely affected, she 
 replied that as near as she could tell it was just at the
 
 92 CLAUDE'S LETTER. 
 
 ,<noment this was happening to your brother she fell asleep 
 in her easy-chair. This was about half past five in the 
 evening. She had dressed for dinner early that day and 
 was waiting for the gong to sound when she dozed off. 
 
 "When she was aroused for dinner she told me that she 
 had dreamed most vividly that she saw Ernest in a room 
 just as your letter describes, and talking to a strange-look- 
 ing, dark-skinned man. One remarkable feature about the 
 affair is that at dinner that evening she talked of the large 
 and wonderful eyes of the man she had seen in her 
 dream. Then came your letter the next morning corrob- 
 orating the description she had given of the event, and 
 especially mentioning Ernie's words about the man's big 
 eyes. 
 
 "Undoubtedly the man your brother saw was a 
 Hindu. I should attach no importance to your mother's 
 dream, and its peculiar coincidence, were there not rea- 
 sons in our family history for making me decidedly 
 uneasy. The dream and the attempted abduction for 
 I firmly believe, for reasons of my own, that there was 
 the intention of abducting of course, these two events 
 occurring simultaneously may have been a mere coinci- 
 dence. On the other hand they may have been something 
 more. 
 
 "Now, I want you, Claude, to be very careful at all 
 times to keep away from every person who has any resem- 
 blance to a Hindu. No matter on what occasion you 
 come across one, or what dress or clothes he may be wear- 
 ing, be sure to keep away from him. I have very strong 
 reasons for laying this injunction upon you. Tell Ernest 
 also of my wishes in this respect. 
 
 "I have no doubt, my boy, that all this has already
 
 CLAUDE'S LETTER. 98 
 
 aroused your curiosity to a very high pitch. Well, 
 restrain it for some time. You are in your graduating 
 year at St. Cuthbert's. After you have taken your degree 
 I shall be more free with you and shall tell you many 
 points of family history which it will be well for you to 
 know. But there is time enough for these things. 
 
 "Of one thing, however, you may be sure. There is 
 nothing in all I have hinted to you, or have promised to 
 tell in the future, that is in the slightest degree dishonor- 
 able to yourself, to me, or to any member of the family. 
 There is nothing derogatory to the name you bear." 
 
 "If this isn't the rummiest letter I ever received!" said 
 Claude, when he had finished. "Howard, come over here, 
 will you?" 
 
 Howard Hunter came. Looking into the puzzled face 
 of Claude, he asked in that sympathetic way so peculiarly 
 his own : 
 
 "No bad news, I hope, Claude?" 
 
 "No ; but something very curious. Read this, old fel- 
 low, and tell me what you think I ought to do," said 
 Claude in a subdued tone, so that the rest in the room 
 would not overhear. 
 
 Hunter began to read, making running -comments as he 
 proceeded. 
 
 "Dear me, that's awful about the poor parrot ! and you 
 certainly ought to call a physician for that cat. It might 
 be suffering from fatty degeneration of the heart, you 
 know. And poor little Laura ! What shall we do ? She 
 will cry her eyes out, for sure. Really, Claude, it would 
 be quite serious if your sister could only pose as a statue 
 of Justice ever after." 
 
 Howard thought, as Claude had done, that the letter
 
 94 CLAUDE'S LETTER. 
 
 before him, which began in a commonplace manner 
 enough, was one of those which fond fathers and mothers 
 send to their boys at school, containing nothing not domes- 
 tic, and winding up with some dozen or so of X's for 
 kisses. 
 
 But when he began to read the real body of the letter 
 and to catch its drift, he became serious and dropped his 
 bantering, reading the remainder in silence. 
 
 "Well, old fellow, what do you make of it ?" 
 
 Hunter did not answer at once. He was in a "brown 
 study" which Claude did not disturb. At length Claude 
 asked : 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "It is all very curious," replied the other. "It is cer- 
 ta^p there is some kind of mystery, which makes your 
 father and mother anxious for your or Ernie's safety. As 
 far as I can see, there is at present only one thing to do. 
 Restrain your curiosity, as your father says, until he 
 tells you everything, which he surely will do when he 
 thinks the proper time has come." 
 
 "I just tell you what I simply cannot wait. Until I 
 know this mystery everything else will be knocked sky 
 high out of my head. It's simply impossible, Howard ; I 
 must write." 
 
 Claude wrote that afternoon. 
 
 In a few days he received an answer from his father, 
 who wrote : 
 
 "I have given your letter some close thought. After 
 talking it all over with mamma, I have decided to tell 
 you everything. This cannot be done by letter, so I will 
 run down to St. Cuthbert's and have a talk with you. I 
 do not want Ernie to know of my coming. Without let-
 
 SOME FAMILY HISTORY. 95 
 
 ting him know where you are, you had better meet me 
 at the depot. We will go to some hotel together. Then 
 I can return home the same evening. Ernie is young and 
 not very strong. The information I am about to impart 
 to you would perhaps do him harm. It is quite certain 
 it would do him no good. With you it is different. You 
 have almost arrived at man's estate. You are a good boy, 
 a manly and honest boy, and, thanks be to God, a pious 
 boy. So, in case anything should happen to your mother, 
 I have thought it best to tell you everything. Meet me at 
 the depot when the early train arrives next Monday morn- 
 ing." 
 
 Claude's heart beat faster when he read his father's 
 words of praise of himself and he felt a choking sensation 
 in his throat. He held the letter up in front of his face 
 in order to hide his emotion from those in the room while 
 he was reading it. 
 
 His pulse beat high with excitement when he thought 
 of his father's visit. He could hardly wait the two days 
 until Monday when he was to learn the family history. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 SOME FAMILY HISTORY. 
 
 "You have often seen, in the drawing-room at home," 
 said Mr. Winters to his son Claude, after the greetings 
 were over at the hotel the following Monday morning, 
 "that large oil painting of a Hindu in full native costume, 
 to whom Ernest, according to your letter, likened the 
 man who attempted to abduct him, and who certainly
 
 96 SOME FAMILY HISTORY. 
 
 would have abducted you had you happened to have been 
 in his place. To this man whose picture I keep in a place 
 of honor, I owe a great deal, perhaps even my life. He 
 protected me once when I was in the extremest peril. He 
 protected you, too." 
 
 "He protected me, pa?" 
 
 "Yes. You were born in a small town about seventy 
 miles south of Simla in Northern India, nineteen years 
 ago." 
 
 Claude was intensely surprised to hear this. In his 
 heart of hearts he was sorry to learn it, sorry to discover 
 that he was not American born. He had always believed 
 he was, and was proud of being a native born American. 
 
 "It was while you were a baby in arms, not yet eighteen 
 months old, that the trouble came which has made your 
 mother a partial invalid ever since, and which has caused 
 me endless anxiety. 
 
 "Your grandfather was an officer in the British army 
 stationed in India. Some years before I married your 
 mother, he was pensioned with full pay as colonel, owing 
 to valuable services rendered to the crown. 
 
 "Not relishing after so long a sojourn in India the 
 fogs and changeable climate of England, he determined 
 to remain in the country where he had passed the best 
 years of his life, intending to enjoy the remainder of his 
 days in peace and contentment. 
 
 "He was stoutly, vigorously English in thought, sym- 
 pathy, and even in speech, to the last day of his life. 
 Among the many of his peculiarly English notions, one 
 was that of the importance of the landed aristocracy and 
 gentry as a necessary institution. These he considered 
 the backbone of the English nation, and argued that if
 
 SOME FAMILY HISTORY. 97 
 
 they were good and beneficial for England they should 
 also be good and beneficial for India, and for all other 
 British possessions. 
 
 "Imbued with these notions he built a magnificent man- 
 sion, cleared and laid out a large and really beautiful 
 park. He kept his hounds, and in every respect conducted 
 his establishment after the English customs and tradi- 
 tions,- as near as the circumstances of time and place would 
 permit. 
 
 "When I married, my father erected a second elegant 
 residence, intended for me. In this way, by gradually 
 inducing his friends also to settle and build in the vicinity, 
 he hoped in a short time to establish a select class of 
 Anglo-Indian landed gentry in his neighborhood. 
 
 "Now, in purchasing property for the purpose of laying 
 out his park, my father bought, with the sanction of the 
 government, from the Rajah or Maharajah of the district, 
 some land on which stood a shrine of Vishnu or Siva. 
 
 "Your grandfather was a good, staunch Catholic, who, 
 above all things, would have no compromise in matters 
 concerning the faith. You can easily see, then, that he 
 would not tolerate the existence of a pagan temple on his 
 property. He therefore ordered it to be demolished. 
 
 "Little did he realize, by so doing, the animosity that 
 he had incurred among the natives. Still less did he see 
 the whole train of evils he was bequeathing to his kith and 
 kin. He incurred the implacable hatred and deep resent- 
 ment of the native Hindus. 
 
 "My father entrenched himself behind the law, for he 
 took the matter into the English tribunals. It was a case 
 where justice and equity were on his side, but where also 
 on his part, there was, more or less, a want of prudence.
 
 98 SOME FAMILY HISTORY. 
 
 The judges declared him to be correct from a legal point 
 of view. His own conscience was sufficient guide from a 
 moral standpoint. Being a retired officer and also a gen- 
 eral favorite among officers and men, he had no difficulty in 
 procuring a small detachment of soldiers from Simla to 
 protect his family and his property. 
 
 "Irrespective of the necessity for this protection on 
 account of being a persona non grgta to the natives sur- 
 rounding his estate, there were other reasons why a small 
 company of soldiers was a source of satisfaction to our 
 little white settlement. 
 
 "Down to the south of us, at Chour, there was at this 
 time a sort of religious revival movement among the 
 Brahmins. I never learned the reason of this movement, 
 but I know that thousands upon thousands of native 
 Hindus visited the small temple there to the great 
 pecuniary advantage of the priests. 
 
 "Some kind of miracle was reported to have taken 
 place here. I once visited the temple. A small, dirty, ill- 
 kept place it was. It was always a surprise to me that the 
 natives should throng to visit what was not worth seeing. 
 The only thing really remarkable there was a fine large 
 diamond, which had been placed in the forehead of the 
 statue. It was called the Learned One's Earthly Sight, or 
 something of that kind. 
 
 "My father suggested that I take you and your mother 
 to the garrison of Simla, where, if anything should happen, 
 your mother would be under the protection of the British 
 soldiery. It was a wise suggestion. Affairs looked omi- 
 nous. Religious fanaticism was growing. Notwithstand- 
 ing the soldiers stationed at his residence, my father was 
 in real danger. Soon came the pillage of the temple of
 
 SOME FAMILY HISTORY. 99 
 
 Chour. The natives having once tasted blood, scattered 
 through the country doing much damage to the property 
 of European and native land owners. 
 
 "The fanatical people around my father's estate saw they 
 were powerless so long as the soldiers remained. In time 
 their resentment appeared to die out. We began to think 
 the unpleasantness had blown over, the more so as my 
 father gave employment to hundreds of Hindus in improv-: 
 ing his estate. Your mother and I had spent the heated 
 term in Simla and were both possessed of the strongest 
 desire to get back into the open country. 
 
 "We determined to start for the country in three days' 
 lime. We gave orders to the servants to prepare for the 
 journey. 
 
 "On the evening before our departure I was sitting on 
 the veranda in order to enjoy what little breeze there was. 
 Your mother was resting in a light easy cane chair just 
 inside the glass door. You were fast asleep in your cradle 
 at her side. I had been on the veranda only a few minutes 
 when an orderly of the fort came to the railing. After 
 giving the military salute, he said : 
 
 " 'Mr. Winters, there is one of them heathen Hindus at 
 the fort gate. He says he must see the colonel's son on 
 important business. He says, too, sir, that he must not 
 be seen by any of the natives around the garrison. It 
 looks very suspicious to me, sir, and, if I may be so bold, 
 I should advise ye to have a care of yourself and the 
 good lady within, there.' 
 
 "Thanking the orderly, I told him to admit the native 
 that I would see him on the lawn in front of the house 
 in the glare of the electric light. Telling my wife that I 
 was going to take a turn around the garden path, I pur-
 
 100 SOME FAMILY BISTORT. 
 
 posely walked some distance away from the house. In a 
 minute I saw the white turban of a tall Hindu as he hid 
 behind some oleander bushes. 
 
 " 'Come out here if you wish to speak to me,' I said. 
 
 " 'Nay, Sahib, my life would not be worth a bowl of 
 rice were I seen.' 
 
 " 'Oh, nonsense ! What is all this mystery about ? Who 
 are you anyway?' I asked. 
 
 " 'Samaba,' he whispered. 
 
 " 'Samaba ! Is that you ? What brings you here ? Is 
 anything wrong with my father at home? Has anything 
 happened ? Speak ! Quick, quick !' 
 
 "Samaba was an old body-servant of my father. He 
 had cared for me when I was young. Many a time he had 
 carried you for hours together up and down the paths 
 of our country seat. To all of us Samaba was the incar- 
 nation of fidelity and devotion. We would as soon have 
 thought of suspecting ourselves as suspect his loyalty to 
 our family. 
 
 " 'Ah! young Sahib, all is well. The Great Sahib (so 
 he always spoke of my father) is well and unharmed. 
 The danger lies not with him now.' 
 
 " 'Then why have you come all this distance, and why 
 do you act so mysteriously?' I asked. 
 
 " 'Come into the shadow of this tree, Sahib, and I will 
 tell you all. Your father, the Great Sahib, is safe only 
 because he is so well guarded by the English soldiers. My 
 people know that if anything were done to him or to you, 
 the soldiers would wreak terrible vengeance on them. 
 They, therefore, appear to have forgotten their anger. 
 One would think their smouldering fanaticism had died 
 out. But be not deceived, my lord; a Hindu's revenge
 
 SOME FAMILY HISTORY. 1Q1 
 
 never dies. It may lie dormant for a generation, but it is 
 unrelenting and inexorable. It is handed down from 
 father to son. In this case of your father, Sahib, it is more 
 unrelenting- because tinged with religious fanaticism. 
 Therefore have I come to warn the Little Sahib.' 
 
 ' 'Warn me! Of what, Samaba?' I inquired in alarm. 
 
 "'Of this, Sahib: The priests of Brahminism in 
 the neigborhood of your country home have decided 
 to wreak their vengeance, not on your father, nor 
 on you neither of you dare they touch but upon your 
 son, the baby Sahib, whom I have so often carried and 
 folded in these arms. Oh, sorrow, sorrow ! danoiess and 
 black grief!' 
 
 "The faithful old man's tall form literally swayed to and 
 fro like some lithe withe in the excess of his grief. 
 'Tell me !' I cried, 'what is in store for my child ?' 
 
 " 'They intend to steal the child,' he replied ; 'but 
 whether they intend to kill him or merely to hold him as 
 a hostage I have not been able to learn. At the risk of 
 my life have I warned you. Should any of my tribe dis- 
 cover that I have done this, the bow-string or poison 
 would be my fate. Farewell, Sahib. May the Little 
 Sahib be forever happy.' 
 
 "The faithful fellow had glided away into the darkness 
 before I could thank him or put a few rupees into his hand. 
 You may imagine my anxiety. I at once sent a letter by a 
 fast-running messenger to my father. In three days I 
 received his answer. He strongly urged me to take you 
 and your mother to England and remain there for a few 
 years. As for himself, he declared that having taken the 
 stand he had, he did not intend to give up the fight. He 
 lived on his estate for three years longer, when he sue-
 
 102 SOME FAMILY HISTORY. 
 
 cumbed to an attack of jungle fever, but not, thank God, 
 without receiving all the Sacraments of Holy Church. 
 
 "As it was with your grandfather, so it was with me 
 and with your mother. Neither of us liked the cold, 
 changeable, foggy climate of England. After remaining 
 there for one year we sold our English property in London 
 and I became a citizen of the United States. 
 
 "Before leaving India, I settled a fair competency on 
 Samaba, who, when he became his own master, elected to 
 leave that portion of the country where he believed his 
 life was in danger owing to his devotion to our family. 
 He settled in Calcutta, from which place I heard of him 
 half-yearly through the kindness of an English officer. 
 
 "He died five years after the events I have just related. 
 A year before his death my correspondent succeeded in 
 getting the faithful old servant to sit for his photograph. 
 From this I ordered the large oil painting which now 
 hangs in our drawing-room. It is a perpetual reminder of 
 the gratitude due to the faithful old man, who undoubtedly 
 saved your life and most probably mine and your mother's, 
 too, for if they had attempted to rob me of you, I should 
 have fought desperately, although it is more than probable 
 I should have been overpowered by numbers. 
 
 "So you see, my dear Claude," said Mr. Winters, when 
 he had finished the strange story, "the necessity for the 
 caution I gave you about having anything to do with any 
 traveling Hindus or fakirs you may come across. How- 
 ever, do not let this bit of family history influence you too 
 much. I mean in this sense: Do not get morbid about 
 it. After the lapse of nearly twenty years the whole affair 
 may have passed from the memory of every one interested 
 in it in India and the whole question of revenge be forgot-
 
 AN HONORABLE COMBINATION. 103 
 
 ten. Remember that we live in the United States, where 
 it is a moral impossibility for such strange and weird 
 things to happen as could more or less easily take place in 
 a less thoroughly organized country as India was at that 
 time, when the territory I speak of was governed by the 
 native Rajahs, who were only restrained from acts of des- 
 potism by the fear of summary justice administered by a 
 neighboring regiment of English soldiers. 
 
 "A third reason why you should not worry about this 
 and from what I know of you I feel sure this will be 
 a more telling one is that we must never forget there 
 is an overruling Providence that directs all our ways. 
 Nothing can harm us, my boy, but sin. Therefore pray 
 every day, not only for yourself, but for me, for mother, 
 for Laura and Lily, and all the children and, of course, 
 for Ernest, as we all pray for you every day." 
 
 And now, while Claude Winters is thinking over his 
 strange family history, we must leave him for a time and 
 go back to events that are transpiring among the other 
 boys at St. Cuthbert's. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 AN HONORABLE COMBINATION. 
 
 GREAT excitement was caused in the yard one morning 
 in October when Mr. Shalford announced that with the 
 President's sanction and approval he had determined to 
 have a fall field-day of sports and games. 
 
 He told the boys there were to be several track events, 
 sprinting, pole, long, and high jumping, and many other
 
 104 AN HONORABLE COMBINATION. 
 
 things such as delight the hearts of boys that is, of real 
 boys. He had secured a whole day's holiday. The town 
 band had been engaged. There was to be a big feast in the 
 refectory. 
 
 The glad news was received with great enthusiasm. 
 Practice for the various events began at once. Entries 
 would be received on the fifteenth of the month. 
 
 "You know the weather is uncertain and capricious in 
 October," said the prefect, "you must, therefore, all of you, 
 pray for a fine day on the last Thursday of October. These 
 games depend altogether on the weather. We have had a 
 fine spell for some time, but it may change soon. If this 
 should happen, the races and trials of skill will be post- 
 poned until spring." 
 
 In consequence of the coming event, there was much 
 animation throughout the college, both on the track, in 
 the field, and in the yard. Everywhere practice was going 
 on for one event or another. 
 
 It has been stated that our friends of the Philosophy 
 class had on the first day of term noticed with dissatisfac- 
 tion the peculiarly rough and uninviting appearance of 
 many of the new boys. As time went on, it was found that 
 appearances were more or less true indications of interior 
 dispositions, and of manners. It was thought that the 
 college influence would mold and elevate these characters 
 that the new element would soon be assimilated so that 
 the tone of the yard would not be degenerated. Many of 
 the older boys in the upper classes, after watching the 
 trend of events for some time, were not over sanguine of 
 immediate results. 
 
 Of one thing the prefect was more or less certain. These 
 undesirable boys, and there were more than a dozen of
 
 
 
 AN HONORABLE COMBINATION. 105 
 
 them this year were not morally bad boys. Had this been 
 the case, any one who knows anything of St. Cuthbert's 
 would tell you that their college career would come to a 
 speedy end. 
 
 But their tone was low. They were troublesome. Those 
 in authority were their natural enemies. Many rules were 
 broken with impunity. Their influence over younger and 
 more easily led boys was, if not decidedly bad, at least 
 dangerous and altogether undesirable. 
 
 It may be asked, are such boys really found to exist in 
 Catholic colleges, or are they only put into books as a 
 dark background for brighter and better characters ? The 
 answer is, that unquestionably they do exist in real 
 school life. To picture a perfectly ideal state of things, 
 and only the best, even in the very best Catholic institu- 
 tions, would be to portray the unreal and the impossible. 
 A college is a little world in itself. As in the bigger out- 
 side world there exist the good and the bad elements, so in 
 a gathering of two or three hundred boys it would be a 
 moral impossibility for all to be ideally good. It would 
 be a perversion of the truth to describe all as good, ail 
 as actuated by the nobler motives which should guide our 
 actions. 
 
 It may be asked, if a bad element, a lowering influence, 
 be found in our Catholic colleges, why do fond mothers 
 and fathers send their dearly loved ones to such places? 
 The answer is not far to seek. The fond mothers and 
 fathers know better than probably you and I, gentle reader, 
 that very often, indeed it may be safe to say, always, the 
 evil influence of the bad upon their sons is very much less 
 at college than elsewhere. Mothers and fathers realize 
 that men who conduct such institutions make it a life-work
 
 106 AN HONORABLE COMBINATION. 
 
 of zeal and love. Their whole attention is given to the 
 training of the morals of youth. Added to this, their large 
 experience in the guidance of youth, which is rarely 
 possessed by the individual father or mother, and the 
 question is fairly answered. 
 
 It is precisely because these pages are intended to reflect 
 actual facts of real college life, that we have to deal with 
 some boys of undesirable dispositions. A college, as has 
 been said, as well as the world, is composed of the good 
 as well as the bad. It is only by contrasting the one with 
 the other, that the nobler traits of boy nature are brought 
 out in strong relief. 
 
 Among the troublesome boys at St. Cuthbert's, Ralph 
 Ditson and John Gregson were unquestionably the worst. 
 Of the latter we made mention when relating the fight 
 which took place between him and Claude Winters the 
 year before. He had not improved since that time. Up to 
 all sorts of mischief not the kind which expends itself in 
 harmless practical jokes, but rather of that kind which was 
 sure to have more or less malice in it Gregson was for- 
 ever in hot water with his professors and with the prefects. 
 Not actually bad enough to be expelled, he was at best a 
 most troublesome boy, giving endless anxiety to those in 
 authority. 
 
 Ralph Ditson was little better. Consequently these two 
 were bosom friends. Where one was, there the other was 
 sure to be. It was rare that one -was under punishment 
 without having the other as a companion in misery. 
 
 Now these two boys were good athletes. They could 
 hold their own in nearly every kind of manly exercise. 
 The consequence of this was, that they always had a large 
 following of younger boys boys of an age when they are
 
 AN HONORABLE COMBINATION. 107 
 
 prone to be hero-worshippers. Had the prestige honestly 
 gained by superiority in games of strength and skill been 
 rightly used, no one would have objected to the influence 
 they wielded. 
 
 Unfortunately this very influence was dangerous in their 
 hands. It was used against authority, against discipline, 
 against order. Those who were under their influence, in 
 some unknown, imperceptible way descended in their own 
 estimation, and in the esteem of others. The followers of 
 Ditson and Gregson lost that subtle, mysterious thing 
 which in college language has its own specific signification, 
 and is designated as "tone." 
 
 The acknowledged excellence of their athletic powers, 
 as well as their pernicious influence over others, was shown 
 on the day of Mr. Shal ford's announcement of the autumn 
 games, by a caustic notice being pinned on the bulletin 
 board. It ran thus : 
 
 NOTICE : 
 
 Those desirous of being trained for the fall games can 
 apply to 
 
 Ditson and Gregson, 
 
 General Rule Breakers. 
 
 Toughness Cultivated, 
 
 No Regard Paid to Tone, 
 
 Slang a Specialty. 
 
 Of course the note remained on the board only a few 
 minutes. The prefect promptly removed it, but not before 
 several dozen boys had read it, among whom was Gregson. 
 He was furious. His face flushed crimson with anger. 
 
 "I can lick the fellow that done that," was his ungram- 
 matical remark. 
 
 "Can ye?" remarked Gilkins, "and suppose I did it?" 
 
 "If it was, I " but Gilkins' big form towered above 
 Gregson, and he did not finish his threat.
 
 108 AN HONORABLE COMBINATION. 
 
 "Well, it wasn't, anyway," continued Gilkins, "but I'd 
 hide my head if such things were ever written about me, 
 whether I found the man who did it or not." 
 
 Greg-son walked off, determined to find out who put up 
 the notice, but in this he was never successful. 
 
 That afternoon after classes were over, Claude Winters 
 came flying across the yard, in his usual impetuous way, 
 to where Mr. Shalford was standing. As soon as he 
 had regained sufficient breath to speak coherently, he 
 said: 
 
 "Please, sir, I'm come to ask for a favor. Will you 
 grant it, sir?" 
 
 "How can I?" 
 
 "You can if you will, sir?" 
 
 "But how can I if I do not know what it is ? Look here, 
 Sunbeam,, do you not know I cannot act in the dark? 
 What do you want, anyway ?" 
 
 "We want permission, sir, for Rob Jones, Bracebridge, 
 Roy Henning and who else? oh, yes, and Gilkins to 
 come up to the Philosophy class-room." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "We are going to have a meeting." 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 "That's a secret, sir. Can't tell you yet. But there's 
 nothing wrong about it, sir." 
 
 "I'm sure of that, Claude. All right, they may go." 
 
 "And, sir, if Hunter and the others want some more 
 boys, may I fetch them up, too ?" 
 
 "Most mysterious, all this," said Mr. Shalford. "I sup- 
 pose it's all right. I may drop in unawares, though." 
 
 "Thank you, sir;" and shortly after, Gilkins and the 
 three Rhetoric boys were ushered into the Philosophy
 
 AN HONORABLE COMBINATION. 109 
 
 class-room with all due solemnity. They had not the 
 remotest idea why they had been invited. 
 
 "We thought we would call a meeting," said Howard 
 Hunter, when they were all seated, "and discuss the forth- 
 coming field-day. 
 
 "You know, fellows oh, excuse me, you know, gentle- 
 men that things are not going well in the yard so far this 
 year. There is one crowd always together, rain or shine. 
 I believe there is a good deal of loose talk going on among 
 them and the thing seems to be spreading. Only 'to-day I 
 heard some boys use expressions in the yard which they 
 would not have dreamed of doing this time last year." 
 
 "There was enough of it last year, Stapleton," said Rob 
 Jones, blushing at the remembrance of his own share, "at 
 least there was enough of it before Buckley ran away, and 
 I broke my leg." 
 
 "We are not talking of that time, old man," said Staple- 
 ton, kindly, "but of the present. Last year's events are 
 dead and gone. We have to deal with the present." 
 
 "What do you propose to do?" asked Roy Henning, 
 who from a rather timid and somewhat girlish character 
 of last year, had lately developed into a strong, robust, 
 athletic young man. 
 
 "The case is this," resumed Stapleton, who seemed to 
 have been the appointed spokesman of the informal meet- 
 ing, "there is no denying the fact that Gregson and Ditson 
 are good all-round athletes. That's all right if it stopped 
 there, but it doesn't. You know how boys all of us 
 admire success in games of strength and skill. Now these 
 fellows I wouldn't in the least object to them having 
 their admirers if their influence over those who admire 
 them was turned to good account."
 
 110 AN HONORABLE COMBINATION. 
 
 "Isn't it?" asked Ambrose Bracebridge. 
 
 "Indeed, Ambrose, I am sorry to say it is not." 
 
 "How do you know ?" 
 
 "From what I see. From what I can't help seeing. And 
 then the stuff these fellows read ! Eugh ! and their talk is 
 well, it isn't what a college boy's ought to be. Why, 
 I actually heard one of these fellows swearing this very 
 afternoon !" 
 
 "But after all," said Henning, "what can we do about 
 it? It's the prefect's place to look after these things." 
 
 "Can a man be in a hundred places at once?" asked 
 Frank, "and don't these fellows scatter just as soon as 
 Mr. Shalford comes near them?" 
 
 "What does that mean ?" asked Bracebridge. 
 
 "It means there is something wrong, something they are 
 ashamed of ; something they would not like their mothers 
 or sisters to hear." 
 
 "Oh !" said Bracebridge. 
 
 "But what can we do about it ?" again asked Henning. 
 
 "Well, I have talked long enough," said Stapleton. 
 "Now let Howard or somebody else suggest a remedy." 
 
 "Whether it will prove a remedy or not," said Hunter, 
 "I am not sure, but I think the experiment is worth trying. 
 You know they are good at games. Every game won by 
 them is more influence in the yard for them. Now, what 
 I propose is this. Let us all make a most determined and 
 vigorous effort to carry off, if not all, at least by far the 
 greater number of the prizes in the fall field-day. Let us 
 all go into hard training and do our very best to win. It is 
 a fair and open way of trying to down an unwholesome 
 influence. What do you say, boys?" 
 
 The idea was received with enthusiasm. All promised
 
 AN HONORABLE COMBINATION. HI 
 
 to win the prizes for principle's sake ; at least they all added 
 this extra motive for winning. Every one promised to 
 go into special training for some particular event. 
 
 "Look here, gentlemen," said Gilkins, "I don't know 
 what you invited me to this meeting for. I guess most of 
 the time since I've been here I have been regarded as 
 rather belonging to the other gang. Isn't that so ?" 
 
 "No, no, no," came a chorus of voices. "You're all 
 right." 
 
 "No, indeed," said Harry Selby, "never after you 
 changed that red necktie! Look here, old man, we all 
 think a great deal of you. You're the right sort a dia- 
 mond in the rough a little, but a true diamond all the 
 same." 
 
 "Good gracious ! you fellows make me blush. However, 
 if you think I am all O. K. I'm with you heart and soul 
 but I don't know what influence I have with those fellows. 
 I don't know what I can do." 
 
 "Lots," said Howard Hunter, "much more than you 
 think. With your size and strength, with those big 'fists 
 and big feet of yours, when you put your foot down 
 metaphorically of course on a shady scheme, or a dan- 
 gerous proposal from these fellows, don't you think the 
 scheme or proposal stays down ?" 
 
 "I guess it does ; at all events it will for the future." 
 
 "Well, then, see?" 
 
 Gilkins saw. He saw that size and strength could be 
 used to a good purpose if only the intention be correct. 
 
 Claude Winters took a keen interest in the progress of 
 the meeting. He did not say much for some time. He 
 looked a good deal out of the window. There was in his 
 eye a strange strange for him reminiscent twinkle.
 
 112 AN HONORABLE COMBINATION. 
 
 This meeting and the work these upper boys proposed to 
 themselves reminded him strongly of a certain five-corn- 
 ered medal he carried in his vest pocket. Wasn't all this 
 precisely the work of the Secret Society of the Perpetual 
 Lily which Mr. Hillson established last year. He was 
 sure that some of the speakers were members, but true to 
 his promise to Mr. Hillson he did not attempt to find out 
 who they were. But wouldn't he have glorious news to 
 tell Mr. Hillson in his next letter to him ! 
 
 Mr. Shalford came in when the conversation had become 
 general. The boys were then freely discussing the ways 
 and means of carrying out their individual plans. 
 
 "I heartily approve of your plans, boys," he said. "They 
 are perfectly honorable. There must be nothing under- 
 hand, otherwise the scheme defeats itself." 
 
 "Why, of course, sir," said several. Such a proposition 
 needed no discussion. 
 
 "That's right. I have rarely known boys who want to 
 win prizes from other motives than cash value or honor," 
 he said. 
 
 "Not even a certain Rhetoric class, sir," said Stapleton, 
 with a pretended simplicity, but at the same time with a 
 mischievous twinkle in his eye. 
 
 "No, not even that," admitted the prefect, laughingly. 
 
 That evening, after supper, the members of the honor- 
 able combination commenced to practice in earnest, some 
 with the wheel, some at sprinting, others at jumping, 
 hurdle racing, and the other games which go to make up 
 a college field-day.
 
 PLA2VS. 113 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 PLANS. 
 
 THE result of the meeting of the boys of the two upper 
 classes respecting the plan by which they might honorably 
 capture the greater number of the prizes was, as has been 
 stated, that every one was to set to work at once to fit him- 
 self by hard practice to compete in some event. It was 
 decided that with regard to the principal wheel race 
 Frank Stapleton and Ambrose Bracebridge should prac- 
 tice together, so that one could pace the other. Ambrose 
 was in reality already a splendid wheelman. Stapleton 
 was a close second. It was agreed between the two that 
 just before the time for closing the entries on the day 
 before the field-day, he who was then considered the speed- 
 ier of the two should enter for the chief event the mile 
 race. The other was to enter for the next important event 
 of their class. 
 
 Rob Jones found it impossible to enter for any of the 
 contests owing to the accident of the year before in which 
 he broke his leg. 
 
 "If I can't do anything toward our success on the field," 
 he said, "I can pray for the success of others, and you bet 
 I'm going to do that." 
 
 "Thanks, old fellow/' said Howard Hunter. 
 
 The boys did not know exactly how to utilize big Gilkins 
 in the furtherance of their plans. His chief qualification 
 was sheer strength. Yard practice in football which
 
 114 PLANS. 
 
 amid all the preparations for the field-day had by no 
 means been neglected made it quite clear that he would 
 be an acquisition to the eleven, but in sprinting, wheeling, 
 or jumping it was as evidently clear that he was not up to 
 the required standard. 
 
 "It's a pity we can't utilize his great strength in some 
 way," remarked Harry Selby, "he is turning out to be a 
 jolly good fellow. I was talking to him this morning. He 
 is terribly in earnest about our side winning by far the 
 greater share of the prizes." 
 
 "Whoop ! I have it !" exclaimed Claude Winters. "Go 
 and fetch him, Nash, quick !" 
 
 Gilkins soon came. 
 
 "Say, Gilkins," asked Claude, "have you decided what 
 event you are going to enter for ?" 
 
 "I really don't see any chance for me. I'm not speedy 
 enough for the foot races. Wheeling is not exactly in my 
 line, nor is jumping either. I'm awfully sorry, but I can't 
 see that I'm going to be of any use whatever." 
 
 "Look here," said Claude, "can't you throw the ham- 
 mer or put the shot? You know these things are on the 
 lists." 
 
 "Of course, of course ! I never thought of that. Why, 
 of course ! There wasn't a man in our village who could 
 touch me on these two things. I'll enter for both of them. 
 I'd like to see the man here who could beat me. Glad you 
 mentioned it." 
 
 "First-rate!" said Hunter, "splendid!" 
 
 " What's the matter with Gilkins ? w shouted Claude. 
 
 "He's all right!" promptly responded the group, 
 after the approved style. 
 
 "But look here, boys. I've been thinking about some-
 
 PLANS. 115 
 
 thing else." There was a puzzled look in Gilkins' face. 
 His tone of voice was decidedly despondent. 
 
 "What's the matter now, Cornstalks ?" asked Claude. 
 
 Gilkins, by this time, was used to Winters' teasing 
 ways. He took no notice of the nickname, yet it was 
 noticed by the others that Claude always kept safely at 
 arm's length from Gilkins when he used it. 
 
 "It's just this," he replied, "suppose I do win these two 
 prizes, what good will it do you people? Guess I am no 
 good anyhow. My influence is nothing. If I told one of 
 those other fellows that this or that thing was wrong and 
 shouldn't be done, ten to one he would go and do it just 
 because I objected. I can't be of any help, because if I 
 win anything those fellows will count it as a victory for 
 themselves, of course thinking I am on their side. Say, 
 boys, I'm terrible sorry I gave trouble in the beginning 
 of the year." 
 
 The committee on prize-winning saw there was some- 
 thing in Gilkins' remarks. As yet he did not have much 
 influence in the yard, but owing to his great strength he 
 was sure to win the two prizes. The question was how 
 to make them available for the end the boys proposed. 
 
 "I see your difficulty," said Howard Hunter, "we will 
 try to get a solution for it. There! there's the bell for 
 studies. We will talk over this again after class. Meet 
 us here again, will you? We must try to find some way 
 to make you useful for the 'good of the cause' you 
 know." 
 
 "I wish I could think of some sure way myself," an- 
 swered the big fellow. 
 
 "I really wish something would turn up," said Hunter, 
 as they separated, "which would establish Gilkins' posi-
 
 116 PLANS. 
 
 tion in the yard so that everybody might clearly know on 
 which side he was." 
 
 "A good fight, for instance?" suggested Selby. 
 
 "Not exactly that but something or other, I don't know 
 what." 
 
 As good fortune would have it, the "something or other" 
 did turn up, and on that very day. It all happened in this 
 wise. Gilkins was sitting on one of the yard benches. 
 Near him sat Gregson, who was talking to a companion. 
 The conversation was not of the choicest, it being inter- 
 larded with many slang expressions, to many of which 
 more than one meaning could be attached. The two were 
 discussing a dime novel. From their running criticism, 
 the book must have been of a very lurid character. 
 
 "Oh, shut up," said Gilkins, earnest at the expense of 
 politeness, "that's no kind of talk to use here." 
 
 "It's none of your business what kind of talk I make use 
 of," said Gregson. 
 
 "Hm-m ! well, it is my business. I don't like it, and 
 you've got to stop it at least in my hearing," said the 
 young giant, emphatically. 
 
 "Ho, ho! did you hear that? Cornstalks is getting 
 sanctimonious all of a sudden. I suppose I'll have to ask 
 leave to say anything at all next, or or get my name 
 posted on the bulletin board again by some sneak." 
 
 "Do you mean to accuse me of that mean trick?" Gil- 
 kins rose and faced Gregson, who began to cower. 
 
 "I ain't accusing nobody yet," said the ungrammatical 
 Gregson, "but I'll get even with those who did it you'll 
 see." 
 
 "It's lucky for you, my fine fellow, you did not accuse 
 me of that," said the other. "But what I was saying is,
 
 PLANS. 117 
 
 that at least when I am around you've got to stop that 
 slangy, shady talk. It don't go, mind." 
 
 In his excitement Gilkins' diction was not elegant, but 
 no one could doubt his sincerity. By this time a crowd 
 of boys had gathered around the disputants. Among them 
 were Hunter, Falvey, Bracebridge, Nash, and Henning. 
 
 "Good for you, Gilkins," said Nash, "stick up for what 
 you know is right. Don't be afraid." 
 
 Hunter pulled Nash's coat in warning. 
 
 "Don't interfere," he whispered, "let Gilkins alone. 
 He can take care of himself all right. You might spoil his 
 game. I confess, as yet, I do not see what he is driving 
 at." 
 
 The crowd which had gathered around the two boys was 
 about equally divided. About half were staunch admirers 
 of Gregson. The rest more or less despised him and 
 would not regret to see his prestige toppled over. This 
 worthy saw that he was not making much headway against 
 Gilkins. So he determined on a bold stroke, relying on his 
 adherents to see him through if matters came to the worst. 
 Assuming a bragging air he began : 
 
 "Look here, I don't allow anybody to dictate to me what 
 I shall say." 
 
 "Indeed !" 
 
 "Yes, indeed, and any fellow who tries it on has got 
 to fight me first." 
 
 "Is that so?" 
 
 "Yes, that's so. Are you willing to fight?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why? You're afraid." 
 
 "Not much. If you want to know very badly why I 
 won't thrash you I don't say fight you, mind why I
 
 118 PLANS. 
 
 won't thrash you, this is the reason, and I don't care who 
 knows it. I'm going to get along in this college, and I'm 
 going to keep the rules as far as I can. See? that's the 
 reason why I won't have a fight with you." 
 
 Brave old Gilkins ! A diamond in the rough, perhaps, 
 but beneath the rough exterior there was, after all, a heart 
 as true as steel. The heart beneath the homespun is as 
 true as often truer than that beating beneath the broad- 
 cloth. The occasion called for a certain moral courage, 
 and the boy, crude, and even uncouth, if you will, destitute 
 as yet of the advantages of an education, lacking polish, 
 refinement, grace, rose equal to the occasion. He had 
 found his opportunity for showjng to which party he 
 belonged. 
 
 "Dear me! isn't he getting " began Gregson, but 
 Howard Hunter interrupted. He saw it was time to lend 
 support. He gave a signal to Nash, who appeared to be 
 spokesman. 
 
 "Good for you, old man," shouted Nash, once more. 
 "That's the stuff." 
 
 Several others cheered. The Gregson following was 
 silent. Their leader saw he was getting the worst of it. 
 
 "I despise a boy who won't fight," he said. 
 
 "And I despise one who will, unless there's a good 
 reason," replied Gilkins. 
 
 "Oh, you're afraid that's what you are." 
 
 "That's what you say. Wait. The time may come when 
 you will find you are wrong there." 
 
 "Hello! what's the rumpus?" shouted Claude Winters, 
 as he came running up to the crowd. 
 
 "Oh, nothing. Only Gilkins has turned preacher," said 
 a bystander.
 
 PLANS. 119 
 
 "Good for you, old man ! I'll be one of your congrega- 
 tion. Now for your 'fifthly.' I'm all attention." 
 
 Claude's remarks were made just at the right time. 
 Every one knew and admired the sterling character of 
 Winters. His presence was everywhere like a sunbeam, 
 ever smiling, ever happy. He was one of those boys who 
 wielded a great, but unconscious, moral influence. He 
 never preached, never obtruded himself, was no prig, yet 
 there was no other boy in the college, with perhaps the 
 exception of Howard Hunter, who had such an unsought 
 influence for good among his companions. 
 
 After his words there was no possibility of mistaking 
 for the future to which of the two camps Gilkins now 
 belonged. His own manly declaration of his avowed 
 intention of "keeping straight" won him the admiration 
 of many of the neutrals. Unknown to himself he had 
 already begun to have a following of his own. Big, strong, 
 and a very promising center-rush on the college eleven, he 
 was looked up to by many in the yard with that admira- 
 tion which strength and skill are ever wont to create in 
 youthful minds. An event that followed increased this 
 admiration. 
 
 "Go on with your sermon, parson," said Claude. 
 "Where were you fifthly or sixthly?" 
 
 "Oh, you just mind your business, Winters," said Greg- 
 son, "I'm running this thing." 
 
 "I don't think you are much," remarked Gilkins. 
 
 "Yes, I am, and I tell you what I think of you." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "You won't fight me?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then you are a "
 
 120 PLANS. 
 
 1 
 
 "What's that!" 
 
 "coward!" 
 
 At this word Gilkins did a thing which he should not 
 have done, and I do not attempt to excuse him. I only 
 ask the reader to consider the provocation. He did not 
 intend to engage in a fight, but the imputation of coward- 
 ice was hard to hear. The hot blood rushed to his head. 
 For a moment he was on the point of losing his self-con- 
 trol. Fortunately, just at the right moment, he caught 
 Hunter's eye. In it he read the signal "don't fight, but 
 stand your ground." This steadied him. He nodded to 
 Hunter that he understood. Going close up to Gregson's 
 side, he said: 
 
 "Young fellow, if you were nearer my size I would 
 make you take that word back. As it is you had better 
 take a tumble." 
 
 Gregson had a very rapid experience for the next quar- 
 ter of a minute. Gilkins planted his right foot firmly at 
 the heels of Gregson. He then passed the fore part of 
 his right arm under the chin of the boy who had called 
 him names. Gilkins suddenly raised his arm, and Greg- 
 son was "chucked" under the chin. He lost his balance, 
 sitting down in the gutter in a pool of mud the only 
 pool in the yard. 
 
 For a moment there was perfect silence among the 
 boys. No one knew how the affair would end. It was 
 as if two stags had met in a forest glade. Unquestionably 
 Gregson was the most surprised boy of all. Dark waves 
 of passion chased one another across his, by no means too 
 handsome, face. 
 
 Now when the fallen boy prepared to rise, he neces- 
 sarily put his hands to the ground. Being for the nonce
 
 PLANS. 121 
 
 seated in a mud puddle his hands also soon became cov- 
 ered with a thick coating of the same undesirable mate- 
 rial. He presented to his admirers, as he began to get 
 up, a most undignified appearance for a hero. 
 
 Ridicule is a powerful weapon as a destroyer of pres- 
 tige. Just at the moment when affairs looked the most 
 ominous, a clear, silvery treble voice was heard giving 
 way to a burst of most enjoyable, uncontrollable laughter. 
 It was infectious. Everybody at once began to see the 
 funny side of things. 
 
 "Oh, isn't he a dude, now?" said one. 
 
 Laughter over Gregson's plight became general. Peal 
 followed peal, shout succeeded shout, until there was not 
 a boy in the group who had witnessed the tumble but 
 was now holding his sides in glee. 
 
 "Scrape him with a shingle," said a mischievous small 
 boy. 
 
 "Better borrow a hoe," remarked another. 
 
 What could Gregson do? It was impossible amid all 
 this merriment and ridicule to keep up a semblance of 
 anger. Gilkins had to laugh, too. 
 
 "Oh, really, I he, he, he ! I beg your pardon, Greg- 
 son he, he, hi I didn't know there was a mud hole 
 he, he, he, he! a mud hole behind you or I wouldn't 
 have tripped you. Indeed I wouldn't." 
 
 The mortified boy was quite sharp enough to see that 
 when the laugh had been turned so thoroughly against 
 him, it was not wise to show his anger. He determined 
 to abide his time and "get even." How he did this we 
 shall see later. 
 
 "What on earth have you been doing with yourself?" 
 asked Mr. Shalford, as he came up at the moment Greg-
 
 122 THE GREAT DAY ARRIVE 8. 
 
 son had risen to his feet. "Here's one little mud spot in 
 the whole yard, and you must select that to fall in!" 
 
 "Can I have the lavatory key, sir?" asked 'the crest- 
 fallen boy. 
 
 "Of course, under the circumstances. You had better 
 send some one to your trunk for another suit of clothes. 
 Then you can go to the bathroom and take a bath and a 
 change." 
 
 And thus Gilkins, in a way he had not intended, greatly 
 diminished the influence and the prestige which Gregson 
 had held. Among the boys there was no mistaking his 
 intentions. He was pledged for the law and order side. 
 The open declaration that "I am going to get along in 
 this college and I am going to keep the rules as far as 
 I can," gained for him many friends. He had the satisfac- 
 tion now of knowing that any victories won by him at the 
 field-day sports would have their full effect. No one was 
 surprised, therefore, now to see Gilkins leave the yard for 
 the practice-field arm in arm with Hunter and Stapleton. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE GREAT DAY ARRIVES. 
 
 ON the last Thursday of October at least twenty boys 
 jumped out of their beds long before the great bell had 
 tolled the hour for rising. They wanted to know what 
 kind of weather they might expect. 
 
 The great field-day dawned with the clearest of blue 
 skies. There was not a cloud to be seen. Late in the 
 year as it was, the day promised to be warm and cheer-
 
 THE GREAT DAY ARRIVES. 123 
 
 ful. But for the more gorgeous autumn coloring of the 
 trees one might have imagined that the occasion was the 
 annual field-day in June, instead of an extra one late in the 
 autumn. 
 
 Both boys and prefects were jubilant. Mr. Shalford 
 was ubiquitous. He seemed to have a thousand things 
 to attend to, little details which all required his own per- 
 sonal supervision. 
 
 The first surprise of the day was the breakfast. Hot 
 biscuits, pone, steak, and breakfast bacon and yes, ac- 
 tually plate after plate of hot buttered toast. How could 
 the cooks get it all ready by seven o'clock? Then when 
 the boys thought the sumptuous meal was over/the dozen 
 serving-boys in their white suits and caps, trooped in, 
 bearing trays of delicious fruits, oranges, apples, pears, 
 bananas, plums even, and slices of late cool red water- 
 melon! 
 
 But this was only a beginning to the surprises of the 
 day. Immediately after breakfast came the ceremony of 
 raising the college flag, amid the singing of college songs, 
 yells, and ringing cheers. This standard was an immense 
 one, some forty feet long. It had been presented to the 
 college by some of the alumni of St. Cuthbert's as a mark 
 of their devotion to their alma mater. The flag was used 
 only on very special occasions, such as Easter, Christmas, 
 breaking-up day, Washington's birthday, when some 
 very distinguished guest was visitor, when some great 
 glory had fallen to the college football or baseball teams, 
 or finally when the news came that some great honor had 
 come to an alumnus of the college, either in Church or 
 State. 
 
 When the flag rose slowly above the heads of the boys,
 
 124 THE GREAT DA"! ARRIVES. 
 
 it was a charming sight to watch them a company of as 
 pure-hearted, generous, handsome boys as ever gathered 
 together in one college. Caps waved in the air. Shouts 
 and songs echoed back from the tall buildings as the great 
 folds of the standard were gently lifted in the breeze, tell- 
 ing the sleepy town below that there were great doings 
 at the college. 
 
 "Wouldn't it be better, sir," asked John Gregson, of 
 the prefect, "that no wheels be allowed on the track or 
 anywhere until the wheel races begin this afternoon?" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Oh, because because if we go wheeling much before 
 the races we shall all be too tired to make good time." 
 
 "That's something of a reason. At all events I do not 
 want any wheels on the grounds this morning on account 
 of the marking of the distances, so, as you suggest, it 
 may be a good plan to keep the wheel-room locked until 
 after dinner. Here, Winters, get one boy from each class 
 and come to my room for programs in ten minutes. Tell 
 each boy to give only to his classmates, otherwise we 
 shall not have enough to go around this afternoon when 
 the visitors come." 
 
 Ditson and Gregson and a third boy named Hollister 
 were talking together very mysteriously when Winters 
 passed them with a bundle of programs in his hand. In 
 spite of the manager's injunctions he could not help giv- 
 ing each one of these boys a program. It was with an 
 almost malicious twinkle in his eyes he saw the amaze- 
 ment on Gregson's face when that boy discovered that 
 nearly every one of the Philosophers, as well as Gilkins, 
 Henning, and Bracebridge, had entered for one or other 
 of the different events.
 
 THE GREAT DAY ARRIVES. 125 
 
 "Hang it all!" Winters heard him say as he passed on, 
 "those fellows have done this merely to down us. I knew 
 last night that Bracebridge was going to run against me 
 in the mile wheel race, but I had no idea that all these 
 fellows were going to enter." 
 
 Winters, of course, reported all he had heard to the 
 committee in the Philosophy class-room. Gregson's con- 
 sternation caused some amusement, but more than one 
 was nervous as to results. 
 
 "I am sorry that those fellows knew yesterday that 
 Ambrose would be pitted against Gregson. That they 
 knew this so much earlier than we intended makes me 
 uneasy," said Hunter. 
 
 "Why should it?" asked Stapleton. "There's no time 
 now for extra practices, and no wheels are to be out this 
 morning." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know why I can't tell why. I suppose 
 I am fidgety. Hello, Bracebridge, how are you? In good 
 form, eh ? Do you think you will come out all right 
 this afternoon?" 
 
 "I think so," answered Ambrose, modestly; "I never 
 felt in better form. My nerves are under perfect control; 
 generally, I may say, I'm in good shape. I see there are 
 eight entries for the mile race. Will there be heats ?" 
 
 "No. The track is wide enough for all to run at once," 
 said Howard. "Good luck, old fellow ; I should advise 
 you not to attend the games this morning, but rest for 
 the afternoon. The morning events are only for novices 
 and for the small boys, chiefly. Too much depends on 
 your race for you to be in anything but the pink of condi- 
 tion when you start." 
 
 It was as Howard had said. The events of minor im-
 
 126 THE GREAT DAT ARRIVES. 
 
 portance came off in the morning. The great events were 
 reserved for the afternoon, when the public from the town 
 would be admitted to the grounds. 
 
 During the forenoon Fred Nash's base running against 
 time elicited much applause, and gained the first prize for 
 those who were trying to win "for principle's sake." 
 There was also some excellent work done in pole vault- 
 ing. To Claude Winters' surprise he was awarded a first. 
 These were all the prizes our friends captured in the 
 morning. 
 
 Gregson, Ditson, and their followers, were much more 
 successful. Their side captured the long standing jump, 
 which was won by Hollister. The first prize for the 
 sixty-five yard high hurdle was lost to the "committee," 
 being taken in very fine style by Gregson himself. The 
 hop-step-and-jump contest one always popular with St. 
 Cuthbert boys was well contested. Although at one 
 time it appeared that Stapleton was likely to distance all 
 comers, fortune was against him. He was defeated by an 
 open admirer of Gregson, to whose side went also the 
 prizes for the long throw and the high jump. 
 
 At dinner time, results, so far, did not look very en- 
 couraging for our friends. They could only count two 
 victories, while their opponents already counted five. To 
 make matters more critical, by dinner time all the boys of 
 the college fully realized that the competitors were divided 
 into two distinct camps. Hunter and Stapleton now real- 
 ized more clearly than before that their successes would 
 be a decided moral victory that if their camp should 
 come out triumphant at the end of the day, their influence 
 would be firmly established for the rest of the year. 
 
 Hunter, with the instincts of a manager, gave orders
 
 THE GREAT DAT ARRIVES. 127 
 
 that notwithstanding the tempting first-class feast at din- 
 ner, those who were to .take part in the events of the 
 afternoon were to eat sparingly and of solid food only. 
 After dinner they were to rest quietly for at least one 
 hour. 
 
 Every one who knew Claude Winters would be well 
 aware that this regulation could not be applied to him. 
 All day long he was like quicksilver, never quiet for a 
 moment. His excitement kept him on the move, whether 
 he had anything to do or not. But had not Claude already 
 done his share by winning one prize? 
 
 Stapleton and Hunter were not very much disconcerted 
 with the apparent unfavorable results of the morning's 
 work. These felt certain of Gilkins' two gains with the 
 hammer and the stone or shot. They knew also that the 
 yard attached considerable importance to these two trials 
 of strength. This, they reckoned, would bring the tally- 
 ing to four to five. 
 
 There was to be a senior relay race of three sets of 
 three on a side, but as the Hunter and Gregson elements 
 were mixed indiscriminately in this race it was clear there 
 was no moral influence to be gained or lost by it. Con- 
 siderable importance was attached to the standing high 
 jump contest; and even more to the two foot races four 
 hundred and forty yard race, and the other a hundred yard 
 dash.. For all these our friends had entered. They had 
 also arranged that Falvey, Winters, and Roy Henning 
 should enter for the half mile wheel race. 
 
 Beyond all question the greatest interest of the day 
 was centered on the mile bicycle race. It was to be the 
 great race of the day, the finish and climax of the day's 
 sports.
 
 128 THE GREAT DA7 ARRIVES. 
 
 The committee were agreed that to win that would be 
 worth winning three other races for the purpose for which 
 they were working. 
 
 It can easily be understood how anxious they were that 
 Ambrose Bracebridge should be in good form, and that 
 he should keep his head clear and his nerves steady. At 
 all events the outlook, so far, was promising, for Brace- 
 bridge was perfectly cool, easily managed, and had rested 
 much during the morning. 
 
 'By two o'clock the grand stand was well filled by vis- 
 itors from town. The narrow space around the track was 
 filling up with carriages and other vehicles. 
 
 The first event after dinner was the standing high jump. 
 It was lost to our friends, much to their chagrin. 
 
 "Six to two," said Winters dolefully to Henning. But 
 in the hundred yard dash fortune turned in their favor. 
 Roy Henning came in first, perhaps as much to his own 
 surprise as to his competitors', for until last summer's 
 vacation he had been considered more or less of a weak- 
 ling. He ran well and was cheered by all. 
 
 The four hundred and forty yard race was also won by 
 a member of the ''committee." Fred Nash's long stride 
 
 stood him in good stead here. 
 
 "Cheer up, Claudie," said Hunter, to that mercurial 
 boy. "You see it's six to four now. Better things are 
 coming." 
 
 Then came the contests in which Gilkins had promised 
 victory. Stapleton, Hollister, and a big fellow, almost 
 as big as Gilkins himself, named Black, were the four 
 who entered the two contests of throwing the sledge and 
 putting the shot. Black was an admirer of Gregson, so 
 the sides were equally divided.
 
 THE GREAT DAT ARRIVES. 129 
 
 Having entered these competitions last, Gilkins claimed 
 the right to throw last. Some good work had been done 
 in the sledge throwing already, but when Gilkins took 
 hold of the big sledge he handled it in so masterly a 
 fashion that everybody saw he meant victory. 
 
 He wore a sleeveless thin undershirt. It was a fine 
 sight to see the play of his back and chest muscles, and 
 his well-knit arms in action. 
 
 With the swing of a giant he sent the heavy sledge high 
 in the air, landing it three and a half feet beyond Black's 
 mark. 
 
 The boys simply screamed with delight. The ladies 
 fluttered their handkerchiefs from the grand stand. Gil- 
 kins took no notice of all the applause. Turning to Staple- 
 ton, who was close by, he said: 
 
 "That's one out of the two. Say a Hail Mary for my 
 next success, for I'm terribly anxious to be as good as 
 my word and win both." 
 
 The good old chaplain's influence on the big rough boy 
 ,vas beginning to work. He would have laughed a year 
 igo six months ago had he heard such a remark, on a 
 sports day, as he himself had just made use of. He was, 
 as Hunter early in the year predicted, getting more and 
 more under the St. Cuthbert's influence. 
 
 He was as good as his word. He won the shot putting 
 contest with even more ease than he had the previous 
 trial. 
 
 "Six to six ! Tie ! Whoop-la !" screamed the irrepress- 
 ible Claude Winters. 
 
 "The next event will be the mile relay race in three 
 thirds by three sets," the man at the megaphone informed 
 the occupants of the grand stand. 

 
 130 TEE GREAT DAY ARRIVES. 
 
 As this relay race took some time to get ready, we will, 
 while the band is playing, endeavor to describe it for the 
 benefit of those young readers who have never seen one. 
 This is the way the race is run: 
 
 Three men comprise one set. One is at the starting 
 point, another is stationed a third of the way along the 
 mile track, while the third man is two-thirds of a mile from 
 the starting point. The man at the line runs a third oi 
 a mile to the man waiting for him and whom the runner 
 must touch. The second man then starts at his greatest 
 speed and touches the man at the two-thirds of a mile 
 point. This third man runs home. Thus, although a mile 
 is run in the race, yet each of the three runners covers 
 only one-third of that distance. The judges of this race 
 generally demand that a piece of white silk or a handker- 
 chief shall change hands to prevent the starter moving 
 before the runner has covered his ground. As the track 
 at St. Cuthbert's, at the time, was a quarter mile course, 
 the spectators had a good opportunity of witnessing the 
 race at rather close range, something that cannot be done 
 so conveniently when the track is longer. 
 
 Both sets of contestants had entered the relay race, so 
 our friends had no particular interest in the result, beyond 
 witnessing a fine piece of athletics. 
 
 Then came the three bicycle races of the day. As they 
 are so important and have so much bearing on our story, 
 we will devote to them a new chapter.
 
 SOME TRACK EVENTS. 131 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SOME TRACK EVENTS. 
 
 HAD the gentlemen invited to act as judges, starter, 
 =md timekeeper, had the choosing of the weather, they 
 could not have selected a better day for an October bicycle 
 meet. All day it had been warm and summer-like. The 
 sky had remained a deep clear blue. During the after- 
 noon the temperature fell somewhat. A fresh breeze 
 sprang up, sufficient to make cheeks look rosy and eyes 
 sparkle. It kept the scarfs and wraps and laces in the 
 grand stand, as well as numberless little blue and white 
 flags all over the field, in constant fluttering motion. The 
 track was in excellent condition. Everybody was eager 
 for the great sport of the day to begin, and regretting that 
 only three senior races were to be witnessed. 
 
 It was an animated and beautiful scene when, promptly 
 at the close of the relay race, the wheelmen and their 
 voluntary attendants came upon the ground. The autumn 
 tints of the trees surrounding the field, ablaze with the 
 rich colors of the dying year; the diversified costumes of 
 the lady visitors who occupied the grand stand and the 
 carriages which filled every available site around the 
 track, the numerous flags, all combined to give a festive 
 appearance to the occasion. 
 
 The different bright colors of the long blanket coats in 
 which many of the riders were enveloped previous to the 
 start, helped to add gaiety to the scene. Some of these
 
 132 SOME TRACK EVENTS. 
 
 coats were striped with all colors, some were a bright 
 red, some light blue, and many were pure white. No 
 attempt to discard them was made by any one until imme- 
 diately before the starting of the race. This was done to 
 prevent the racers' muscles becoming stiff and sore by 
 being chilled before the race began. 
 
 All the racers came on the field at one time. The 
 audience cheered loudly, waving flags and handkerchiefs. 
 For a few minutes there was a deluge of noise, accom- 
 panied by a rich panorama of changing colors. 
 
 The first race was a quarter mile dash of the junior 
 division, but as we are at present more interested in the 
 seniors' races, we ask pardon of the little fellows for not 
 giving a detailed account of their races. 
 
 There were four entries in the senior quarter mile run. 
 Claude Winters and Roy Henning represented the Hun- 
 terites. Grossmith and Alberton were the Gregsonites. 
 The contest was close. The race was well run. For 
 nearly the whole distance the four were well bunched. 
 As the riders turned into the home stretch, the clerk of 
 the course sounded a bell as a signal for the final spun. 
 Winters and Alberton shot ahead of the others a wheel's 
 length. Neck and neck they rode for half the length of 
 the home stretch. Then Claude saw with chagrin 
 that Alberton was drawing ahead in the last hundred 
 yards. 
 
 He put forth all his powers, but his opponent had a 
 greater reserve strength, and used it at the right moment. 
 Claude came in second, less than one foot behind the 
 victor. 
 
 "Too bad, Claude !" said Stapleton. "If you had had the 
 sense to follow Manager Hunter's advice, and not run
 
 SOME TRACK EVENTS. 133 
 
 around all day like a kitten after its tail, you would have 
 won that race." 
 
 "I know it," said Winters. He had at the moment 
 such a comically rueful face that all his friends burst out 
 laughing. 
 
 "I know it, but to-day I simply could not keep still." 
 
 "What's our score now?" asked Clavering, rather 
 anxiously. 
 
 "Seven to six against us," replied Claude, sorrowfully. 
 "But never mind, Stapleton is going to win the next, you'll 
 see." 
 
 So he did. Stapleton was pitted against four others. 
 It was seen from the first that he was by far the best man. 
 He led with ease. In consequence, this race from the 
 start lacked that interest of excitement as a contest, 
 although it brought the two camps to a tie on the number 
 of victories gained. 
 
 There was intense excitement among the boys and also 
 among the occupants of the grand stand when the last 
 and great race of the day was announced through the 
 megaphone. 
 
 The bell called the contestants to the judges' stand. 
 Off went every blanket coat and eight strong, healthy, 
 well-formed, handsome boys stood at their wheels. There 
 was a great clapping of hands, cheering, and blowing of, 
 certainly not musical, tin trumpets when the riders ap- 
 peared in various colored riding shirts and caps. Several 
 of the boys turned to the grand stand and touched their 
 caps. As Ambrose Bracebridge did this, he caught sight 
 of Major and Mrs. Bracebridge and his sister Rose. The 
 party had driven over from Rosecroft Manor to "witness 
 the races. As he caught his sister's eye, she clapped her
 
 134 SOME TRACK EVENTS. 
 
 hands and waved her little blue and white flag in encour- 
 agement to her brother and his friends. 
 
 "Attention, please," said an official, from the judges' 
 stand. "The judges have drawn lots for positions in the 
 race. They are as follows: Black has the pole, pink, 
 purple, blue, yellow, white, mauve, green." 
 
 This meant that Gregson, whose color was black, had 
 the pole; Bracebridge, pink; John Black, purple; Selby, 
 blue; Clavering, yellow; Hollister, white; Hunter, mauve; 
 and Nash, green. 
 
 "You will all please go a hundred yards down the home 
 stretch, examine your wheels, and at a signal will mount 
 there. Now, gentlemen, the sun is getting low, so try 
 to pass under the wire in a bunch for a good start at 
 once." 
 
 When the examination of the wheels was completed 
 even to the testing of the oscillation, Gregson said: 
 
 "Wait, please. Will some one lend me a wrench? My 
 right pedal seems a little loose." 
 
 "Where is your own?" asked Selby. 
 
 "Confound it, I have lost it and cannot find it any- 
 where." 
 
 A wrench was handed to him by one of the bystanders. 
 In two minutes he was ready. 
 
 "Are you ready, gentlemen? Go." 
 
 All got in motion well and reached the wire in good 
 form. 
 
 "Go!" 
 
 "They are off! They have started! There they go! 
 Hurrah!" A thousand shouts and cheers came from the 
 spectators in the grand stand and around the field. Those 
 who did not shout used their trumpets vociferously. As
 
 SOME TRACK EVENTS. 135 
 
 if to help along the wheelmen the band started up a 
 lively gallop. Laces fluttered, parasols, handkerchiefs and 
 little flags waved in the breeze. The scene was one of 
 animation and beauty. What a hum of excitement there 
 was, as the large, fashionably dressed gathering watched 
 the bits of flying color! 
 
 . The track, as has been said, was a quarter of a mile 
 in length. The racers had, therefore, to make four laps. 
 
 As soon as the race had started, Claude Winters and 
 Roy Henning crossed the track and wormed their way 
 into the grand stand to where their friends Mr. and Mrs. 
 and Rose Bracebridge were seated. 
 
 "Who is that boy with the black cap and black shirt?" 
 asked Rose Bracebridge, after the handshaking. 
 
 "That's Gregson/' replied Claude. "He is Ambrose's 
 opponent, and we are all afraid of him." 
 
 "Oh, I do hope Ambrose will win," said the enthusi- 
 astic young lady. 
 
 "You do not wish it more than we do, does she, Roy?" 
 
 "But he's my brother, you know." 
 
 "And he's our our champion." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 The eight bunched well together for the first half of the 
 first round. All appeared to be saving themselves. Com- 
 ing down the home stretch all bunched again for a spurt. 
 At the beginning of the next lap the real race began. At 
 the beginning of the second quarter Gregson stretched 
 away, with Bracebridge on his back wheel. Both grad- 
 ually drew away from the other six. The race was evi- 
 dently to be between these two. 
 
 Suddenly, at one-third of the second quarter, Hunter 
 pulled out from among the stragglers. By a strong spurt
 
 136 SOME TRACK EVENTS. 
 
 he came close to the two leaders. Bracebridge had 
 gained considerably in the second quarter. As the two 
 leaders came under the wire a second time, Bracebridge 
 was not more than twelve inches behind his rival. Hun- 
 ter was a wheel's length behind. 
 
 A tornado of cheers sent the racers on the third round. 
 In the beginning of this lap, purple and yellow, that 
 is, Clavering and Black, gradually dropped behind and 
 gave up. 
 
 Hunter found he had not the staying qualities of the 
 other two, and had to drop back to Nash. Well, mauve 
 and green go well together. 
 
 It was now a race between black and pink. No other 
 colors attracted any attention. The third quarter was run 
 neck and neck all around the course. In the first quarter 
 of the third lap Bracebridge was six inches ahead of 
 Gregson. In the second quarter he changed places with 
 his rival. In the third, he changed again, and in coming 
 under the wire at the judges' stand for the commence- 
 ment of the fourth and last round, it would have been im- 
 possible to say which was ahead. Both seemed to have 
 got what is called their second wind, when the lungs have 
 adapted themselves to the work, and the race then relies 
 on skill and muscle. The two well knew that the real 
 work of the race was to be done in the fourth round, 
 which was begun amid a perfect torrent of shouts, 
 screams and trumpet blasts. 
 
 Major Bracebridge became so enthusiastic that he 
 could not sit still. 
 
 "Wait here, mamma and you, too, Rose I must go 
 down on the track to be close when this fine race finishes. 
 Dear me, I did not dream there was such excitement in
 
 SOME TRACK EVENTS. 137 
 
 bicycle racing! Who would have thought that Ambrose 
 could have raced like this!" 
 
 "Come up on the judges' stand, major," said one of the 
 judges of the races. 
 
 "No, no, thanks! I'm too interested too partial to 
 be up there just now. Some other time. Thanks, 
 though!" 
 
 "Hurrah, hurrah ! Go it, pink ! Go it, Bracebridge ! 
 Give it to him, Gregson! Down him, Bracebridge! Rah! 
 for Ambrose!" 
 
 The grand stand was wild with excitement. The boys, 
 crowded out of the grand stand by the numbers of visi- 
 torsf lined the track on both sides. It seemed wonderful 
 that these boys could produce such a volume of sound. 
 
 The two racers were now pale from excitement and 
 the physical exertion. Their hearts and lungs must be 
 sound to stand so great a strain. There was a look of 
 determination on each face. Bracebridge knew Gregson 
 was a good wheelman, but he did not imagine that he 
 had such good staying qualities as he was now showing. 
 
 The half distance was reached. Both began to prepare 
 for the final spurt. They were riding in good form, with 
 handle bars well down and bodies far over the front wheel. 
 
 The two had already turned into the rather long home 
 stretch, when Gregson began suddenly to forge ahead. 
 Now was the time for all of Ambrose's reserve powers. 
 He put them forth. He knew that he was within his own 
 strength, but realizing, at the same time, that there was 
 considerable strain on the wheel. 
 
 What was the matter? He saw with dismay that Greg- 
 son was surely gaining. At that moment he caught sight 
 of his opponent's face. It had a look which Ambrose
 
 138 SOME TRACK EVENTS. 
 
 never forgot. Gregson's white teeth, as the lips were 
 curled away, appeared to be actually snarling. The face 
 looked horrible. There was a glitter in the eyes which 
 could not result from the triumph of winning. 
 
 To Bracebridge's surprise, he now found that when he 
 began to strain his wheel for the last heavy spurt, it did 
 not respond to his efforts. The wheel rattled. It seemed 
 in some way loose. Whether in the gearing, pedals, or 
 spokes, the rider could not tell. Something was wrong. 
 His rival was now a good foot ahead. 
 
 Bracebridge put out all the physical strength he pos- 
 sessed as he sped along the home stretch. It was no use. 
 The wheel would no longer properly respond to his touch. 
 Pale and panting, the two rushed beneath the wire. 
 Bracebridge had lost by half a wheel's length. 
 
 The shouts and screams of the sightseers increased, 
 but most of the noise came now from a sense of disap- 
 pointment. The pink rider, from the first, had been the 
 favorite. 
 
 As the two passed the judges' stand, Gregson raised 
 his hand, jockey fashion, and shouted : 
 
 "I have won fairly." 
 
 Bracebridge slackened at once. Going to the stand 
 he said quietly, but firmly: 
 
 "I protest the race, gentlemen." 
 
 "What !" said his father. "Don't be foolish, boy. You 
 have lost. Take your defeat like a man. Don't be a " 
 Baby, he was going to say, but was interrupted by his 
 son. "Father, believe me. Trust me this once. I have 
 reason for doing as I do now." 
 
 With perfect self-possession he again turned to the 
 judges. "I protest the race, gentlemen," he repeated.
 
 SOME TRACK EVENTS, 139 
 
 There was a certain dignity in the boy's manner. Major 
 Bracebridge at once realized that his son was no longer a 
 child. The father saw the young man was old enough 
 to manage his own affairs. 
 
 "All right, Ambrose. I trust you, my son. You have 
 never deceived me." 
 
 "And never will, sir; you may rely on that." 
 
 Just then Gregson returned in time to hear the words 
 from one of the judges. 
 
 "Judgment will not be given until to-morrow." 
 
 Gregson had not heard Ambrose's protest. At the 
 judge's words he started as if stung. His lips turned 
 ashen gray. Without a word he rode off the field, but 
 not before Mr. Shalford's eyes had looked him through 
 and through. 
 
 "Give me your wheel, Bracebridge," said Claude Win- 
 ters, as some one helped the loser of the race to get into 
 his big woolen coat. 
 
 "No, Claude, don't touch it." 
 
 He had reason for acting thus, which he explained 
 afterward. Turning to his father, he said : 
 
 "Papa, will you excuse me to mother and Rose? I 
 cannot go over to them now. I will ask permission to 
 come home on my wheel next Sunday instead." 
 
 Bracebridge, Stapleton, and Winters, trundled their 
 wheels off the grounds, with difficulty threading their way 
 amid the departing concourse of people.
 
 140 SOME DISCOVERIES. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 SOME DISCOVERIES. 
 
 THE greatest excitement prevailed among the boys over 
 the result of the great mile race. Groups of threes and 
 fours were scattered about the yard, all earnestly discuss- 
 ing it. Why had Bracebridge protested ? Was it merely 
 because he was vexed at losing a well-contested race? 
 Many thought he was not that kind of a boy. There were 
 some, however, who were inclined to attribute this rather 
 low motive to him, but by far the greater number were 
 convinced that he had some good reason for making the 
 protest. Even some of his friends of the Philosophy class, 
 not understanding him, began to waver and to think that 
 after all they had, perhaps, taken up with the wrong sort 
 of man. 
 
 Before leaving, the judges had informed Mr. Shalford 
 that, as far as their knowledge went, they saw no reason 
 why the mile race should not be awarded to Gregson. 
 Everything, so far as they were in a position to judge, 
 had been fair. They thought the contestants had been 
 well matched. Altogether it had been a most enjoyable 
 race. They regretted a protest had been entered. 
 
 There was no time left to investigate that evening. As 
 they had publicly announced that their decision would be 
 reserved, they requested the prefect not to say anything 
 about this race until the next day, giving him full liberty, 
 if anything were discovered in the meantime, to take the 
 awarding of the decision into his own hands, promising 
 to ratify any action he might take.
 
 SOME DISCOVERIES. 141 
 
 The distribution of the senior prizes took place in the 
 gymnasium after supper, amid much cheering and clap- 
 ping of hands in honor of the winners. Claude Winters 
 had an opportunity of realizing that he was a popular boy 
 at school, by the ovation he received when he went up 
 to the platform to receive his prize for the pole vaulting. 
 
 "And now," said Mr. Shalford, when all was done, " as 
 the result of the mile bicycle race has been objected to, 
 the judges' decision on that event will not be given until 
 to-morrow." 
 
 There was an audible hiss from some of Gregson's 
 friends. Mr. Shalford looked annoyed and vexed. 
 
 "It's my prize," said Gregson. "I won it fairly, and I'd 
 like to see any one keep me out of it." 
 
 "Perhaps you did," said Fred Nash, who was standing 
 in the crowd behind Gregson, who turned fiercely around. 
 
 "What do you mean by 'perhaps'? You can't prove I 
 didn't win fairly." 
 
 "Perhaps I cannot," said Nash. 
 
 "Why, hang it, man! if you have anything against me, 
 out with it. I can clear myself of all you can say." 
 
 "Perhaps," again said the enigmatic Nash. He then 
 added in a clear, well-heard undertone, as if talking to 
 himself: 
 
 "How terribly anxious this fellow is to -clear himself 
 before any one accuses him. It's my belief that if he is 
 given rope enough he'll hang himself." 
 
 The chance shot went home. Gregson turned deathly 
 pale, and, as some of the boys who were closest to him 
 said afterward, his lips looked actually blue in the elec- 
 tric light. 
 
 Mr. Shalford had overheard these remarks. From be-
 
 142 SOME DISCOVERIES. 
 
 neath his thick, bushy eyebrows, he cast on Gregson a 
 most piercing glance, under which the boy seemed to 
 quail. 
 
 "Gregson," he said, "please come up here." 
 
 The boys around Gregson made way for him to mount 
 the low platform at the end of the room. 
 
 "Now, my boy," said the prefect, kindly, "I want you to 
 understand that I have no doubt whatever that you won 
 the race fairly, but why do you so frequently state this 
 fact, and when no one has challenged it? You remember 
 at the very moment of finishing the last lap you said the 
 same thing." 
 
 "Well, the decision was challenged." 
 
 "Not then." 
 
 "But it is now." 
 
 "Yes, but no one charges you with unfairness?" 
 
 The boy was silent. Telegraphic glances had been 
 passing between Bracebridge and Hunter while this con- 
 versation was progressing. When Gregson became silent, 
 Hunter said: 
 
 "Now is your time, Ambrose," and pushed him toward 
 the platform. 
 
 "I would like to make a statement, sir, if you will allow 
 me," said the boy. 
 
 "Certainly, Bracebridge. What is it? Come up here.*' 
 
 "I entered a protest with the judges, sir, because my 
 wheel, on the fourth round, acted in a most strange 
 manner." 
 
 "And that was my fault, I suppose," interposed Greg- 
 son. 
 
 "Wait a minute, please. I don't accuse you or any- 
 body. I merely state that my wheel acted strangely."
 
 SOME DISCOVERIES. 143 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" asked the prefect. 
 
 "I mean, sir, that it became loose in the spokes, rattled, 
 and appeared as if it were going to pieces and, of course, 
 lost speed." 
 
 "You mean, you played out," said Gregson. 
 
 "Wait, please, until I have finished. I said before that 
 I do not accuse you. Well, sir, I went at once and thor- 
 oughly examined my machine." 
 
 "And found the going to pieces all in your imagina- 
 tion?" said Mr. Shalford. 
 
 "No, sir. I found my wheel had been tampered 
 with!" 
 
 "A-ah!" came the long, spontaneous sound of excite- 
 ment from the now thoroughly excited crowd of boys. 
 
 "Be quiet, boys. Let us hear the end of this story. I 
 guess your imagination must have been playing you a 
 trick after all, Bracebridge; but go on." 
 
 "I went at once to the wheel-room with my wheel. I 
 found, sir, that about one-fourth of the spokes had been 
 loosened, while one- fourth at the opposite side to those 
 loosened appeared to have been tightened, so as to throw 
 the axle out of center." 
 
 "Impossible! You couldn't have ridden on such a 
 wheel !" 
 
 "But I did, sir. The way I managed to do so seems 
 to be this. The wheel is a high-priced one of splendid 
 workmanship, so everything hung together until the really 
 heavy strain of the last spurt was put upon it. Then the 
 spokes of the loosened part began to work in the holes 
 of the wooden groove which holds the tire. Under ordi- 
 nary weight and ordinary pedaling, there was not suf- 
 ficient strain to tell, but, as I said before, when I began
 
 U4 SOME DISCOVERIES. 
 
 in the last lap to put all my strength into the wheel, the 
 whole machine began to get awry." 
 
 "Oh, yes," sneered Gregson, "Bracebridge is a rich 
 man's son and therefore you believe all that he says. I 
 get no credit for what I say." 
 
 "Don't talk nonsense," said the prefect sharply. 
 
 "Well, then, that fairy story of Bracebridge's to cheat 
 me out of the prize is the evidence of only one man. I 
 say I won fairly. So it's one to one after all. All this 
 which he says was done to his wheel, if it were done, might 
 have been done after the race." 
 
 "I thought some one might possibly say that, sir," said 
 Ambrose quietly, "so I took the precaution to have wit- 
 nesses. Stapleton and Winters examined the wheel with 
 me right after the race. The wheel did not leave my 
 hands until I had thoroughly examined it. But be their 
 testimony what it may, I claim the right to be believed." 
 
 "Ho! you do," said Gregson, "why you more than 
 oth " 
 
 "Because I always speak the truth. I am not accus- 
 tomed to lie that's why!" answered Ambrose quickly. 
 
 The excited listeners cheered this outspoken declara- 
 tion of his claim for credibility. They saw that it was 
 given with a natural dignity which was devoid of all tinge 
 of priggishness. It was the simple claim of an upright 
 character. Had there been the slightest suspicion among 
 the boys that he was "posing" he could not have retained 
 their confidence for five minutes. Gregson lapsed into 
 silence. Stapleton and Winters confirmed the testimony 
 of the first witness. They had no doubt but that the wheel 
 had been tampered with, because, they said, that in tight- 
 ening or loosening the nuts which held the spokes, the
 
 SOME DISCOVERIES. 145 
 
 wooden groove of the wheel had been very much 
 scratched, and in some places even dinged. The other 
 two opposite fourths of the wheel which had not been 
 touched were free from marks or scratches of any kind. 
 
 It was quite evident now to the boys that a very mean 
 trick had been done by some one. Who was the cul- 
 prit? The difficulties of the case were not lessened when 
 Mr. Shalford said: 
 
 "Well, whom do you accuse?" 
 
 "No one, sir," answered Ambrose. "I merely state 
 what I have found out, and my reason for entering the 
 protest." 
 
 "And I," said Gregson, "knowing nothing of this 
 alleged tampering with his wheel, claim to have won 
 fairly. When I heard he had protested I repeated my 
 claim that I had fairly won the race. That's all there is 
 in it." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Fred Nash, from among the audience, 
 in imitation of the "Nevermore" of Poe's Raven. 
 
 "Oh, you shut up, Nash," from Gregson. "You are not 
 interested in this thing." 
 
 "Perhaps !" Fred again repeated sonorously. His one 
 word was, for some reason, like a lash to Gregson's back. 
 It appeared to the "committee" that every time the claim- 
 ant for the prize heard it, he winced under it. 
 
 "It is a peculiar case," said the prefect. "I cannot 
 do anything until there are more developments. Was 
 there ever anything the matter with your wheel before?" 
 
 "Never, sir," said Bracebridge. "I have had it a year. 
 Last summer I made a century with it." 
 
 "Well, we must now postpone further investigation," 
 said Mr. Shalford. "But I hope, for the credit of St.
 
 146 SOME DISCOVERIES. 
 
 Cuthbert's, it will turn out all right. I am loath to be- 
 lieve that any student here would do a dastardly act. 
 There is a mystery about it. We must wait." 
 
 Just at this moment there was a commotion at the other 
 end of the gymnasium, near the door. Claude Winters, 
 in order to see better what was going on, mounted the 
 vaulting horse. Others seated themselves on the hori- 
 zontal bars, climbing ladders, and other apparatus of the 
 gymnasium. 
 
 "Look, look, Frank!" said Winters, who from his 
 elevated position could see over the heads of the boys. 
 "If there isn't Ernie and another boy from the small yard, 
 standing at the door. Go, Frank, and see' what they 
 want." 
 
 Stapleton pushed his way through the mass of boys to 
 the two little fellows. All eyes were now turned to the 
 two boys who stood rather timidly on the doorstep. 
 Owing to the strict separation between the juniors and 
 seniors, Ernest Winters and his companion had never yet 
 been in the large boys' gymnasium. 
 
 "What's up, Ernie?" asked Stapleton. "Why do you 
 come over here? Mr. Silverton will catch you." 
 
 "We've got a letter for Mr. Shalford," said Ernest. 
 
 "You have? Then come along. These fellows won't 
 hurt or eat you." 
 
 Frank conducted them through the crowd of boys to 
 the platform. 
 
 "What's the matter, Ernest? Have you been getting 
 into trouble?" 
 
 Claude was all excitement now. Jumping from the 
 vaulting horse he went over to his brother, who answered : 
 
 "No, but Mr. Silverton sent us over 'cause we know
 
 SOME DISCOVERIES. 147 
 
 something. He told us to tell it to Mr. Shalford. He 
 gave me this letter for him." 
 
 The letter was a penciled, folded note, and ran thus : 
 
 "These little fellows seem to know something about that 
 race, so I send them to you. You may trust implicitly all 
 they say. S." 
 
 "Well, Ernest, what have you to say? Do not be afraid 
 to speak out." 
 
 "I'm not afraid, sir," he replied. Nevertheless he held 
 Claude's hand tightly, as if for protection, as he faced the 
 sea of faces, all eager to hear his story. 
 
 "Last night, sir," began the boy who had once been 
 so nearly kidnapped, "I was looking out of the stair win- 
 dow in our building across the yard at the bicycle shed." 
 
 "At what time?" asked the prefect. 
 
 "It was about twenty minutes before the end of studies 
 of the last hour." 
 
 "But, my boy, how is it that you were on the stairs at 
 that time and not in your study-hall?" 
 
 "The study-keeper gave me leave to go down to the 
 play-room to feed my rabbits. I forgot to do that at 
 recess." 
 
 "Go on." 
 
 "I saw a big boy come to the wheel-room shed, and 
 stand on a box and lift out the little window in the back 
 wall. Then he got up on the sill and wriggled himself 
 through the window-hole, and he got inside." 
 
 "Well, is that all?" 
 
 "I thought it was awful funny for a boy to get in that 
 way, so I ran downstairs again and went out into the yard 
 to see who^t was when he came out, but when he put his 
 head out of the window, I got frightened, so I hid myself
 
 148 IDENTIFIED. 
 
 behind the big tree near the bicycle-room for fear he 
 would catch me." 
 
 "How long was he inside?" 
 
 "About a quarter of an hour, I think, sir, because when 
 I went back to the study-hall Mr. Benson said I had been 
 gone nearly half an hour, and threatened to put me in 
 'jug' for half an hour the next day. He didn't though, 
 'cause we had a holiday all day to-day." 
 
 "Did you see the face of the boy as he came out?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, quite clear in the moonlight." 
 
 "Would you know it if you saw it again?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, I'm sure I should." 
 
 "Now, my boy, don't mention any names, but take a 
 good look at all these boys and if that boy is here, point 
 out the face to me." 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 IDENTIFIED. 
 
 IT was a thrilling moment for the boys when little 
 rnest Winters began his searching glance over the 
 throng of upturned faces. He began at the right side, 
 and his outstretched arm followed his eyes as he slowly 
 glanced from face to face of the closely packed throng 
 of boys. Slowly his hand moved from right to left, for 
 there were nearly two hundred boys massed together in 
 the small area. At length the arm had moved to the 
 extreme left. It then suddenly dropped. 
 
 There was now breathless silence. 
 
 "I I don't see the face, sir."
 
 IDENTIFIED. 149 
 
 "You are sure that it is not one of these boys before 
 you whom you saw last night?" 
 
 "Sure, sir, quite." 
 
 "Humph ! I'm glad it wasn't a student ! But this does 
 not clear up matters much. However, if that is all, you 
 may sit down." 
 
 Ernest Winters turned to take a seat on a bench near 
 the wall in the rear of the stage. Suddenly he gave a 
 scream. 
 
 "There's the face ! That's him ! That's him !" 
 
 He pointed to Gregson. 
 
 "Little fool !" muttered that worthy between his teeth. 
 He scowled fearfully. 
 
 "It's a lie," he said aloud. 
 
 " 'Tain't neither," retorted Ernest. "I saw you and you 
 know you was there." 
 
 Ernest had not seen Gregson before, because, either 
 by accident or design, his face had been hidden behind 
 the broad shoulders of a big boy standing in front of him. 
 
 "That will do, Winters," said the prefect. "Keep quiet 
 now. That's all, eh ? All right. Sit down now and keep 
 still." 
 
 "Now, my little lad," he said to the other boy, "what 
 have you to say ? What's your name ?" 
 
 "John Asa Bell, sir." 
 
 "All right. Ring out your story. Did you see a boy 
 get through the rear window of the bicycle-room last 
 night?" 
 
 "No, sir, but at last recess just before our night prayers 
 I was looking out of the study room window toward the 
 shed. I saw something on the ground shining very bright 
 in the moonlight. I thought it was a silver dollar, so I
 
 150 IDENTIFIED. 
 
 ran downstairs in a hurry and went over to where it was, 
 'cause I don't often get a whole dollar and I've got to 
 pay for a window I broke yesterday." 
 
 " Where did you see this shining thing, Bell?" 
 
 "Right under the little square window of the bicycle 
 shed, sir, about a foot from the wall." 
 
 "Was it a dollar?" 
 
 "No, sir," said the little boy, so ruefully that everybody 
 laughed. 
 
 "What was it, then ?" 
 
 "When I got over there to where I had seen the dollar 
 shining it didn't shine any more, so I kicked 'round with 
 my foot and this what I've got in my pocket was it." 
 
 "Take it out and let us see what it is." 
 
 The boys crowded closer to get a glimpse of the myste- 
 rious object. 
 
 Now, John Asa Bell's pockets were very similar to every 
 other small boy's pockets under the sun receptacles for 
 everything miniature junk-shops. These particular 
 pockets were situated in a pair of almost skin-tight knee 
 pants, and although both were a not unusual thing, 
 dear reader in a more or less bulging condition, yet the 
 pocket mouth was very small and with great difficulty 
 admitted or released a hand when placed therein. 
 
 His right hand wormed itself in, and John Asa Bell 
 drew out a top with the greatest difficulty. 
 
 "That's what you saw shining in the moonlight, eh?" 
 
 "No, sir, it's down in the bottom of my pocket." 
 
 "Oh, all right. We have unlimited time and patience, 
 John Asa Bell, nevertheless do not waste them." 
 
 The boys watched him with increasing interest. Again 
 the hand went into the cavern and once more squirmed
 
 IDENTIFIED. 151 
 
 out. This time it held a top string, some buckles, and bits 
 of slate pencil. These he put with the top in the left hand 
 and began again. If John Asa Bell had studied for years 
 to produce a dramatic situation capable of holding an 
 audience in excited suspense, he could not have been more 
 successful than he was now in his artless exhibition of 
 small-boyness. Utterly unconscious of the nervous tension 
 he was creating among those who were watching him, 
 once more his hand dived down into this modern sub- 
 stitute for the mythical Pandora's box. 
 
 When the boy's hand again emerged with difficulty 
 from the mysterious pocket it was filled with a miscellane- 
 ous collection consisting of two more buckles, a pocket 
 knife with two broken blades evidently his stock in 
 trade for his "unsight-unseen" transactions some mar- 
 bles, a small iron nut, with more string. 
 
 Passing these treasures over to his left hand, which he 
 held against his chest, he found there was more than it 
 could hold. He began to drop some of the marbles, to 
 his great consternation. His story of the denouement of 
 a deep laid plot was nothing to him. His marbles were. 
 Seeing his plight, Stapleton picked up the fallen treasures. 
 Putting them into his hat he said : 
 
 "Here, sonny, dump those things here. I'll pick these 
 up and take care of all of them for you." 
 
 Once more the hand went into the pocket. Something 
 was there which seemed too elusive to be brought to the 
 light of day. 
 
 Standing on his left leg, John Asa Bell drew up his 
 right knee, bent his body to the right and made great 
 efforts to give the pocket's mouth more play. 
 
 Would he never bring his treasure to the light! The
 
 152 IDENTIFIED. 
 
 boys watched his every movement. Only their own intense 
 excitement prevented them from realizing how long a 
 time this youngster, who was perfectly devoid of any self- 
 consciousness, was keeping them in suspense. 
 
 At last! At last his efforts were successful. From 
 the skin-tight knee pants' pocket he drew forth a nickel- 
 plated bicycle wrench. 
 
 If the situation had been dramatic before, it now became 
 doubly so. A new wave of "excitement swept over the 
 boys. They became silent, feverishly awaiting further 
 developments. 
 
 "You found this wrench in the rear of the bicycle-shed ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "How close?" 
 
 "Right under the window." 
 
 "Last night?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, just before night prayers." 
 
 "Let me see it." 
 
 While the prefect was examining it, Claude said: 
 
 "That's the reason Gregson borrowed one on the track 
 just before the race." 
 
 "Wait, there, Winters. Don't be unjust. You have no 
 evidence that this belongs to Gregson." 
 
 "He had not his to-day, sir." 
 
 "But it does not follow that this one is his." 
 
 "I can identify Gregson 's wrench," said a boy named 
 Withers. 
 
 Hiding the wrench from the boy's sight the prefect told 
 him to describe it. Withers described the wrench of a 
 certain bicycle firm, and added: 
 
 "Gregson's wrench, which I saw yesterday morning in 
 his hand has the letters J and G scratched with a knife on
 
 IDENTIFIED. 158 
 
 the long flat side; then there's a long scratch from the 
 G to the head of the wrench." 
 
 The make and marks tallied with the description. And 
 Gregson ! He had been sitting on the bench near the wall 
 while the witnesses had been telling their story. Now he 
 rose. He was pale. Great drops of perspiration were on 
 his forehead. He came forward. 
 
 "Now, Gregson, we are willing to hear all you have to 
 say," said the prefect kindly, for he heartily pitied the boy. 
 
 "I guess there's nothing for me to say." 
 
 "You make no defense?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Did you, then, tamper with Bracebridge's wheel ?" 
 
 There was the intensest silence. Every ear was strained 
 to catch the reply. In a muffled, dry voice came the one 
 audible word from the boy, who then stood self-convicted 
 and humiliated. 
 
 "did" 
 
 The revulsion of feeling was intense, in proportion to 
 the sustained excitement. A long "Ah-h !" went through 
 the crowd like an electric shock. Then complete silence ; 
 all waiting for the next development. It was a critical 
 moment for Gregson. The prefect saw the electric condi- 
 tion of the mental atmosphere of the boys. He whispered 
 to Gregson: 
 
 "You had better get out of this room as quickly as you 
 can." 
 
 The boy stepped down from the platform and began to 
 push his way through the crowd. He had not gone far 
 before the natural dislike of meanness inherent in manly 
 boys found vent in a prolonged contemptuous hiss. 
 Groans would have been less hard to bear. There is
 
 154 IDENTIFIED. 
 
 nothing so cutting, or unequivocally humiliating, as hissing 
 as an expression of contempt. 
 
 Stapleton, after returning John Asa Bell his treasures, 
 and asking the puzzled little boy for a certificate of safe 
 delivery, turned with Winters to congratulate Ambrose 
 Bracebridge. He could not be found in the gymnasium. 
 
 As soon as the unsuccessful wheelman had stated his 
 case, he had retired from the gymnasium. He went to the 
 Philosophy class-room, where a few of his friends were 
 now discussing the situation with him. Frank, Claude, 
 and the rest of the Hunterites rushed to the class-room 
 to tell Ambrose Bracebridge of Gregson's admission. 
 
 The next morning John Philip Watkins Gray came up 
 to the prefect. 
 
 "I guess, sir, that Gregson must have slept in the 
 infirmary last night. His bed, which is next to mine in 
 the dormitory, was not occupied." 
 
 "I know that, my boy, very well. But I don't think you 
 will find him in the infirmary. I have just found out that 
 what I expected would happen, did happen. The boy 
 ran away." 
 
 "Ran away!" 
 
 "Yes. Don't excite yourself, Gray. I expected this, 
 and took small pains to prevent it. It saves an expulsion 
 to-day. We do not desire such boys at St. Cuthbert's."
 
 IN CLASS. 155 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 IN CLASS. 
 
 IT must not be supposed that life at St. Cuthbert's con- 
 sisted wholly of field-days and sports and games, to the 
 exclusion of hard work in the class-rooms and in the 
 study-halls. Much real and solid work was done every 
 day. This is only what might have been expected from 
 conscientious Catholic boys and from enthusiastic pro- 
 fessors whose whole energies were given to a work to 
 which they had devoted their lives. 
 
 Now I do not want to frighten my young readers by 
 giving them a whole chapter descriptive of class-work at 
 St. Cuthbert's. I think I know boys well enough to be 
 sure that if I were to attempt such a thing most readers 
 would turn over the leaves of this book to the next chap- 
 ter. This, of course, would be a matter of regret, because 
 as this is a veritable history of St. Cuthbert's, they would 
 miss some items which would perhaps be worth their 
 reading. It is certainly within the sphere of this chronicle 
 to relate some of the events which happened in the class- 
 room and during class-time, as it is to tell of those which 
 took place out of study-time. 
 
 Now in doing this, one is not forbidden to select the 
 humorous side of the hard work of schoolboy life. Some- 
 one may laugh at the expression "hard work of schoolboy 
 life." That study real, earnest study is hard work no 
 man who has ever been a boy will deny. There are some 
 men who have never been boys. These will, most likely, 
 deny there is work at school. We will not discuss this
 
 156 IN CLASS. 
 
 question. If, however, any of these sceptics had ever 
 asked the opinion of St. Cuthbert's students, they would 
 have heard some very positive statements. 
 
 From conversation in the yard on the day after the great 
 fall field-day, a number of the Third Academic boys evi- 
 dently, thought so. We will not record their conversation 
 on the abstract question of the absolute necessity of hard 
 work after a field-day, etc., etc., but we will relate a few 
 of the events which gave rise to it, and let the reader see 
 the point if he can. 
 
 Of course so great an event as we have described in the 
 last few chapters, did not help to make the little men of 
 the Third Academic over-anxious to get down to strict 
 business on the next day. It was a kind of Blue Friday. 
 Every one was tired. No one knew his lessons well, many 
 not at all. 
 
 It is on just such a day that boys think their teacher 
 "great" if he can make them realize that "he knows how 
 it is" a day in which a teacher rises to the highest pin- 
 nacle of popularity in the estimation of his class, if he is 
 not too exacting as to lessons, and happens to have found 
 somewhere a first-class story which is interesting and, at 
 the same time, instructive. 
 
 But Mr. Benson did not chance to be one of those men 
 who happen to discover things just at the time when 
 the discovery is the most valuable. He was earnest, zeal- 
 ous, devoted, but many a boy knew to his cost that he was 
 unrelentingly rigid. If he penanced a boy with twenty 
 lines to learn, the victim knew with infallible certainty that 
 he would have to pronounce every word and syllable of 
 those lines. If he had -a hundred lines to write, the boy 
 knew that the eagle eye of Mr. Benson could detect, as if
 
 IN CLASS. 157 
 
 by instinct, the words left out in a sentence or even the 
 mistakes in spelling. 
 
 It must not be supposed, however, that his boys did not 
 like him. They did, but it was a liking of respect rather 
 than of love. They held him in high esteem, but regarded 
 him as an exacting taskmaster. 
 
 Perhaps I should say they had something even more 
 than esteem for him. They had learned, in some way or 
 other, that when little Jamie Wilson lay sick of pneu- 
 monia in the infirmary, Mr. Benson had spent hours 
 night after night with the little lad's hand in his, tending 
 him as patiently as a mother. They found out how is it 
 that boys always find out such things? that when 
 McNamara was laid up with a badly sprained shoulder 
 and a wrenched ankle, it was Mr. Benson who brought the 
 fevered boy those delicious oranges, lent him books to 
 read, and interceded with the infirmarian to obtain per- 
 mission for two boys at a time of Mac's own class to visit 
 him during the night studies. 
 
 So, in solemn conclave held on the brick court of the 
 hand-ball alley, they had voted that "he wasn't such a 
 bad fellow," which, after all, as a boy's spontaneous ver- 
 dict, is something. 
 
 Well, on this particular morning, class work was partic- 
 ularly hard work for these particular boys. Mr. Benson 
 also, on this occasion, received several impressions from 
 his pupils which more or less enlarged his views on edu- 
 cating. 
 
 Christian Silbering and little Jimmy Foley were sitting 
 together at one desk in the rear of the room, supposed to 
 be studying their Latin grammar. Foley was very anxious 
 to learn some German words from Silbering, probably
 
 158 IN CLASS. 
 
 because it was the time appointed for learning Latin 
 words. Silbering, who knew very little English, was 
 equally anxious to learn the meaning in English of the 
 German words of a book lying open on the desk between 
 their two Latin grammars. 
 
 "You can't tell me the meaning of this word," said 
 Jimmie, pointing to a German word. 
 
 "I doo too," said Christian, and he told it. 
 
 "And this one?" 
 
 "I knows likewise that, also," replied the other. 
 
 "Well, you can't tell me in English the meaning of this 
 word Ganderich ?" 
 
 "I doo also," responded Silbering. 
 
 "What is it, then?" 
 
 "Just led me think. That is a he-goose, ain't it ?" 
 
 This was too much for James Foley. He burst out into 
 a ringing laugh, and then suddenly remembering the 
 enormity of such an offense in Mr. Benson's eyes, he bur- 
 ied his red cheeks in his hands, and all at once was appar- 
 ently the hardest-working boy in the class. 
 
 "S-s-h ! There is too much noise back there. Some of 
 you will get some lines to learn if you are not more care- 
 ful." 
 
 The last four boys having stumbled through their reci- 
 tation he sent them to their seats. 
 
 "Now, boys," he said, "I want to talk to you about the 
 Holy Souls in Purgatory. You know that on Sunday 
 begins the month of November, which is dedicated to the 
 memory of the Holy Souls. You know if you want to 
 help them effectually you must yourselves be in a state of 
 grace. This, as you know, can be obtained in the con- 
 fessional in the Sacrament of Penance, or by a perfect Act
 
 IN CLASS. 159 
 
 of Contrition. Now, I have procured for you some little 
 leaflets, on which is printed an Act of Contrition. It is not 
 long, so I will give you ten minutes to learn it, and shall 
 expect each one of you to be able to repeat it." 
 
 He then distributed the leaflets. The little boys went 
 to work with a will. Anything to get out of the Latin 
 for a time. 
 
 "Have we to learn all that is on the paper?" asked 
 Jimmie Foley. 
 
 "Yes, learn it all. There is not much to learn." 
 
 In a little time Christian Silbering put up his hand 
 and snapped his fingers loudly. 
 
 "Well, Silbering, what is it?" 
 
 "I can say it, sir." 
 
 "All right, proceed." 
 
 Christian began : "An Act of Contrition. O my God, 
 I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee by sin, be- 
 cause Thou art infinitely good and sin displeases Thee. 
 I will confess my sins, and by the help of Thy grace will 
 not sin again. Our Father. Hail Mary. Benziger 
 Brothers, New York, Chicago, Cincinnati." 
 
 "Leave Benziger Brothers out. What have they to do 
 with the Act of Contrition?" asked Mr. Benson. 
 
 "But they are on the paper, and you said I was to learn 
 all that was the paper on." 
 
 "Dear me, dear me, how very stupid! I am afraid 
 many of you boys do not go about your studies in the 
 right way," said the teacher. 
 
 "If you want to be successful," he continued, "in your 
 lessons, as in everything else, you must be more in earn- 
 est, and do a thing again and again until you do it per- 
 fectly. Let us take an example. If a boy wishes to be a
 
 160 IN CLASS. 
 
 successful baseball player, he does not become so by 
 playing one game, does he ? No. He does the same thing 
 over and over again until he is perfect in it. Take an- 
 other example. If you wanted to make a great jump in a 
 contest, what would you do ? What would you do, Johnny 
 Smith? You would keep jumping until you were perfect, 
 wouldn't you? And again, suppose one of you boys 
 wanted to smoke a cigarette?" 
 
 Every boy in the class tried to look absolutely innocent. 
 Not many succeeded. 
 
 "What would you do? You would use every means, 
 try every plan, until you succeeded in getting the cigar- 
 ette, wouldn't you?" 
 
 Every boy agreed with him, but no one dared to openly 
 acquiesce. 
 
 "Take one more example of the necessity of striving to 
 reach the object desired, and apply it to your studies. 
 Suppose a boy wanted a drink of water from the pump. 
 What would he do? He would take the means to procure 
 the drink, wouldn't he? He would go to the pump, 
 wouldn't he? He would fill a cup, and then then what 
 would he do?" 
 
 There was, at this point, more or less snapping of fin- 
 gers, indications of eagerness to answer. 
 
 "Well, Christian Silbering, what would that boy do with 
 the cup of water?" 
 
 "Offer it oop for the souls in burgatory," said the boy 
 innocently, remembering a previous instruction on little 
 acts of self-denial, and perfectly unconscious that he had 
 completely spoiled the point of a laborious instruction. 
 
 The boy seemed quite in earnest. After a stupefied 
 pause, Mr. Benson continued to talk about the gaining of
 
 IN CLASS. . 161 
 
 indulgences for the Holy Souls during the month of 
 November. 
 
 "Now who can tell me what an indulgence is?" asked 
 the teacher. 
 
 The boys knew in a general way, but no one would risk 
 a definition. 
 
 "Well, let us see what it is not," said Mr. Benson. "It 
 is not a permission to commit sin. It is not pardon for 
 sin. What is it, then?" 
 
 Now the teacher thought that perhaps this negative 
 knowledge, if made more concrete in connection with 
 these negations would help materially, so he said: 
 
 "It is not a permission to commit sin. It is not a 
 shovel ; it is not a spade ; it is not a hoe. Then what is it ?" 
 
 He then gave a definition. "An indulgence is a remis- 
 sion of the temporal punishment due to sin after the guilt 
 has been forgiven. Is this clear, boys?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, yes, sir," they all answered. 
 
 "Very well. I have now told you what an indulgence 
 is. Perhaps now, Silbering, since you did so brilliantly 
 with the Act of Contrition, you can tell the class what an 
 indulgence is." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Well, tell the class what an indulgence is." 
 
 The boy answered promptly: 
 
 "It is not a shovel ; it is not a spade ; it is not a hoe. 
 Then what is it?" 
 
 Mr. Benson gave up. For the next half hour of class 
 he made the boys study Latin verbs. 
 
 On the same day, neither did Mr. Shalford escape with- 
 out a somewhat peculiar experience. During the hour of 
 recreation after supper, before the first hour of evening
 
 102 IN CLASS. 
 
 studies, as he was walking up and down the yard, he 
 passed the infirmary door. From within carm a most 
 delicious odor of fresh coffee. 
 
 "Ah !" he said to himself. "The good old infirmarian is 
 getting a fine supper for some sick boy. Lucky fellow! 
 By the way, I wonder who is sick ? I was not aware that 
 any boy was down just at present. It's some boy from 
 the junior division, I suppose, but there's no harm in 
 going to see." 
 
 He stepped into the infirmary. Looking into the con- 
 valescents' room as he passed, he found it was empty. 
 Then he went to the dormitory. There was not an occu- 
 pant of any one of the snow-white beds. Finally he ex- 
 amined the private rooms, reserved for more serious 
 cases of sickness. He could not find the patient, nor 
 could he catch sight of the infirmarian. 
 
 Meanwhile the appetizing odor of Mocha permeated 
 every nook and corner of the building. He went down- 
 stairs again, and into the dispensary room and then into 
 the infirmary kitchen. Nowhere was the infirmarian to 
 be found. 
 
 But what he did see in the kitchen was a boy comfort- 
 ably seated at a little table, enjoying a hearty second sup- 
 per of richly browned, buttered toast, and coffee made at 
 the infirmary stove. 
 
 "Ho, Clavering! You here?" 
 
 "Yes, sir/' said our friend. In spite of his attempted 
 coolness he appeared a little bit uneasy. 
 
 "What are you doing?" 
 
 "Having an extra supper, sir." 
 
 "So I see. Father Lovelace must be very good to 
 you?"
 
 IN CLASS. 163 
 
 "I haven't seen him, sir." 
 
 "Did the President send you here, then?" 
 
 "No, sir. I didn't see him either." 
 
 "Ah! I see," said Mr. Shalford, laughing, "you have 
 been coaxing the good-natured old infirmarian. Oh, you 
 boys." 
 
 "No, sir. Not that either." 
 
 "So! Well, the college doctor didn't order this kind 
 ot prescription, did he?" and he pointed to the remaining 
 fragments of buttered toast. 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "But surely you are not sick, Clavering? You did not 
 appear so at the feasts yesterday." 
 
 "No, sir, I'm not in the least sick." 
 
 "Who, then, gave you permission for this extra sup- 
 per?" 
 
 "No one, sir." 
 
 "No one! Then why are you here?" 
 
 "I'll be honest with you, sir," and the boy looked the 
 prefect in the face in a manly sort of way which highly 
 pleased the latter, who realized that the boy was caught, 
 but was not exactly prepared for the confession which fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 "I'll be honest with you, sir. I was terribly hungry. 
 We have supper very early, you know; and I just wanted 
 some toast and coffee, and I wanted it in the worst kind of 
 way. So I weighed the matter and decided to take the 
 risk. The supper was worth the penance if I should get 
 nabbed. I was caught, as you see, sir, and now I'm ready 
 to do any kind of penance you impose." 
 
 Mr. Shalford was amused. For some seconds he sil- 
 ently looked at the clear-eyed, handsome boy before him.
 
 164 IN CLASS. 
 
 In that time he had made up his mind how to act. Had 
 the admission of the peccadillo been accompanied by any 
 kind of self-excuse, or petition for leniency; had there 
 been any sign of smallness or meanness, it is quite pos- 
 sible that Master Richard Clavering would have ex- 
 perienced an extremely unpleasant quarter of an hour. 
 Nothing of this kind was apparent. Mr. Shalford real- 
 ized that objectively two boys could commit the same 
 fault, and, subjectively, for one it would be a great wrong, 
 while for the other it could be a mere trifle. The latter, 
 he saw, was Clavering's case. What was he to do under 
 the circumstances? He said: 
 
 "Well, if you are not possessed of the most illimitable 
 quantity of" 
 
 "Cheek, sir? I can only admit it. But, as I told you, 
 I took my chances. The penance " 
 
 " is, that if you don't get out of this room this instant 
 I will there, I don't know what I'll do. But seriously, 
 Dick, don't let me catch you at such a trick again." 
 
 "I don't think you will, sir. Thank you, Mr. Shalford." 
 
 It was weakness, of course we must grant something 
 to the rigorists on Mr. Shalford's part not to have pun- 
 ished for such a breach of discipline. It was weakness 
 again, of course, in that instead of seeing the boy out of 
 the infirmary ahead of himself, he went out alone. The 
 prefect had noticed that there was some toast and half a 
 cup of that delicious coffee yet unconsumed and well 
 the prefect was once a boy himself.
 
 A FATHER'S FEARS. 165 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A FATHER'S FEARS. 
 
 THE father of Claude Winters had continued to be very 
 anxious concerning his son's safety. His mind was ill at 
 ease. Although he tried to reassure himself that under 
 the protection of the United States laws nothing could 
 happen, yet the thought that Ernest was very nearly being 
 kidnapped did not tend to allay his fears. His anxiety 
 was increased when he saw the influence Ernest's experi- 
 ence was having upon his wife. 
 
 Claude's letter had been the occasion of recalling to her 
 memory all the horror and dread of that unhappy time in 
 India. The revival in her memory of those scenes of 
 anxiety and danger was influencing her health. 
 
 Nor was Mr. Winters in a frame of mind to be of much 
 assistance toward repelling the morbid fancies of his 
 wife. When he had seen Claude at the hotel at Cuthber- 
 ton he told his son not to let this mystery influence him. 
 He had spoken bravely to his boy far more bravely than 
 he himself had felt on the matter. The uncertainty, the 
 mere possibility, of some impalpable danger hovering over 
 the heads of the members of his family was far worse for 
 his peace of mind than a real, tangible danger would have 
 been. This he could fight manfully with a chance of 
 downing it. That the dread of some unknown, uncer- 
 tain trouble which might come at any moment was far 
 worse than its actual approach. 
 
 Such was the state of mind of Mr. Winters, that he was 
 willing and eager, for his wife's sake, as well as for his
 
 166 A FATHER'S FEARS. 
 
 own, to do almost anything within reason to remove the 
 dread of impending evil. 
 
 The destruction of the Hindu temple on his father's 
 Indian estate was not his own doing, yet the whole family 
 had incurred the hatred of the Hindus of the locality. 
 But all this took place twenty years ago. For many years 
 he had heard nothing of the affair. Long ago he had 
 hoped and thought the enmity of the natives had died out, 
 especially as most of the older tribesmen had died by this 
 time. This hope seemed now to be futile. All his slum- 
 bering fears had been rudely reawakened upon the re- 
 ceipt of Claude's account of his brother's strange ad- 
 venture. 
 
 Mr. Winters wrote to a friend, an army officer at Simla, 
 begging him to tell him what the state of affairs was in 
 and around his Indian property. He received a some- 
 what reassuring reply. The letter stated that the anger 
 against the Winters family seemed to be dying out. The 
 question of revenge was sinking into oblivion. The 
 writer suggested that if Mr. Winters could accomplish 
 some "coup" in favor of the natives the enmity and 
 stupid prejudice would certainly be completely overcome. 
 
 With this somewhat cheering news Mr. Winters went 
 to New York to consult his lawyer as to the best method 
 of bringing about so desirable an end. He told his legal 
 adviser he was willing to go to considerable expense, 
 providing he could regain for himself and his wife that 
 peace of mind which the assured safety of his dearly loved 
 children alone could procure. 
 
 "I think I see a way out of the difficulty," said the law- 
 yer. "Could you not do some public benevolent act by 
 which you could win the good will of these tribesmen?"
 
 A FATHER'S FEARS. 161 
 
 "I would willingly do so, if I knew what could be done." 
 
 The lawyer thought for some minutes in silence. 
 
 "You say that the Sisters of Mercy, according to the 
 letter from your friend in Simla, have recently settled 
 among the Hindus close to, if not on, your estate. How 
 are they being received by the natives?" 
 
 "The letter states they are much respected and doing 
 much good. The Hindus realize that they are working 
 for their good. They trust to them many of their chil- 
 dren to educate." 
 
 "Well, sir, then I think I see a way to settle your 
 troubles, if, as you say, you are willing to be generous." 
 
 "Money is no object, but you must not ask me to re- 
 build the Hindu temple which my father destroyed. I 
 could not and would not do that." 
 
 "I would not suggest such a course. What I propose 
 is this. You say there are two fine mansions on your 
 estate formerly occupied by your father and by yourself?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Could you not give the Sisters one of these houses for 
 a school, hospital, and dispensary for the benefit of the 
 native Hindus?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, that's a capital plan!" said Mr. Winters, en- 
 thusiastically. "I am very glad I consulted you. But I 
 could not give my father's house because that has been 
 used for years as a kind of vacation villa for the officers of 
 the Simla garrison. The one that is built for me is nearly 
 as large. It would answer the purpose equally well." 
 
 "To make your plan effective," said the lawyer, "I 
 would, if I were you, liberally endow the school and hos- 
 pital, so that the Sisters need not be cramped in their 
 work. Owing to the end which you wish to attain I
 
 168 A FATHER'S FEARS. 
 
 should, in this instance, act contrary to the scriptural in- 
 junction and let your left hand know what your right hand 
 doeth. I would spread the news far and wide throughout 
 the district ; open the hospital with great eclat ; get many 
 people to go out from Simla for the occasion, and above 
 all, let everybody know that it is all for the special bene- 
 fit of the local Hindu population." 
 
 "I acquiesce in all you suggest, but this would neces- 
 sitate a trip to India." 
 
 "I recommend you, most decidedly, to go. Take your 
 wife and your boys and girls." 
 
 "But this could not be done, at least conveniently, until 
 after Claude's graduation at the end of next June." 
 
 'That will probably be time enough for your visit. 
 Many things will have to be attended to before that 
 deeds to be examined, transfers to be made and the whole 
 matter is to become the talk of the countryside. All this 
 must be done before you arrive. One thing you can do 
 immediately. You can write to the good Sisters there. 
 Give these devoted women the consolation of knowing 
 what is going to be done. Do you think your wife could 
 undertake the journey?" 
 
 "I think so. I will consult her. I believe, in her pres- 
 ent state of uneasiness anything would be better than in- 
 action. At all events the ocean voyage would be bene- 
 ficial." 
 
 At his hotel, that afternoon, Mr. Winters wrote to his 
 friend in Simla, unfolding to him the whole plan, asking 
 him to tell the Sisters at once. Since his consultation he 
 had been in better spirits than for a long time. It is true 
 that fhe dread of some misfortune happening in the inter- 
 vening time was a source of anxiety, yet he was much
 
 1 FATHER'S FEARS. 169 
 
 encouraged at the prospect of a final settlement of an 
 inherited feud. 
 
 After dinner he went to the hotel office to smoke a 
 cigar. The place was filled with professional and busi- 
 ness men. Amid the deadened patter of many feet on the 
 tiles and the busy hum of many voices, he could easily 
 distinguish that a large percentage were talking of the re- 
 markable feats performed by some juggler who had night 
 after night filled one of the largest theaters in the city. 
 
 Mr. Winters took a seat facing the big plate-glass street 
 window, with the intention of running through the first 
 edition of the afternoon papers. While thus engaged, he 
 could not help overhearing the conversation of two or 
 three men who were standing close behind his chair. 
 
 "When do you sail?" asked one person. 
 
 "On the tenth of November. I have some pretty good 
 orders this trip. Let me see, fourteen elephants, two 
 lions, three lionesses, one large boa-constrictor, three 
 camels and a dromedary. That's all the big game. I 
 have several orders for mandrills, hyenas, sloths, but these 
 are easy to get." 
 
 "By the way, Jenkinson, while you are in India," said 
 the first speaker, "I wish you would ship me a couple of 
 dozen or so of small black idols. The uglier they are, 
 the better. These things seem to be the fad just now. 
 There's money in them." 
 
 Jenkinson laughed. 
 
 "These are easy enough to get. I could send you the 
 original god of any temple in India if you would be will- 
 ing to pay enough." 
 
 "Well, good-by, Jenkinson." 
 
 "Good-by, sir; but before we part I would like to tell
 
 170 A FATHER'S FEARS. 
 
 you that this is probably the last trip I shall make for the 
 syndicate. I am tired of traveling over the earth. My 
 wife wants me to settle down. As my children are grow- 
 ing up, I think I shall take her advice." 
 
 "I am sorry to hear you are going to quit, Jenkinson, 
 very sorry. I hope you will recommend your successor 
 before you leave us. You have been a faithful agent of 
 our company and we shall regret to lose you. Your 
 securing Chudwalla was an excellent piece of work for the 
 syndicate. Good-by, good-by." 
 
 Mr. Peter Jenkinson received a much warmer hand- 
 shaking than corporation managers usually give their em- 
 ployees. 
 
 "Well, I swan!" said the buyer of animals, when his em- 
 ployer had gone. "Well, I swan ! The old gentleman 
 seemed quite worked up. My ! how little we know of 
 hearts and feelings. Who on earth would believe he ever 
 thought anything of me ! At the end I do believe the old 
 gentleman was actually too full for utterance." 
 
 Mr. Jenkinson took a seat next to Mr. Winters. With 
 that ease with which acquaintances are formed in hotels, 
 on trains, or steamboats, the syndicate agent and the fath- 
 er of Claude were soon engaged in conversation. 
 
 "Excuse me, but I think I overheard you say you have 
 been or are going to India? You and your friend behind 
 my chair spoke quite loudly. I could not help overhear- 
 ing you." 
 
 "Yes, sir, been there nearly a dozen times. Been in 
 India?" 
 
 "I lived in northern India many years," answered Mr. 
 Winters. 
 
 "Glad to meet you, glad to meet you."
 
 A FATHER'S FEARS. Ill 
 
 "Thanks. Who is this Chudwalla, the great juggler, 
 whom every one is talking about just now? The name 
 sounds like an Indian one." 
 
 "Haven't you seen him? No? He is a great fakir 
 best conjurer that ever came to the United States. I 
 picked him up near Simla. He's wonderful. His name's 
 on every billboard in the city. Making heaps of money, 
 too." 
 
 Mr. Winters became nervous. What if this magician 
 should be in this country, not for the purpose of exhibit- 
 ing his feats of legerdemain, but as one sent by the tribe 
 to hunt down his son! Nor was he reassured when, upon 
 asking how the man spent his time off the stage, he re- 
 ceived the following information : 
 
 "The man is certainly above the ordinary Hindu. He 
 is well educated speaks several languages. He has one 
 peculiarity which he won't give up, although by not doing 
 so he loses a good deal of money each month." 
 
 "May I ask what that is?" 
 
 "He will not perform for any full month. He takes 
 one week to himself out of every four. No persuasion 
 will make him relinquish his search." 
 
 "His search! Good gracious, what is he searching for?" 
 
 Mr. Winters was very much startled. Here was an 
 Indian from the neighborhood of his birthplace, devoting 
 a week each month to searching for something. Surely 
 he must be looking for his boy. What else, under the 
 circumstances, could he want? 
 
 "He is searching for a great diamond," said Mr. Peter 
 Jenkinson, who had not noticed the other's excitement, 
 being, just at that moment, intent on not burning his fin- 
 gers in the operation of lighting his cheroot.
 
 172 A FATHERS FEARS. 
 
 "It appears to me somewhat of a wild-goose chase. 
 This particular diamond seems to have belonged to some 
 temple. It is said to be a very yellow stone. It was 
 called the Eyesight of Brahma or something of the kind. 
 The temple I speak of was a one-horse affair situated on 
 the hillside at Chour " 
 
 "At Chour!" 
 
 "Yes, have you been there?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. I have seen that diamond. It was twenty 
 years ago, though." 
 
 "So ! The old man who is the head of the tribe there 
 and a mighty good conjurer he is, too has set his heart 
 on getting back that diamond, and this Chudwalla has 
 promised to help him to find it I think their chances are 
 pretty slim, don't you? It was too long ago." 
 
 "I remember hearing something about the pillage of 
 that temple. Yes, his chances are very slim, very slim 
 indeed, I should say." 
 
 "Going to see Chudwalla's performance?" 
 
 "I think I shall, either to-night or to-morrow night." 
 
 "I would recommend you to do so. Shall I meet you 
 in India six months from now? You know this world is 
 a very small place, after all." 
 
 "There are many more unlikely things than that we 
 may meet again." 
 
 Jenkinson got up to go. 
 
 "Oh! by the way your name, sir?" 
 
 "Excuse me. For reasons of my own, Mr. Jenkinson, 
 I do not want my name to be known. Not that I mistrust 
 you, sir, but owing to very peculiar circumstances I pre- 
 fer not to give my name at present. However, I hope we 
 shall meet again."
 
 WAS IT A COINCIDENCE? 173 
 
 That is just where Mr. Winters made a mistake. Jen- 
 kinson was peculiar, but he was a whole-souled American. 
 Had he been made a confidant, he would have strained 
 every nerve to help Mr. Winters out of his difficulties. 
 
 They shook hands and parted. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 WAS IT A COINCIDENCE? 
 
 VERY much agitated, Mr. Winters went to his room in 
 the hotel to think over what he had heard. This story 
 of seeking for a diamond lost over twenty years ago was, 
 to him, only a veil to cover some other design. What if 
 the other design related to himself and his family! Was 
 it not too bad that just when the whole miserable affair 
 was on the point of being settled forever, the greatest dan- 
 ger should arise! 
 
 He reasonably thought that no really sensible man 
 would go searching for a plain diamond, lost twenty years 
 before in India, in a country of so great an extent as the 
 United States. This would be the supremest folly. No. 
 There must be some other motive for Chudwalla's pres- 
 ence. What did Mr. Jenkinson mean by calling the dia- 
 mond stolen from the temple at Chour the Eyesight of 
 Brahma? Ah! he remembered now! Before leaving 
 London to settle in the United States he had purchased a 
 rather fine diamond of a yellowish tinge as a Christmas 
 present for his wife. He remembered that the diamond 
 merchant in the Strand told him that the precious stone
 
 174 WAS IT A COINCIDENCE? 
 
 had a peculiar history. At the time he did not pay much 
 attention to the story, thinking it was merely an effort on 
 the part of the seller to more easily dispose of his wares. 
 He had not purchased the jewel for its supposed history, 
 but for its peculiar color, or rather colors. At certain 
 angles it emitted a blue-white radiance, while at another 
 angle it shone with an almost yellow light. This was the 
 reason of his purchase. He wished now that he could 
 remember the story the jeweler had told him. 
 
 For a long time that afternoon the father of Claude 
 strove to recall the name the merchant had given the dia- 
 mond. At last it came back to him. He called it the 
 Eye of Brahma ! That was it! But now that he remem- 
 bered the name he asked himself of what use would it be 
 to him. The result of his reflection was the certainty 
 that he was the possessor of the diamond which had been 
 stolen from the temple at Chour. 
 
 Would not this fact, however, be only an extra danger 
 to him and to his family? 
 
 Suddenly a thought came to him almost as an inspira- 
 tion. It made his blood tingle. It gave him great cour- 
 age. Immediately the whole question brightened. He 
 would work one event against the other. The diamond 
 for Claude's safety. 
 
 Chudwalla's primary search was evidently for the dia- 
 mond. To him the capture of Claude must be of only sec- 
 ondary importance. At least from Mr. Jenkinson's words 
 he knew that the search for the diamond was a certain 
 quest, while, after all, the conjurer's wish to capture his 
 son might be a creation of his own imagination, without 
 any existence whatever in the mind of the Hindu. If 
 he should subsequently discover that Chudwalla was look-
 
 WA8 IT A COINCIDENCE? 175 
 
 ing for his boy, he would hold out to him the sure prospect 
 of recovering the Eye of Brahma. What interest could 
 the magician have in seizing the boy? There must be a 
 rich reward for the recovery of the diamond. Yes, Chud- 
 walla would certainly prefer the money to revenge. 
 
 Do what he would, however, he could not divert him- 
 self of the idea that Claude was, and would be for the next 
 six months, in more danger than ever before. If Chud- 
 walla had a commission from the Hindus on and around 
 his estate in India to find out and capture the colonel's 
 grandson, the same people who had engaged him for this 
 purpose would also, by some means or other, keep him 
 informed of the progress of events in India. He would, 
 therefore, soon learn of the proposed benefactions of the 
 Winters' family to the natives, who would probably be 
 less earnest in their quest for the boy. 
 
 On the other hand, Chudwalla if he were their agent 
 would be proportionately active while he had the op- 
 portunity to accomplish his work, so as not to lose the 
 reward which must follow from its successful accomplish- 
 ment. 
 
 Mr. Winters, when he had visited Claude at Cuthber- 
 ton, had told him that he must not be surprised if at any 
 time and at a moment's notice, he should withdraw him 
 from St. Cuthbert's, sending him, for the time being, to 
 some distant and out-of-the way place. He had men- 
 tioned Muskoka, and a farm owned by a friend of his 
 outside of Portland, Oregon. 
 
 He wrote that afternoon to the President of St. Cuth- 
 bert's, giving him a full account of all he had learned. 
 He told him he thought it the best plan to withdraw the 
 two boys. The President answered at once. He said
 
 176 WAS IT A COINCIDENCE? 
 
 he would willingly comply with Mr. Winters' request if 
 absolutely necessary, but asked for a personal interview 
 before action was taken. Mr. Winters wired an answer 
 that he would visit St. Cuthbert's once more. So 
 Claude's withdrawal stood in abeyance. 
 
 The perplexed father determined to get sight of Chud- 
 walla, if possible, without being seen by him. That even- 
 ing he bought an ordinary ticket of admission to the 
 theater. In spite of his anxiety he thoroughly enjoyed 
 the exhibition of wonderful skill of the clever Hindu. 
 Some of these performances we have described in an 
 earlier chapter. 
 
 After what Mr. Jenkinson had told him of Chudwalla, 
 it was not difficult for Mr. Winters to recognize the ma- 
 gician. He had also seen him more than once in India 
 at Simla and other places when he first began to give 
 public performances. 
 
 The number of the seat of Mr. Winters' ticket was 
 directly in the middle of the auditorium and at the end of 
 a long pathway or platform leading from the stage, such 
 as most performers of legerdemain use when they have 
 occasion to borrow hats' handkerchiefs, etc., in order to 
 enhance their delusions. 
 
 The performance was nearly over when Chudwalla 
 came to the end of the walk to borrow a silk hat. In 
 looking around to select some gentleman from whom he 
 might borrow the article, his eyes fell on Mr. Winters, 
 who at the same time looked up. Their eyes met. Chud- 
 walla started. The father of the two boys kept a steady 
 countenance, his nervousness showing itself only by a 
 slight twitching of the lips. 
 
 Having secured the desired hat, Chudwalla walked
 
 WAS IT A COINCIDENCE? 177 
 
 rapidly back to the stage. Here he spoke a few hurried 
 words to his assistant, who at once left the stage and ap- 
 peared no more. A few minutes later, Mr. Winters 
 looked around him. He saw the assistant, now divested 
 of his stage costume of Oriental robes and turban. He 
 was dressed in ordinary civilian's clothes. He believed 
 the assistant was intently watching him. 
 
 The excited man soon left the theater. Upon going 
 out he caught a glimpse of the assistant in the entrance 
 near the ticket office. When he arrived at the hotel, a 
 block and a half away from the theater, he saw the same 
 individual a few steps behind him. He went at once for 
 the key of his room. The assistant was close at his heels. 
 He could see the number of the peg on the keyboard 
 from which the key was taken. 
 
 The next morning he went again to see his lawyer, tell- 
 ing him all he had learned, and dwelling especially on 
 what he called the mysterious shadowing by the assistant. 
 
 The legal adviser appreciated the gravity of the situa- 
 tion, but seeing that Mr. Winters was quite excited over 
 the events, he purposely made rather light of them. In a 
 letter he wrote a week later he assured Mr. Winters that 
 he might consider the "shadowing" a mere coincidence, 
 as he had discovered that Chudwalla and his assistant 
 lived at the same hotel where he had been a guest. 
 
 In the meantime, however, he recommended his client 
 that he empower him to shadow both Chudwalla and his 
 companion, promising to keep the anxious father fully in- 
 formed of all their movements. 
 
 "I will keep a sharp watch on them, and if it comes to 
 the worst we can have the two arrested." 
 
 "But we have no charge against them,"
 
 178 WAS IT A COINCIDENCE? 
 
 "I think we could charge them with the attempted ab- 
 duction of Ernest. At all events that would delay their 
 operations until after you had sailed in July. Of course 
 you will take your two boys with you to India?" 
 
 "I had not intended to do that. Do you think it the 
 wiser plan?" 
 
 "For your own and your wife's peace of mind I should 
 strongly recommend it. Having them with you, what- 
 ever may happen, will be better than bearing the suspense 
 of their absence at this critical time." 
 
 "But then I should have to take the three girls, too." 
 
 "What is the objection to that? I know my girls 
 would be only too pleased to have such an opportunity to 
 travel," said the lawyer, laughing. 
 
 And so, Claude, one morning in December, was thrown 
 into a state of wildest excitement by the contents of a 
 letter from his father, telling him that he and Ernest and 
 all the family were going to take a trip to India as soon 
 as he had graduated.. 
 
 "Whoop la ! here's news and no mistake," shouted 
 the excitable boy. He soon told his friends the great 
 news. 
 
 "But you won't go, Claude," said Mr. Shalford, who at 
 the moment wore a half-comical, half-earnest look. 
 
 "Won't go, sir? You bet I will. Why, it's grand!" 
 
 "But doesn't the letter say 'as soon as you have grad- 
 uated'? Well, as things are going now you will have to 
 change considerably or you will not graduate at all. The 
 fact is, my boy, you are letting your family affairs take 
 up too much of your attention. Your father will attend 
 to these. Your duty is to apply yourself more to your 
 studies."
 
 WAS IT A COINCIDENCE? 179 
 
 "But, sir, I I " Claude did not know what to say. 
 Mr. Shalford continued: 
 
 "I am told your mathematics are not up to the mark. 
 Your semi-annual examination in Philosophy is only a few 
 weeks off. Get to work boy, get to work. You are not 
 doing yourself justice." 
 
 There was a great deal of truth in what the prefect said. 
 Whether it was owing to the Philosophers having a room 
 to themselves and being very much alone in the matter 
 of private preparation, or whether the stirring events of 
 the late field-day and the practice for the football games 
 had taken their minds for the time off their studies, it 
 is hard to say. From whatever cause it originated, the 
 fact remained. The Philosophy class, Claude included, 
 were not at present giving satisfaction to their professors. 
 The teachers of philosophy, mathematics, literature, and 
 other branches had all given the prefect of studies more 
 or less unfavorable reports. 
 
 Claude felt mortified at the reproof. It was the first 
 real "talking to" he had received since he came to the 
 large yard four years ago. 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry, sir. I'm going to change at once." 
 
 "Glad to hear it, Claude; I thought a word would be 
 enough." 
 
 "You bet. I mean, sir, one word shall be enough. 
 Now you just see. I'm not going to have that said about 
 me again, if I can help it. The others won't either, sir." 
 
 Claude was as good as his word. In spite of the 
 mysterious affair which occupied his own and his father's 
 thoughts so much, and notwithstanding he had distraction 
 enough in the delightful prospect of a voyage to India a 
 prospect which would certainly unsettle any ordinary boy
 
 180 THE INVITATION. 
 
 Claude went to work vigorously. The others did like- 
 wise. Soon all complaints had ceased. The danger of 
 being sent to the common study-hall and of having their 
 cosy class-room closed against them out of class hours 
 was averted. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE INVITATION. 
 
 IT was not before December that Ambrose Bracebridge 
 could keep his promise of spending Sunday at Rosecroft 
 Manor. Within a very short time after the fall sports the 
 weather changed. During the month of November there 
 was rain, making the roads bad. In the first week of 
 December the weather brightened and a cold wind dried 
 the roads. 
 
 Ambrose had written to his father to say that should 
 the weather continue to be fine he would be home to din- 
 ner on the following Sunday, and would probably bring 
 two or three companions with him. 
 
 "You will come home to dinner with me, Howard, to- 
 morrow," he said to Hunter on Saturday, "if the day is 
 fine, won't you?" 
 
 "I don't know, Ambrose," replied Howard, "it seems 
 like imposing on your good nature, and that of your 
 father." 
 
 "What does, pray?" 
 
 "Going again to Rosecroft Manor. There may be too 
 much of a good thing, you know."
 
 THE INVITATION. 181 
 
 "Who thinks that?" 
 
 "Perhaps your father might." 
 
 "Now look here, Howard, if ever I hear you say such a 
 thing again I'll become very angry, and I won't speak to 
 you again for a whole day," he added laughingly. "No, 
 Howard, please do not think that. Father is only too 
 pleased that you and Claude are coming, that is, if the 
 President will grant the permission. Isn't it strange 
 that the President hesitates about him ? Winters has not 
 been getting into trouble, has he?" 
 
 Hunter laughed aloud at the idea. 
 
 "Claude in trouble! Well, I guess not." 
 
 He did not tell Ambrose why the President hesitated. 
 The fact was, the Father, owing to Claude's father's evi- 
 dent anxiety for the safety of his sons, did not care to let 
 the boy be long out of his sight. 
 
 "If Claude goes I will go, too," said Hunter. 
 
 "Thanks. Now I have another idea." 
 
 "Dear me! It must be troublesome. Get rid of it as 
 soon as you can. It might hurt." 
 
 "See if it does," said Ambrose as quick as lightning, 
 and he squared off in the most approved pugilistic fashion. 
 Howard at once put himself on guard. The two hand- 
 some boys stood face to face in a moment, ready for a 
 scientific boxing match without gloves. 
 
 Instantly a crowd of boys gathered. 
 
 "A fight! a fight!" they shouted as they came running. 
 In the meanwhile Ambrose had slyly winked to Hunter. 
 Hunter nodded intelligently. 
 
 "Are you ready," said Bracebridge. 
 
 "Yes, come on; I'm not afraid of you." 
 
 By this time some of the onlookers had made a ring.
 
 182 THE INVITATION. 
 
 "Come on then," said the .apparent aggressor. They 
 closed, and, as quick as thought, linked arms and walked 
 away, both laughing loudly at the way they had fooled the 
 crowd. 
 
 "Hooks! hooks!" shouted several boys. Before this 
 corruption for the word "hoaxed" had died away, the 
 crowd had again dispersed. Nowhere in the world can a 
 crowd gather more quickly than in a college yard, and no- 
 where does it disperse more rapidly. 
 
 "What |s your idea?" asked Hunter, as soon as the two 
 had ceased laughing. 
 
 "It is this," responded the other. "I have taken quite 
 a fancy to big Gilkins. What do you say if I were to 
 get leave for him to come, too?" 
 
 Hunter thought some time before answering. 
 
 "This requires thinking over, even before you ask the 
 President." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Well, in the first place, do you think your parents 
 would care to have him come? Would you like him to 
 sit down to table with your mother and sister? May 
 it not be just possible to carry a generous, hospitable 
 father's son's privilege a little too far?" 
 
 "Good gracious, Howard, how serious you are !" 
 
 "It's rather a serious matter." 
 
 "No, it isn't. What's the difference if he does not 
 behave with the very best of decorum and all that?" 
 
 "This: that you have no right to submit your mother 
 and father nor your sister to any such annoyance, and 
 you certainly have no right to put Gilkins himself in a 
 humiliating position." 
 
 "Gilkins," said Bracebridge earnestly, "is a good
 
 THE INVITATION. 183 
 
 downright good open, hearty fellow, with a splendid 
 loyal heart. I'll see that he's not humiliated. One word 
 to papa, and everything will run smoothly." 
 
 "Are you sure?" 
 
 "Quite. I will easily make that all right at home." 
 
 "But will it be all right here? Remember you have 
 now to sustain the reputation of St. Cuthbert's. You are 
 one of us now." 
 
 "Thanks ! and I'm proud of it. St. Cuthbert's shall not 
 suffer." 
 
 "Well, then, I give in. I have no opposition to Gil- 
 kins. I begin to admire his sterling earnestness. I was 
 only thinking of your people's possible vexation. Of 
 course you understand I have no objection except on that 
 score." 
 
 "Of course. Let's go and see what the President says 
 about it. Hi! Claude, come over here." 
 
 When he of the incipient mustache had joined them, 
 they went and rapped at the President's office door. 
 
 "Come in, boys; come right in," and the President fin- 
 ished a psalm he was reading from his daily office without 
 looking up. Then putting his finger between the leaves 
 of his breviary, he turned to them. 
 
 "The prefect's penances too heavy, eh?" asked the Fa- 
 ther, his eyes twinkling pleasantly as usual. 
 
 "No penances, Father," said Winters. 
 
 "Well, madcap, what do you want?" 
 
 "I really don't know, Father; these two called me over 
 just as they started for your room. I don't know what 
 they want." 
 
 "Called you to make the delegation stronger, eh? Oh, 
 these young politicians!"
 
 184 THE INVITATION. 
 
 "That's really true, Father," admitted Hunter, "but it's 
 Ambrose who has to do the talking this time." 
 
 "Well, my boy, what can I do for you, and I suppose, 
 fon these rascals, too ?" 
 
 The permission for Bracebridge's visit was renewed; 
 that for Winters finally obtained. Then Bracebridge 
 made his suggestion concerning Gilkins, repeating the ob- 
 jections of Hunter and his own replies to them. 
 
 "If the case is as you put it, Bracebridge, I grant you 
 the permission to take Gilkins. I am very glad such an 
 occasion has presented itself. I have been watching him 
 for some time and am very pleased with his conduct. His 
 improvement is largely owing to you boys taking an in- 
 terest in him." 
 
 "Thanks, Father," said Hunter. 
 
 "You must not expect, Ambrose, that he will be a 
 Chesterfield in this visit ; yet it will broaden his views and 
 perhaps give him ideas which in his present satisfactory 
 frame of mind will be most advantageous. Do, please, 
 Claude, keep your eyes off my desk. Don't you know 
 there are the questions for your semi-annual examina- 
 tion?" 
 
 "Oh, Father, I wasn't looking, or thinking of looking, 
 at them, indeed I wasn't," said the blushing Claude. 
 
 "I didn't say you were," said the President, laughing 
 heartily at Claude's discomfiture. "I only said, please do 
 keep your eyes off." 
 
 The head of the college knew when he could unbend, 
 and when be serious. How differently he looked and acted 
 with these boys than when some others whom we know 
 were summoned into his dread presence. 
 
 "Give my best respects, Bracebridge, to your father.
 
 THE INVITATION. 186 
 
 Tell him to be sure to come to our Christmas plays. I 
 am sorry he did not stay longer during his last visit." 
 
 "I have one request to make, Father, please," said 
 Claude. He was still blushing. In the presence of the 
 President he had never been able not to twirl his cap 
 nervously ; never been able not to stand first on one foot 
 and then on the other ; never yet been able thoroughly to 
 know what to do with his hands. Claude was not sin- 
 gular in this. Men much older than Claude often find 
 themselves in the same predicament when in the presence 
 of those who represent power, influence, or money. Is not 
 the rich merchant nervous before the bank president? 
 Does not the heavy shipper frequently take off his hat in 
 the office of the general freight agent? How many law- 
 yers are perfectly self-possessed in court in the presence 
 of the judge? 
 
 "Of course. What is it, Claude?" asked the President. 
 
 "Gilkins has no wheel, sir, and he is not much of a 
 cyclist if he had." 
 
 "I suppose, after all, then, he had better stay at home." 
 
 The President did not mean this. It amused him to see 
 Claude blush, and squirm and finally blurt out his pro- 
 posal : 
 
 "I want to be allowed to hire a horse for him from the 
 livery stable down on Tenth street." 
 
 "You do! That wouldn't do, my boy. He would not 
 like that, either. Nor do I think he himself is allowed 
 sufficient pocket. money for such extravagance." 
 
 Claude's face fell. The others looked perplexed. 
 
 "I tell you what I'll do. I will give you a note to the 
 farm manager to have Doll at the front door by nine 
 o'clock to-morrow morning. Will that do?"
 
 186 THE INVITATION. 
 
 "Oh, thank you, Father, thank you, thank you! You 
 are a very kind." 
 
 Claude was in his enthusiasm, going to say a "brick," 
 but reverence for the President stopped him. It was well 
 it did, for if he had been asked to explain the term, it is 
 quite possible he would have been unable, with hundreds 
 of others, to say why the name of a piece of kiln-dried 
 clay should be chosen to express approbation of some per- 
 sonal quality. 
 
 Was there ever so surprised a boy as Clarence Gilkins 
 half an hour later? Had he dreamed of such a thing as 
 an invitation to one of the largest and best private houses 
 in the State, and that by the son of the owner and as a 
 guest had he dreamed of this three short months ago, 
 he would have begun to doubt his own sanity. 
 
 Bracebridge and his friends were highly pleased with 
 his modest but earnest self-deprecation and with the 
 many ingeniously invented excuses for not accepting the 
 invitation, especially as under it all they detected a real 
 desire to go. They were delighted, after all his arguments 
 against himself had been refuted, to see him finally suc- 
 cumb to the prospect of a good long canter on horseback. 
 He was, as all country boys are, passionately fond of 
 horses. When he learned that a saddle horse had been 
 placed at his disposal all his reluctance gave way. He 
 could not resist that. 
 
 "Rah for Stalksey !" shouted Claude, as he skipped 
 around him in glee. 
 
 Gilkins, on hearing the latest nickname, became very 
 serious. 
 
 "Look here, Winters," he said, "if you fellows are going 
 out there to call me nicknames, you can count me out.
 
 THE INVITATION. 187 
 
 I'm awkward enough, I know, without having gentlemen 
 and ladies laughing at me through you." 
 
 "No, no, no, no, old man. Of course I won't. It's all 
 my fun among ourselves. Trust me, Clarence, I promise 
 you to do nothing to annoy you there." 
 
 "If he does, I have a little story on him which happened 
 last year before you came, about a certain substance in 
 solution, and a certain " began Hunter, mischievously. 
 
 "Oh, Howard, please don't give me away," interrupted 
 Claude in a pleading tone. 
 
 "What is it?" eagerly asked Gilkins, who was anxious 
 to get a hold on his young tease. 
 
 "Don't tell him, Howard," and there was a world of 
 pleading in the madcap's voice. 
 
 "I will " began Howard. 
 
 "Do, do," urged Gilkins. 
 
 "Don't, please don't," begged Claude again. 
 
 "Well, I won't, unless I see you begin at Gilkins. any 
 time to-morrow while we are at the Manor." 
 
 The reader of these chronicles of St. Cuthbert's college 
 has probably not forgotten that when Major Brace- 
 bridge's black team ran away near the college the pre- 
 vious year, and was cleverly stopped by some of the young 
 people who figure in these pages, Claude Winters had 
 dipped up water with his hat from a ditch to resuscitate 
 the fainting Rose Bracebridge. On that occasion her face 
 and hat and dress had been deluged with yellow liquid 
 mud. For weeks after, Claude did not hear the last of 
 the episode, all his friends teasing him most unmerci- 
 fully for using even a fainting lady so uncavalierly. This 
 year the incident had been forgotten until this minute, 
 when Hunter had revived it.
 
 188 THE INVITATION. 
 
 Winters was, for some reason or other, more sensitive 
 to this bit of chaffing than to anything else. That is the 
 reason why he pleaded so earnestly with Hunter not to 
 divulge the secret to one who as yet had heard nothing 
 of it. 
 
 The morning broke, a bright, crisp December day. 
 At nine the four started on their ten-mile spin three on 
 wheels, and the fourth proudly mounted on a fine saddle 
 horse. Cycling, although not conducive to general con- 
 versation, has a fascination all its own. It keeps the 
 mind alert, exercising every muscle in the body and set- 
 ting the blood a-tingling. The bracing wind and ex- 
 hilarating exercise painted the boys' cheeks, and made 
 their usually bright eyes now snap and sparkle. 
 
 They had traveled a little over half the journey when 
 they met Major Bracebridge's coachman driving a small 
 wagonette. He was coming toward St. Cuthbert's to 
 bring his young master home. He turned his horses. 
 
 "There is room for your bicycles, gentlemen, as well 
 as yourselves, if you care to jump in." 
 
 "Oh, no, John," said Ambrose, "you don't catch us in 
 a carriage when the roads are good enough for wheel- 
 ing." 
 
 Not to be too tired, however, or overheated on their 
 arrival, they rode the last mile, Ambrose telling the 
 driver to drive slowly. 
 
 When the party arrived at the gates of the avenue the 
 boys saw the grand old trees in all their winter bareness. 
 The large pines and cedars and firs gave the grounds a 
 certain unique winter beauty. The mansion, instead of 
 being covered with one mass of green creeping vines, 
 was now merely veined over with clinging, delicate stems
 
 THE INVITATION. 189 
 
 much resembling arteries. It had a winter beauty all 
 its own. 
 
 "I am sorry I've come!" said Claude, suddenly. 
 
 "Why?" said Howard, in unfeigned astonishment. 
 
 "Because my mental picture of the beauty the sum- 
 mer beauty of Rosecroft Manor, with all its wonderful 
 display of roses and rich foliage, is now destroyed by this 
 winter scene." 
 
 "Hurry up, Ambrose; land him gently," said Howard. 
 "He's gone sentimental. Take him quickly into the 
 house. He may have a fit. Poor fellow! Isn't it sad! 
 So young, too!" 
 
 "If these wheels weren't between me and " began 
 Claude, but he never finished. Ambrose shouted : 
 
 "There's papa at the door. Whip up, John." 
 
 The carriage came round the circular front drive in 
 good style. Gilkins followed close to the carriage/^ 
 Barely letting the horses stop, Ambrose sprang out and 
 embraced his father. The two boys in the carriage saw 
 a hurried whisper and caught a few words "Gilkins 
 our side put the shot rough diamond good fellow 
 splendid thanks," and they knew the day would be a 
 pleasant one for Clarence Gilkins.
 
 190 G1LKINS FIXDS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 GILKINS FINDS FRIENDS. 
 
 "CLAUDE is sorry he came, mamma," said Ambrose, as 
 soon as he had embraced his mother and sister. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Bracebridge, please do not believe him ! 
 He's worse than Howard for saying things about me, 
 isn't he, Stal I mean, isn't he, Gilkins ?" 
 
 "Indeed I do not believe him in this case," said Mrs. 
 Bracebridge. "You are heartily welcome, all of you." 
 
 "What's my boy been saying about you, Master 
 Claude?" asked the Major. 
 
 "He is the one that's saying it all," interposed the 
 Major's son, laughing. "He began by talking about men- 
 tal pictures and phantasms of Rosecroft just now, so that 
 we thought he was going to have a fit." 
 
 "Don't you believe them, Mr. Bracebridge, either," 
 said Claude. "I said I was sorry I came here in winter, 
 because of my recollection of the beauty of the place in 
 the summer. It has a winter beauty, too, but it is not 
 so pretty in winter here as in summer, is it, sir?" 
 
 "Of course not, my lad. These boys can't appreciate 
 beauty, Claude, can they? I tell you what," he said, 
 winking at Claude, "you and I will be a match for them 
 yet before the day is out, won't we, eh? and then 
 and the fun-loving Major began to make motions to 
 indicate that other fellows' sides and arms would be sore 
 before the valiant pair had done with them.
 
 OILB.INS FINDS FRIENDS. 191 
 
 "At all events, gentlemen, I am delighted you have 
 come, and so is mamma, and so is Rose, too. By the 
 way, here, Ambrose, are Howard and Claude, but you 
 haven't told me your new friend's name." 
 
 "This is Clarence Gilkins, pa," said Ambrose, "and I 
 must apoligize to him and to you for not introducing 
 him before it was, of course, Claude's fault. He is on 
 our side at college; you remember he won two prizes on 
 the field-day? He is one of our set." 
 
 The host and hostess warmly welcomed Gilkins, tell- 
 ing him that with such recommendations he was wel- 
 come. Long ago the Major had learned from his son's 
 letters what "our side" and "our set" meant. He saw 
 at a glance that the boy had not received such advan- 
 tages as the other three, yet he was quick to notice a 
 good honest soul shining out of good honest eyes. He 
 was pleased with Ambrose for having been kind to him. 
 
 "Well, Clarence," said the warm-hearted Major, again 
 heartily shaking his hand. "I am glad you have come. 
 You must make yourself perfectly at home. I have 
 heard all about you from my boy's letters. He has said 
 lots of good things of you." 
 
 "Of me, sir! Ambrose!" said big Gilkins, very much 
 astonished. 
 
 "Of course. Keep on the way you are going, my lad; 
 act on principle, not because you always like it, but be- 
 cause it's right, and there is no telling what honorable 
 career is before you. You are very welcome." 
 
 Gilkins had never in his life been made so much of. 
 How kind everybody was ! Who would believe, thought 
 he, that these rich and great people could be so kind and 
 pleasant and have so little ceremony about them. And
 
 192 GILKINS FINDS FRIENDS. 
 
 then to be treated with such equality ! It made him think 
 more of himself, that is, it gave him more self-respect. 
 The visit to Rosecroft Manor was having just that bene- 
 ficial effect on him which the President of St. Cuthbert's 
 had anticipated. 
 
 He had never been in so fine a house in his life. Pic- 
 tures, majolica ware, vases, palms, rich, old-fashioned fur- 
 niture, flowers, and, permeating all, the grace of a per- 
 fectly refined home, were revelations to this boy. Crude 
 as he was, in a certain way he was keenly observant. He 
 learned many things from his visit. 
 
 "Have the St. Cuthbert folks, Ambrose, yet made you 
 a Catholic?" asked Major Bracebridge at the early dinner. 
 He put the question, partly in earnest, partly in jest. 
 
 "Would you object, sir, if they had?" 
 
 "Not in the least, my boy, providing that if you change 
 you become a good one." 
 
 "No, sir, I have not changed," replied the son. "The 
 fact is, there has not been a single person since I have 
 been there who has said a word to me about religion." 
 
 "What do you mean to say that no one has attempted 
 to make a Roman Catholic of you?" and he winked at the 
 other boys, showing them he was only joking. 
 
 "No one. Indeed, pa, they are very fair. I must con- 
 fess that when I first went I was a little afraid they would 
 try. But they did not." 
 
 "Yes, we did," put in Claude, to the astonishment of 
 everybody. 
 
 "No, you did not, not one. Nobody did anything ex- 
 cept answer some questions." 
 
 "Yes, we did," persisted the small-sized Philosopher. 
 
 "When? How? I don't remember,"
 
 GILKIN8 FINDS FRIENDS. 193 
 
 "We did try, sir, to make Ambrose a Catholic. We are 
 trying yet." 
 
 "Don't believe them, father. Claude is romancing 
 again." 
 
 "No, I am not. I'll show you how I'm not. We have 
 a little society among Ambrose's friends who have bound 
 themselves to pray for his conversion to the Catholic 
 faith." 
 
 Whether Winters should have publicly revealed the 
 secret of this organization, which was founded during 
 their visit to the Manor the previous June, is a matter of 
 dispute among the friends to this day. 
 
 The revelation wonderfully affected Major Brace- 
 bridge. After a long pause, he said in an earnest and 
 subdued tone : 
 
 "I was partly joking when I began these questions, but 
 what you say about your little society touches me deeply. 
 You boys must value a faith very much which would 
 induce you to take such measures for a friend's conver- 
 sion to it. I thank you very much, for I know you wish 
 my son well. But, Howard, will you answer me one 
 question?" 
 
 "If I can, sir, I will." 
 
 "Very good. Now, do you, as a Catholic, believe that 
 I, because I am not of your Church, will not be saved?" 
 
 "Do you believe the Catholic Church to be right and 
 your own wrong?" asked Hunter, by way of preliminary 
 reply. 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 "Would you be willing, sir, to accept the Catholic 
 faith if you were to think it was the true faith?" 
 
 "Under those conditions I certainly would."
 
 194 GILKINS FINDS FRIENDS. 
 
 "Now, sir, I hope you will not be offended if I ask an 
 apparently impertinent question." 
 
 "Not i the least. Do not be afraid. What is it?" 
 
 "It is this. Are you baptized ?" said Howard, blushing 
 at his own boldness. 
 
 "Of course. All of us. We are Christians. Did you 
 think we were pagans?" 
 
 Major Bracebridge appeared highly amused at the 
 boy's question. 
 
 "Then, sir," said Howard, ''I believe you will be saved 
 if you avoid mortal sin, or perfectly repent of it, for you 
 belong to the soul of the Church. I believe you are in 
 good faith. I beg your pardon, Major Bracebridge," 
 said the blushing boy, "for talking so plainly and asking 
 you so many questions. I am only a boy and it sounded 
 impertinent, but you asked me to speak as a Catholic." 
 
 "Capital," said the Major, "but I think I have you yet. 
 If you think I shall be saved if I avoid mortal sin 
 because the supposition is I am in good faith and there- 
 fore belong to the soul of the Church but do not belong 
 to the body or visible society what then is the necessity 
 for me to be a professing Catholic at all, since I am safe 
 as it is?" 
 
 "Excuse me, sir," said Howard, still blushing furiously, 
 "you pertain to the soul of the Church so long as you 
 are invincibly and inculpably ignorant of her demands 
 upon you, because just in proportion to your blameless 
 ignorance are "you in good faith. Then, being outside the 
 visible Church, you are deprived of her sacraments. 
 These, as you know, are outward visible signs, instituted 
 by Christ, of inward and spiritual graces. A man without 
 these, it seems to me, is like a man without arms and
 
 . GILKINS FINDS FRIENDS. 195 
 
 legs; still a man, yet without the almost essential aid to 
 living." 
 
 Major Bracebridge saw that Hunter spoke about 
 these things with evident reluctance, not wishing to give 
 offense. He was pleased with the boy's ready and clear 
 answers, given with earnest conviction and without com- 
 promise. The young man's words, indeed, gave the host 
 food for reflection for many a subsequent hour. 
 
 Not wishing to torment the boy, or destroy the pleas- 
 ure of his meal, the Major turned the conversation to 
 horses. 
 
 On this subject Gilkins was quite at home, and the 
 other boys took a kindly pleasure in drawing him out. 
 Soon he and their host were deep in the mysteries of 
 "points" and racers and roadsters, which ended by the 
 Major and Gilkins walking off, as soon as the ladies 
 arose from table, and inspecting the stables, where sev- 
 eral fine animals were stalled. 
 
 It was rather late in the afternoon when the four boys 
 left the hospitable Manor. Mr. Bracebridge wanted to 
 send them home in a carriage, but they would not hear 
 of that. All were too fond of cycling, and had not Gilkins 
 a fine roadster? 
 
 Rose Bracebridge and her mother shook Gilkins' hand 
 warmly at parting. Their entertaining had been so sin- 
 cere and so kindly, and their leave-taking so genuine, 
 that the big fellow was enchanted. 
 
 A new field of vision had opened on his mental hori- 
 zon. 
 
 He had been put so much at his ease during the visit, 
 that by the time of departure his hands and feet had 
 ceased to appear gigantic and excessively in the way. In
 
 196 OILKINS FINDS FRIENDS. 
 
 fact he forgot them, and this, for Gilkins, was certainly a 
 great stride forward. 
 
 On his way home, his laudations of the whole family, 
 while evidently genuine, were, to Ambrose's mind, so 
 extravagant, that that young gentleman, in sheer self- 
 defense, had to stop them. This he did by calling for a 
 sprint. 
 
 Now we know from the field-day classification of the 
 wheelmen that Claude Winters was far below Hunter in 
 speed, and it is therefore not surprising that the other 
 two soon began to draw away from him. 
 
 "Go on," Claude shouted, "don't wait for me. I'll get 
 home a few minutes after you. Neither of you can beat 
 Gilkins' horse, anyway." 
 
 The two wheelmen and the man in the saddle settled 
 down to a good six miles' spin. In their enjoyment they 
 did not notice that they were rapidly increasing the dis- 
 tance between Claude and themselves. At a bend of the 
 road, five miles from the college, Claude lost sight of 
 them altogether. 
 
 On arriving at the college the three at once reported to 
 the prefect. 
 
 "I thought Claude Winters went too," said Mr. Shal- 
 ford. 
 
 "Yes, sir, he is behind on the road. He will be here 
 in a few minutes We outrode him altogether," said 
 Hunter. 
 
 The few minutes lengthened into half an hour, three- 
 quarters, an hour, and no Claude appeared. The Presi- 
 dent, who knew of Mr. Winters' anxiety at this particu- 
 lar time, when he learned of the boy's absence, began 
 now to regret having granted the permission to go so
 
 OILKIN8 FIN Dm FRIENDS. 197 
 
 far from the college. Suppose now there had happened 
 that which Claude's father particularly dreaded! When 
 the hour had elapsed he told Gilkins to procure another 
 horse from the stables and retrace his steps to the spot 
 where they had separated. 
 
 Gilkins fully expected to meet Claude close to home, 
 but he went over four miles without a trace of him. 
 Then he began to get nervous for his little friend, fearful 
 that some mishap had befallen him. It was now almost 
 dark. He asked every one whom he met whether they 
 had seen a solitary college boy on a wheel going in the 
 direction of St. Cuthbert's. He could get no information 
 in this way. Just at the bend of the road where Claude 
 had lost sight of his companions Gilkins saw a light in 
 front of a farmhouse near the road. Coming nearer, he 
 discerned that it was a lantern on the front porch. Near 
 it, leaning against the house, was Claude's wheel. 
 
 Hastily dismounting, he rapped at the door and in- 
 quired for the missing boy. 
 
 "Yes, a college student is here. Did you come from 
 the college?" inquired a kindly-faced farmer, whose 
 coarse, even squalid working-clothes and prosaic sur- 
 roundings appeared in strange contrast to his intelligent 
 face and careful manner of speaking. 
 
 ''Yes, I came from there. We are anxious about him. 
 Is he here? What is the matter?" 
 
 "I'm all right, Gilkie, old man. Come right in," came 
 Claude's voice from an inside room. 
 
 "What are you stopping here for, then, instead of 
 coming home?" asked Gilkins, as he entered the cosy 
 sleeping-room. 
 
 The farmer answered for him. He was coming up
 
 198 GILKINS FINDS FRIENDS. 
 
 Undertaker's Hill, as most of the bicyclists call the steep 
 incline just around the bend, when his wheel struck a 
 stone and he was thrown. I saw him fall and ran to help 
 him. He received a slight cut on his head, and has 
 badly sprained his ankle. Already he cannot stand on it. 
 A dark-skinned man, with remarkably black eyes, hap- 
 pened to be passing and he helped me to carry him into 
 the house. This man said he knew the boy, and would 
 go and fetch a carriage for him." 
 
 "Who was it, Claude? It could have been no one 
 from the college, because everybody there is anxious 
 about you." 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know," answered Claude. "I was 
 half-stunned, you know, and don't remember much. It 
 seemed, however, that I had seen the face somewhere, 
 but for the life of me I cannot recall where. Ouch!" 
 
 The last word was occasioned by the good-natured 
 farmer's wife attempting to move the injured foot while 
 bathing it in cool water. 
 
 "Can't he be moved?" asked Gilkins. 
 
 "I do not think so," said the man of the house. "At 
 least not till morning." 
 
 "Will you take care of him until a carriage comes in 
 the morning?" 
 
 "As I would of my own boy." said the woman. "Tell 
 the Fathers at the college not to be the least bit uneasy 
 about him. You can have him in the morning, but the 
 poor child cannot be moved to-night. If the stranger 
 comes with the carriage he said he. was going for, I'll 
 pay him for his trouble, but I won't let the boy go." 
 
 There was nothing for Gilkins to do but to ride post- 
 haste back and report. An hour or so later, a carriage
 
 SOME HISTRIONIC FUN. 199 
 
 from the college drove up to the farmhouse, but as 
 Claude had just dozed off to sleep between a pair of 
 immaculate, lavender-perfumed sheets, Mr. Shalford did 
 not disturb him. After heartily thanking the hospitable 
 farmer and his wife, he promised to come for the boy 
 early in the morning. 
 
 When the President heard Gilkins' story of the prom- 
 ised carriage by the stranger, he sent two able-bodied, 
 trustworthy farmhands to watch the house all night, with 
 order to permit no one, no matter what the reason given, 
 to remove Winters. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 SOME HISTRIONIC FUN. 
 
 CLAUDE was lame for a couple of weeks. During the 
 night in which he was so kindly treated by the hospitable 
 people at the farmhouse, the mysterious carriage failed to 
 appear. The incident was soon forgotten, and never 
 recalled by Claude until some months later and many 
 hundreds of miles away from the spot where he met with 
 his accident. 
 
 At length the year drew to a close. Many events 
 occurred worthy of chronicling. Regretfully we have to 
 pass over the account of the fun and frolic of the plays 
 during the Christmas holidays of that year. Oh, those 
 Christmas plays! Is there any other form of amusement 
 equal to them? The practice; the costuming; the make- 
 up ; the dress rehearsal ; the delight and the stage fright ! 
 That transforming grease-paint! How charming the
 
 200 SOME HISTRIONIC FUN. 
 
 faces look from a distance! What frights when seen in 
 a looking-glass! 
 
 What old student now a grave and reverend senior 
 whose sons are now attending St. Cuthbert's and cutting 
 and scratching the desks as their father, in his day, did 
 before them does not look back with a longing regret 
 to those times of long ago, now vanished like a dream 
 forever? When he opens the college paper and sees his 
 boy's ambitious contribution, he lives his own school-days 
 over again. As he reads the youngster's article there is 
 a kindling warmth around his eyes. He sees, too, in 
 imagination, and with a joy all his own, his child's eyes 
 sparkling with pride and satisfaction, while wondering 
 what pa will think of his effort. 
 
 What does pa the now grave and reverend senior 
 think of the effort? Is he pleased? Is he satisfied? 
 Under that vest now assuming aldermanic proportions 
 there beats a heart that is as young as that of his boy. 
 What though he finds the old leather-bound armchair 
 of aldermanic proportions, too daily more and more to 
 his liking, yet the heart beneath the top buttons of that 
 vest beats in youthful unison with his own boy's! He 
 reads the article. He chuckles and laughs and laughs 
 again. It's all right, sir, you are alone in your smoking 
 den. Your grave and reverend business cronies down- 
 town will never know, not even "mamma" downstairs 
 awaiting you and the dinner-bell, will ever know that you 
 actually danced all to yourself and unobserved actu- 
 ally danced a fandango of delight at your boy's first 
 appearance in his college journal! Your secret's safe 
 with me. 
 
 The father drops into a brown study. In retrospective
 
 SOME HISTRIONIC FUN, 201 
 
 mood he rises from his chair, turns the light higher, 
 unlocks the glass doors of his bookcase, and of course 
 he wants something to read to while away a half-hour 
 before dinner ! takes out an old bound copy of the college 
 journal of over twenty years ago. Heigho ! time flies ! 
 Of course it is by accident that he turns to his own first 
 printed composition, and, of course, by accident again, his 
 own and his boy's productions are placed side by side. 
 
 He does not intend to institute a comparison. The 
 idea! As if a boy could write as well as his father! He 
 reads his own article. Yes, in the light of his own now 
 more mature knowledge he sees there are a few involved 
 and more or less obscure sentences. The ideas are not 
 quite so clear as he thought they were when he first 
 proudly saw them in print! 
 
 Then he reads his son's effort. What ! More lucid ! 
 Better construction of sentences! Clearer, sounder 
 thought! Is it possible that the young rascal has out- 
 stripped his own father? The next letter that Harry or 
 Willie receives from home contains a five dollar bill. 
 vVhat was that for, I wonder? 
 
 The father passes from his boy's article to other items 
 in the college journal. Ah, here's an account of the col- 
 lege Christmas plays! Here's that young rascal again 
 figuring prominently. Well, the young rascal's father 
 did the same when he was a boy. The preternaturally 
 wise criticism of the actors histrionic capacities, by one 
 of their own number, is read. He smiles, and turns to 
 his own old copy. Yes, there's a similar account of him- 
 self. History is repeating itself, almost to the details. 
 While he reads he is living over his own triumphs again 
 in those of his son.
 
 202 SOME HISTRIONIC FUN. 
 
 The paper drops from his hand. Another brown study. 
 He is again on the old stage in the gymnasium not the 
 fine modern stage of St. Cuthbert's and he lives over 
 again an evening of long ago. How the footlights smoke ! 
 How his stage sword will get between his legs! What 
 fears that that fierce mustache will not stay on! That 
 stupid prompter is barely whispering. Speak out, man ! 
 Throw your voice to the back scene, and the audience 
 will never hear you, even if you were to shout. Isn't it 
 suffocatingly hot! The face powder must be coming off. 
 (His acting was done in the days long before the advent 
 of grease-paints.) 
 
 The old gentleman, or rather the elderly gentleman, 
 remembers how angry he was when, coming off the 
 stage in a burst of glory and amid a storm of applause, 
 some one maliciously held up a looking-glass before him, 
 and he saw that the rivulets of perspiration had cut chan- 
 nels through the powder and made his face resemble that 
 of a striped zebra ! Then how angry was the professor of 
 Rhetoric who had trained the boys, when the actors 
 would dance behind the curtain during the interludes. 
 He remembered with amusement that the same staid pro- 
 fessor had almost danced himself when the curtain 
 dropped for the last time on "the most successful play 
 the boys had ever produced." 
 
 "Ah, well," he said to himself, "we boys used to think 
 those professors and prefects of old St. Cuthbert's were 
 pretty much of tyrants in those days. I guess my boys 
 at St. Cuthbert's of the present day think their successors 
 are just about the same. But bless their dear old hearts. 
 They trained me in head and heart too, so that through 
 them I am what I am to-day. God bless those old hard-
 
 SOME HISTRIONIC FUN. 203 
 
 working, devoted men; and God bless their successors 
 too." 
 
 It is hard to say where these reminiscences would have 
 led, had not the wife's call to dinner, and the postman's 
 knock, bringing the evening mail with letters from his 
 boys, broken up the reverie. Time had turned backward 
 for one short half hour and the man had been a boy 
 again. 
 
 "The pranks we played with paint and powder and 
 costume" brings us back to an event which occurred not 
 long after the Christmas holidays of the year in which 
 our joung friends graduated. 
 
 It all happened in this wise. 
 
 John Philip Watkins Gray, who believed he could 
 take care of himself, but who found that in practice it 
 was not so easy as in theory, had been appointed a 
 "supe," or attendant soldier in the suite of Solinus, duke 
 of Ephesus, in Shakespeare's "Comedy of Errors," which 
 had been given by the larger boys that Christmas week. 
 His helmet and shield and spear, as well as his trunks 
 and tights and stage boots, had all suited and fitted him 
 well. Having no experience in stage make-up, he had 
 permitted some wag to paste on his upper lip a thick 
 black mustache large enough to make five of the fiercest 
 mustaches ever worn by the fiercest whiskerandos. It 
 appeared to the audience "like a thick black brush stuck 
 beneath his nose." His face, to be in keeping with the 
 mustache, had been daubed and darkened by unskillful 
 hands, so that he partly resembled a very sick negro and 
 partly typified the burlesque policeman. 
 
 The novel position of being behind the footlights made 
 him unusually awkward. He knew not how to stand, nor
 
 204 SOME HISTRIONIC FUN. 
 
 walk, nor move with any kind of grace or with even 
 passable ease. 
 
 Several boys watched him with amusement uncon- 
 cealed. It is not surprising, therefore, that a few days 
 after the Christmas holidays, when routine work had been 
 resumed with all its rigor, and there was absolutely 
 "nothing going on," that five or six boys were seen with 
 their heads together, hatching out some scheme. Had 
 one listened he would have learned that John Philip 
 Watkins Gray was the destined victim. 
 
 "Come over to the music-room, Gray," said one of the 
 conspirators, as that individual sauntered up to the 
 group; "we have an important proposition to make to 
 you." 
 
 John Philip Watkins Gray made the great mistake of 
 his life and went. 
 
 "We watched you on the stage during the play," said 
 one, "and we are all sure that you have great dramatic 
 ability. Isn't that so, boys?" 
 
 The other five gave demonstrative assent. Gray began 
 to believe that he had cut a fine figure on the stage after 
 all. 
 
 "H-h'm," he coughed. This was intended for a modest 
 disclaimer. 
 
 "Now don't be bashful, Gray," said the first speaker, 
 "you have talent in that line, and we know it. It isn't 
 everybody who can realize his own talent at once, but 
 we are sure that long ago you have discovered your own 
 powers. We consider you a first-class actor one of the 
 best we have at college. I consider it a shame they did 
 not give you the part of a Dromio, or an Antipholus, or 
 at least that of Solinus. You would have beaten any one
 
 SOME HISTRIONIC FUN. 205 
 
 who took these parts in the Comedy of Errors, and that's 
 saying a good deal." 
 
 Gray began to believe that after all he must be an 
 actor, although previously not conscious of it. He looked 
 gratified. 
 
 "Oh, come! You're putting it on too thick, Smith," 
 whispered Conspirator No. 2 to the spokesman. 
 
 "No danger. He hasn't gumption enough. See, he's 
 beginning to nibble already," was the reply, given sotto 
 voce, and then, aloud, Smith said: 
 
 "Of course you have been in lots of plays at home, 
 eh?" 
 
 "Of co that is, I once recited 'How doth the little 
 busy bee' at our parish school." 
 
 "Ah! that's the ticket. How does it go? Like this, 
 isn't it? 
 
 "How doth the little busy wasp 
 Delight to bark and bite, 
 And gather honey all the day 
 And eat it up at night." 
 
 "Splendid! You're the man the coming man. Now 
 see here, old fellow ! We have decided that your talents 
 have been hidden in a coal sack too long. Listen we 
 are going to bring you Out; out with a great big 
 capital O! See?" 
 
 Gray did not see, but he tried to look modest, and 
 waited. 
 
 "There's no reason why one who is equal to Cyrano 
 de Bergerac or Richelieu should remain in obscurity any 
 longer. Isn't that so, you fellows?" 
 
 All responded enthusiastically that they saw no earthly 
 reason why the present state of affairs should continue. 
 Had Gray been less obtuse he would have noticed that
 
 206 SOME HISTRIONIC FUN. 
 
 the enthusiasm was slightly over-demonstrative. But he 
 was caught by the glamor of the prospective triumph, and 
 the boys' honeyed words. His appreciation of himself 
 was growing immensely and rapidly. 
 
 "What do you fellows want me to do, or rather what 
 do you think I can do?" he asked. 
 
 "I think you can do anything you put your hand to," 
 answered Smith, the joker. "Knowing your dramatic 
 ability, and being sure you will cover yourself with in- 
 eradicable and inextinguishable glory, we have decided 
 to offer you the leading part in an extravaganza we are 
 thinking of getting up as a sort of surprise to the pro- 
 fessors and prefects as well as the boys, on Washington's 
 birthday.'' 
 
 "What is it ?" asked Gray eagerly. 
 
 "First you must be bound to secrecy, because if the 
 prefects learn of it beforehand, the surprise will fall flat, 
 and the thing will not be worth going on with. See?" 
 
 "Yes, I see. I'll promise to tell nobody except that 
 is, I won't give it away. What's my part to be?" asked 
 the flattered and easily duped boy. 
 
 He was, in the peculiar college phraseology, "dead 
 easy." The conspirators were surprised at the ease with 
 which they drew him into the snare. 
 
 "The character we have chosen for you is the part of 
 Mad Sir Anthony. It is very difficult, but we know that 
 you, if anybody, can manage it. It may be taken from a 
 play of Beaumont or Fletcher or some other old English 
 dramatist for aught I know. The story is this. Sir 
 Anthony is insane and doesn't know it. His friends do. 
 He thinks he will have some fun with his servants and 
 his guests by pretending to be insane. His friends, in
 
 SOME HISTRIONIC FUN. 207 
 
 order to humor him, pretend it is all fine, and try to coax 
 him into an insane asylum. He refuses to go, and they 
 finally capture him and carry him off in triumph. Fine 
 plot, isn't it?" 
 
 "Ye-es," said John Philip Watkins Gray, rather dubi- 
 ously. 
 
 "Of course you will have most of the lines. The 
 Dthers are merely foils for you. You'll never have such 
 a chance again in your life." 
 
 "As the other characters have lines of no importance, 
 it is not necessary for any of us to practice yet a while, 
 until yours are learned and practiced perfectly," said Con- 
 spirator No. 2. 
 
 "Oh, that's not fair," said a third boy, who was in the 
 plot against Gray, in order to keep up the delusion. 
 
 "Yes, it is," said Smith. "Didn't we all promise to 
 help train the principal actor before we began our own 
 parts?" 
 
 "Well, but " said the second, in feigned hesitation. 
 
 "All I've got to say, then," said Smith, in apparent 
 earnestness, for he was no inconsiderable actor himself, 
 "if you fellows are going back on your promises I throw 
 up the whole affair, that's all." 
 
 Gray's forthcoming glory began to fade, and his visions 
 of histrionic triumph grew dim. 
 
 "Oh, don't do that. I want you fellows to train me," 
 he said. 
 
 It was wonderful what straight faces the boys kept 
 during this pretended dispute, and at Gray's words. They 
 had no idea in the beginning that their plans would meet 
 with anything like such success. 
 
 "We must stick to our original intention," said Smith,
 
 208 SOME HISTRIONIC FUN. 
 
 "of training Gray first and thoroughly before we begin 
 our own practice with him." 
 
 They finally solemnly agreed to do as their chief 
 speaker suggested. 
 
 "Very well. Now, Hess, give Gray his first speech. 
 When he has learned and practiced that, the rest of his 
 part will be forthcoming." 
 
 Hess drew from his pocket a paper and began to 
 read: 
 
 SIR ANTHONY 
 
 "Hush! listen! I am a little mouse, 
 But now is the winter of our discontent, 
 Made glorious when I write a letter to papa. 
 Lend me thine ear. See to it, 'tis not too small. 
 A fellow of infinite jest and merit. 
 Hold! I command you both. The man that stirs 
 Away with sighing and grieving, I'll no more on't, 
 For I have had a fearful dream. 
 The blood-red moon smiles down on Jessica 
 While Simon, he sits in his high-backed chair, 
 Oh! willow, willow, willow! Alas! and alack! 
 Little Bo-Peep lies fast asleep. 
 No! by heaven! I'm not mad, 
 No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. 
 
 Ha! ah! Sir Galahad, I drink to thee only with mine eyes. 
 Oh! sweet Ophelia shall bring cornflowers for the tomb." 
 
 The boys kept solemn faces while Hess read this rub- 
 bish. Gray was mystified. His eyes traveled occasionally 
 from face to face. Knowing that they were under scru- 
 tiny, luckily for their plan no one's gravity gave way. 
 
 "That's Sir Anthony's first speech," remarked Smith. 
 "Do you think you can manage it?" 
 
 "I don't know, I'm sure," said the dupe. "But" 
 
 "Oh, those abominable 'buts' ! But me no buts. Come 
 on, boys, let's steal upstairs to the stage and we will begin 
 practicing at once." 
 
 Gray was hurried along with the rest up the. stairs and
 
 SOME HISTRIONIC FVN. 209 
 
 on to the stage. The paper was thrust into his hand. He 
 was told to begin at once. The boys skipped about the 
 hall in a very lively manner. Just at that moment 
 motion was absolutely necessary for the practical jokers 
 if they did not want to betray themselves. 
 
 "Now begin," ordered Smith. 
 
 Then in reality began more fun than any half dozen 
 boys ever dreamed could be extracted from one indi- 
 vidual. Words, sentences, phrases were purposely mis- 
 interpreted. Tones, poses, gestures even those suitable 
 to any individual sentence or line of the nonsensical 
 medley, were disregarded. The more absurd the inter- 
 pretation the better. Grotesque contortions, regardless 
 of all sense or propriety, made the lines more ridiculous, 
 if that were possible, than they were in themselves. 
 
 "Hush! listen! I am a little mouse," began Gray, in a 
 fairly good stage whisper. 
 
 "Oh, that won't do at all never do," shouted Hess 
 from the floor in front of the stage. "Use the grand 
 orotund there. Stand up as if you were going to fight a 
 gladiator in the arena, or imagine yourself a general giv- 
 ing orders for a charge. Like this." 
 
 "Hush! listen! I am a little mouse!" 
 
 The docile Gray followed the instructions blindly. 
 
 "Louder!" shouted Smith, "louder!" Gray raised his 
 voice until at length he fairly screamed. The conspira- 
 tors screamed, also, with delight, which Gray took for 
 approbation. . 
 
 "Made glorious when I write a letter to papa." 
 
 "No, no, that won't do," said Smith. "Here, like this: 
 'Made ge-lor-:ous,' sorrow and shame there; 'when I 
 write' should be given soft and low, soft as the whisper-
 
 210 8OME HISTRIONIC FUN. 
 
 
 
 ing pines, you know, and all that; then a 'letter to papa' 
 must be a grand burst of oratorical confidence (whatever 
 that may mean), followed by a stride of three steps cor- 
 nerwise across the stage, and to be finished by a long 
 'ah!' in the heaviest tragedy style. Man alive! no sane 
 madman would ever give that as you are giving it." 
 
 To the surprise of the boys, Gray followed the instruc- 
 tions, notwithstanding their evident contradiction. He 
 seemed to regard the whole affair as a very serious piece 
 of business, taking every remark quite earnestly. Every 
 moment the boys expected that he would see through 
 their joke and turn the tables on them in some way. As 
 their victim was a very much larger boy than any one of 
 them, they were all prepared for instant flight. But no 
 enlightenment came to relieve the obtuseness of Gray's 
 intellect. There were perpetrated for the space of half 
 an hour the most absurd atrocities against the rules of 
 breathing, of posing, of gesture, and of speaking, that per- 
 haps ever fell to the lot of a company of mischievous 
 boys to witness. The laughter of the boys made their 
 sides ache, but Gray seemed to take it all as a compli- 
 ment to his powers. When the boys could stand no more, 
 another practice was arranged for three days hence, with 
 a promise to take then the measurements for the con- 
 struction of the madman's costume, which, Gray was as- 
 sured, was to be unique in design and material. 
 
 In less than half an hour after the first successful ruse, 
 at least twenty boys were mysteriously informed that 
 Gray would soort blossom out as a star tragedian who 
 would surprise everybody. When approached to confirm 
 the rumor, his promise of secrecy was sorely tested. 
 
 "Oh, nonsense!" said Mr. Shalford, when informed of
 
 SOME HISTRIONIC FUN. 211 
 
 the floating rumor that Gray was to appear on February 
 22, Mr. Shalford knew all the boys who were to take part 
 in the entertainment of that evening. The prefect took no 
 notice of the first intimation he received, but when it 
 came a third, fourth, and fifth time to his ears, in that 
 mysterious way in which yard affairs always come to pre- 
 fects, he began to think that perhaps some of the boys 
 were again attempting another practical joke on Gray. 
 He determined to be on the alert, and, if such were the 
 case, to save the boy from another mortification. 
 
 "I did not see you in the yard this afternoon," he said 
 to Gray one evening, two days after the commencement 
 of the practice. "Were you sick?" 
 
 "No, sir, I was busy," was the evasive reply. 
 
 "At what?" 
 
 "Learning some poetry." 
 
 "Penances? Or have you suddenly turned studious? 
 Look out, my boy, and don't let the boys fool you again." 
 
 Now Gray was determined to keep the secret and not 
 destroy the surprise, so he said: 
 
 "They can't fool me, sir." 
 
 Which statement, in the light of previous experience, 
 Mr. Shalford did not think possessed an extraordinary 
 amount of credibility. 
 
 "Well, if anything happens, don't say I did not warn 
 you." 
 
 Now Gray thought that the prefect was bent on worm- 
 ing the secret of the forthcoming surprise out of him, so 
 he determined to give him no information. He remained 
 silent. 
 
 About a week later, Mr. Shalford missed several boys 
 from the yard. Amid the thousand and one things of his
 
 212 SOME HISTRIONIC FUN. 
 
 office which necessarily occupied his attention, the ques- 
 tion of Gray again getting into trouble had entirely 
 slipped from his mind. It suddenly occurred to him, 
 considering the absence of several very tricky youngsters 
 and Gray that perhaps after all there was foundation 
 m fact for the intangible rumor that Gray was being 
 woefully duped. 
 
 Taking a hasty stroll around the yard, looking into the 
 gymnasium, the reading-rooms, play-rooms and every- 
 where where boys up to mischief were likely to congre- 
 gate on a winter recreation day, he finally decided to go 
 up to the hall. In going about he usually jingled some 
 keys, consciously or unconsciously giving warning of his 
 approach. He may have adopted this custom purposely, 
 to avoid inflicting penances. All the boys admitted that 
 his prefecting had no semblance of detective work in it, 
 and the result was that, in the majority of cases, there 
 were perfectly honorable dealings among the boys. 
 
 In going up to the theater he did not rattle his keys as 
 usual, owing to a pre-occupation of mind. The door of 
 the hall was open, but there was a screen in front of it, 
 placed there to prevent a draft from the stairway. He 
 thus obtained a view of the stage without being seen by 
 any one in the hall. He heard some strange sounds. In 
 all the notes of the gamut he heard the words : 
 
 "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no," and then, leaning 
 on a spear, with his left leg crossed over the right and 
 resting on the toes, with his right thumb touching his 
 ear and the fingers pointed forward and rapidly moving 
 and with eyes cast sideways, Gray gave the next line in 
 a soft, lackadaisical voice : 
 
 "Sir Galahad, drink to me only with mine eyes."
 
 SOME HISTRIONIC FUN. 213 
 
 There was Gray in the "constructed" costume. For 
 tunic he wore an old grain sack, not over-clean, through 
 two holes in which he had thrust his legs. It was tied 
 on him up around his arms. Around his neck was a stiff 
 Elizabethan ruff of brown paper, which must have been 
 a torture for the poor boy. The sack was ornamented 
 with a short skirt of green cheesecloth, from which 
 material were made a pair of sleeves with enormously 
 puffed shoulders. Across his back he wore, shield- 
 fashion, the tin lid of a wash-boiler. The spear on which 
 he leaned was ornamented near the head with a small 
 American flag. 
 
 It would be difficult, perhaps impossible, to conceive a 
 more grotesquely-costumed figure, and still harder to 
 imagine how a big boy could have taken the matter all 
 along in sober earnest, apparently quite unsuspicious of 
 the huge joke being played upon him. 
 
 Mr. Shalford walked out into the middle of the floor. 
 
 "What's all this?" 
 
 At the first glimpse of him Gray vanished. There was 
 so complete a silence that Smith afterward declared that 
 you could have cut it with a knife. 
 
 "Oh, sir, we were only hav " began one. 
 
 "Get downstairs, all of you." 
 
 "But, sir, we only meant " 
 
 "Get downstairs." 
 
 By this time Gray had appeared, properly clothed, if 
 not in his right mind. The conspirators and their victim 
 made an extremely rapid descent, fully convinced that 
 they were "in for It" now in earnest. 
 
 It was fortunate for the dignity of the prefect, and for 
 discipline's sake that the boys retired so hurriedly, for the
 
 214 SOME HISTRIONIC FVN. 
 
 next moment Mr. Shalford, who always had a keen eye 
 for the humorous and the ludicrous, and who, perhaps in 
 remembrance of his own college days, had a secret sym- 
 pathy for these scapegrace jokers, collapsed. He sat 
 down on the nearest seat and for a few moments gave way 
 to a fit of unrestrained, because uncontrollable, laughter. 
 
 "You goose," he said to Gray a little later in the yard. 
 "Didn't I tell you those boys were up to something?" 
 
 Gray looked preternaturally wise, and in no degree pen- 
 itant. His mind was still full of the play. He was per- 
 fectly unconscious of having been fooled. 
 
 Six days later, when all had finished reciting their pen- 
 ances, Gray remarked: 
 
 "Say, fellows, wasn't it a pity old Shalford caught us? 
 I wonder whether we couldn't win him over to let us go 
 on and give the boys a surprise on Washington's birth- 
 day." 
 
 Smith and Hess are now married men, both conducting 
 large businesses. Gray, mirabile dictu! has recently been 
 elected State representative of his district. The three 
 met recently, and the two both solemnly aver that Gray 
 is, to this day, totally unaware that he was a victim of a 
 practical joke. They call him Sir Anthony, which title he 
 rather enjoys. Only yesterday he expressed his regret 
 that the prefect had interrupted their practice. 
 
 "We would have given the boys a surprise, sure.' 
 
 Smith and Hess agreed with him.
 
 RETROSPECTIVE. 215 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 RETROSPECTIVE. 
 
 THE end had come. The year had passed all too 
 quickly. It wanted but one day to those graduating exer- 
 cises which would make our young friends of the Phil- 
 osophy class the proud possessors of pieces of beribboned 
 parchment which would give them a legal title to the cov- 
 eted "Bachelor of Arts." Every member of the class had 
 been successful in the examinations, although of course 
 some had shone more brilliantly than others. Of this 
 class was our friend Claude Winters, to his ecstatic de- 
 light, which found expression, the others declared, in the 
 most "insane antics" and "conduct quite unbecoming a 
 Philosopher." 
 
 In the gladness of his success it was no use to chide 
 him. Claude had declared that for a time he had to "cut 
 up" or something somewhere would give way, or the 
 universe slip a cog. 
 
 Now evening had come, and there was a lull in 
 mutual congratulations, sport, and fun. It was the last 
 evening at school. All were awaiting the end, which 
 would come on the morrow. 
 
 Howard Hunter, Frank Stapleton, Selby, and, of course, 
 Claude, had strolled out of the grounds to an elevated 
 ideal spot not far from the river, where there could be 
 obtained a panoramic view of the college. This academic 
 grove was a favorite resort of the Philosophers, far 
 enough away from the noise and shouts of the yard, close 
 enough to be within sound of the warning bell. Some
 
 sjie RETROSPECTIVE. 
 
 rustic benches had been placed under the trees, in a spot 
 where an unobstructed view could be obtained. 
 
 In this little leafy bower sat our friends, now silent and 
 introspective, although not morose, nor uninfluenced by 
 the beauty of the summer evening. 
 
 The not unmusical tinkle of a cowbell sounded softly 
 away in the woods behind the farm-buildings of the col- 
 lege. Not far away, two farmhands waited at the gate 
 with their milk pails at their feet, to turn the slow return- 
 ing cows into the home paddock for the milking. There 
 was a drowsy hum of insects in the air, and the "beetle 
 wheeled his droning flight" amid the wild honeysuckle 
 bushes as the sun slowly sank below the horizon. All 
 labor sounds had ceased. There was that restful calm 
 which makes country life at least for a few months in 
 the summer time so restful and Arcadian to the nervous 
 and office-tired city man. 
 
 The boys silently watched the large-eyed, sleepy cows, 
 one by one, file slowly into the paddock and stand with 
 almost pathetic patience to be relieved of their abundant 
 supply of milk. They saw the men take their one-legged 
 milking stools from the fence. Soon they heard on the 
 quiet evening air the intermittent rattling sounds, as the 
 rich streams of milk bombarded the sonorous sides of the 
 large tin milking pails. 
 
 The unusually long silence was at length broken by 
 Stapleton. In a low, almost sad, tone he remarked: 
 
 "I believe, after all, that those simple farmhands are 
 better off than we are." 
 
 "What makes you think that ?" asked Selby, in the same 
 subdued way. 
 
 "I hardly know whether I can give an intelligent reason.
 
 RETROSPECTIVE. 217 
 
 They have no responsibilities. They do their daily work, 
 eat their three meals a day, sleep well at night, and on the 
 morning the same thing is repeated no care, no anxiety, 
 no worry " 
 
 "No examinations," put in Claude. Frank took no 
 notice of the interruption. 
 
 " No worry. The irresponsibility of their position 
 makes me envy them." 
 
 "Umph ! You're in the dumps, that's sure. And they 
 probably envy us just as much as we, or at least you, 
 envy them," replied Selby. 
 
 "That may be. But it seems to me theirs is the hap- 
 pier lot." 
 
 "What a what a strange idea!" said Selby. "Would 
 you change places?" 
 
 "Well, I hardly think I would do that," answered 
 Frank, "yet I do envy them their freedom from responsi- 
 bility, while I feel ours, mine, I mean, to be great." 
 
 "Indeed! In what way?" asked the other. 
 
 "In this. We, I mean I for I don't know how the 
 rest of you feel about it I feel a grave responsibility 
 resting on me. I look at it in this way. I have had all 
 the advantages of education a first-class Catholic college 
 gives. When I go out into the world, after to-morrow's 
 graduating, I shall have not only the reputation of my 
 alma mater to sustain, but I feel that I am responsible to 
 Almighty God, -for the good use to which I shall here- 
 after put my training and what education I have. One's 
 responsibilities increase in proportion to the advantages 
 he has received." 
 
 "Quite true," said Hunter. "One having a knowledge 
 of philosophic principles and Catholic ethics must, by the
 
 218 RETROSPECTIVE. 
 
 very nature of the case, be superior to, and exert a 
 superior influence over those who are drifting along 
 almost aimlessly through life." 
 
 "We have passed our examinations and shall be grad- 
 uated to-morrow," remarked Winters, "and yet how little 
 one seems to know, after all." 
 
 "Seems?" said Stapleton. "How much do we know?" 
 
 "Much more than you imagine at present, my dear 
 boys," said Mr. Shalford, who had come upon the group 
 unawares and had heard the remarks of the last two 
 speakers. After having been warmly welcomed, he took 
 a seat among them and continued: 
 
 "Wait, Claude, until the occasions arise when you will 
 have to make decisions for yourself then you will see 
 the value and the benefit of Catholic ethical training. No 
 knowledge, once acquired, is really lost. Only yesterday 
 I was reading 'Thomas and Matthew Arnold' by Sir 
 Joshua Fitch, and on one of the pages, I do not remem- 
 ber which just at present, I read something like this: 
 
 " 'If we forget even our arithmetic and geography and 
 grammar, so is a great part of the knowledge received 
 by learners in all ages, and in reference to all subjects. 
 But this does not prove the acquisition barren and use- 
 less. It may not survive in the exact form it has been 
 imparted. But it has for a time served its purpose. It 
 has helped to put the mind in a better position to acquire 
 further knowledge, and has left behind it a residuum of 
 thought and experience that will make it easy to revert 
 to the subject and learn it anew, if occasion should arise. 
 In fact nothing which is honestly learned, and which 
 forms a legitimate part of a scheme of instruction having 
 an organic union and a clear purpose of its own, can ever
 
 RETROSPECTIVE. 219 
 
 be rightly regarded as worthless; and no time spent in 
 acquiring such details is ever wasted, even though they 
 may have disappeared from the memory and left no 
 visible result. 
 
 " 'It does not follow/ says Thomas Arnold, 'that when 
 a man lays aside his Latin and Greek books, he forgets 
 all that he has ever gained from them. This, however, 
 is so far from being the case that even where results of 
 a classical education are least tangible and least appreci- 
 ated, even by the individual himself, still the mind often 
 retains much of the effects of its early studies in the 
 general liberality of its tastes and comparative compre- 
 hensiveness of its views and actions/ 
 
 "So don't be discouraged, boys," Mr. Shalford con- 
 tinued when he had finished quoting. "What is here said 
 of the classics can be applied more accurately to phil- 
 osophy, especially in the formation of correct judgment. 
 You have had instilled into you these sound and correct 
 principles. These are capable of guiding you through 
 life. I grant that you have greater responsibilities than 
 those less favored, but you know better how to act and 
 what to do than others. Isn't that so, boys?" 
 
 All gave a ready assent. 
 
 "Very well. That's enough on that subject. Now let 
 me say a few words that I would like to have said to all 
 the members of your class. I was too busy lately to get 
 you all together, so what I say now to you four I say to 
 all through you. I thank you in my own name and in 
 the name of the college for your good influence. I told 
 you in the beginning of the year that you ten boys would 
 make the tone of the college. You have done so, and 
 you have done it well. I thank you all. Your honorable
 
 220 RETROSPECTIVE. 
 
 combination, as you call it, for the autumn field-day, did 
 wonders in this direction much more than you lads are 
 in a position to know. Your influence was good, and it 
 will remain. Once more, I thank you." 
 
 Mr. Shalford's earnestness and warmth of manner and 
 words of sincere praise deeply affected these earnest, 
 right-intentioned boys. In after years it was a happy 
 memory, making a binding link of friendship and esteem 
 between them and their prefect which was never broken. 
 Kind-hearted Shalford knew how to say the right thing 
 at the right moment. 
 
 "Do you consider the tone of the college up to the 
 standard, Mr. Shalford?" asked Howard Hunter, who 
 had, in this matter, a little of the pessimism of youth, 
 owing perhaps to his lofty ideals. 
 
 The official did not answer immediately. He appeared 
 to be thinking deeply. Presently, without directly re- 
 sponding, he said: 
 
 "Somewhere in Fitch's book, ah! here it is," and he 
 turned to the page, "I will read this and then ask you 
 whether you think such a state of affairs exists at St. 
 Cuthbert's: 
 
 ' 'That is properly a nursery of vice where a boy un- 
 learns the pure and honest principles which he may have 
 received at home, and gets in their stead others which 
 are utterly low and base and mischievous ; where he loses 
 his modesty, his respect for truth, and his affectionate- 
 ness, and becomes coarse and unfeeling. That, too, is a 
 nursery of vice, and most fearfully so, where vice is bold 
 and forward and presuming, and goodness is timid and 
 shy and exists as if by sufferance; where the good, 
 instead of setting the tone of society and branding with
 
 RETROSPECTIVE. 221 
 
 disgrace those who disregard it, are themselves exposed 
 to reproach for their goodness, and shrink before the 
 open avowal of evil principles which the bad are striving 
 to make the law of the community.' 
 
 "Do you think, Howard," continued Mr. Shalford, "do 
 you think such a state of affairs exists at St. Cuthbert's?" 
 
 "No, sir; no, sir," said all his listeners. 
 
 "No, indeed, thanks be to God ! Our boys have their 
 faults. We are not perfect, but goodness, right and cor- 
 rect principles are in honor among us. That this is so 
 this year is largely owing to you boys, and once more I 
 thank you all." 
 
 "I don't think the Philosophy class deserves much 
 praise, sir," said Winters. "It's the boys, the whole 
 crowd themselves, that are good fellows. Didn't you see, 
 sir, nearly the whole school go to Holy Communion this 
 morning, the last day of the school year? It wasn't a 
 regular Communion day either. 
 
 "I saw it, Claude, and was very glad to see it. Then 
 you don't agree with Arnold of Rugby when he wrote to 
 a friend : 'Give me credit for a most sincere desire to 
 make Rugby a place of Christian education. At the same 
 time my object will be, if possible, to form Christian men, 
 for Christian boys I scarcely hope to make. I mean 
 that from the naturally imperfect state of boyhood they 
 are not susceptible of Christian principles in their full 
 development and practice; and I suppose a low standard 
 of morals in many respects must be tolerated among 
 them, as it was on a large scale in what I consider the 
 boyhood of the human race.' " 
 
 "Did Arnold of Rugby say that?" exclaimed Claude. 
 His wide-open eyes and parted lips showed his surprise.
 
 222 RETROSPECTIVE. 
 
 "Yes. You do not agree with him?" 
 
 "No, sir !" The emphasis with which these two words 
 were given would have been amusing had not Winters 
 been so earnest. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Why! If that were true, where would St. Aloysius 
 and St. Stanislaus be ? Where would all the good boys in 
 our sodalities be? And our weekly Communicants? 
 Where would be nearly all the boys of St. Cuthbert's of 
 to-day ?" 
 
 "And where would Claude Winters be?" was the un- 
 spoken thought of more than one of the group at the 
 moment, for Claude, in sounding the praises of his com- 
 panions, was unconsciously describing himself. Mr. Shal- 
 ford delighted in drawing out Winters, who had a breez- 
 iness in stating his opinions which was refreshing. The 
 prefect continued: 
 
 "Then you don't believe the affectation of being worse 
 than one really is, exists to any degree here?" 
 
 "Certainly I do not." 
 
 "Nor the idea that a falsehood if told to a fellow is 
 worse than if told to a professor or prefect?" 
 
 "Not by a not at all." Claude nearly lapsed into a 
 slang expression in his earnestness. 
 
 "One more question, Claude. You have read 'Tom 
 Brown's School Days'?" 
 
 "Often. I've got it here now," and he took it from 
 the seat where he had placed it a few minutes before. 
 
 Mr. Shalford took it and opened it and read with diffi- 
 culty in the gathering dusk the passage where Mr. 
 Hughes puts into the mouth of Harry East the schoolboy 
 code of honor of those days with regard to cribs.
 
 RETROSPECTIVE. 223 
 
 " 'It is a fair trial of skill between us and the masters, 
 like a match of football or a battle. We're natural ene- 
 mies in school, that's a fact. We've got to learn so 
 much Latin and Greek and do so many verses, and 
 they've got to see that we do it. If you can slip the 
 collar and do so much less without getting caught, that's 
 one to us. If they can get more out of you, or catch us 
 shirking, that's one to them. All's fair in war but lying. 
 If I run my luck against theirs and go into school with- 
 out looking at my lessons, why am I a snob or a sneak? 
 I don't tell the master I have learned it; he's got to find 
 out whether I have or not. What's he paid for? If he 
 calls me up and I get floored, he makes me write it out 
 in Greek and English very good. He's caught me and 
 I don't grumble. I grant you if I go and snivel to him 
 and tell him I've really tried to learn it but found it too 
 hard without a translation, or say I've had a headache or 
 any humbug of that kind, I'm a snob that's my school 
 morality. It's served me for these five years, and it's all 
 clear and fair; no mistake about it, and I do not know 
 what we are to come to with any other.' 
 
 "What do you think of that for schoolboy ethics, 
 Claude?" asked Mr. Shalford when he had finished the 
 page. 
 
 "I know this, Mr. Shalford ; it isn't St. Cuthbert ethics. 
 It is not Catholic, and I don't believe it is honest. I don't 
 think it a bit more honest to steal a translation and palm 
 it off in class as one's own than the action of that fellow 
 oh, what's his name? I've forgotten who last May 
 gave a poem for the St. Cuthbert's college journal as 
 original when it was afterward found to have been taken 
 body and bones from one of Eliza Cook's. To my
 
 224 RETROSPECTIVE. 
 
 notion, Harry East ought to have been expelled, just 
 as much as that fellow was who disgraced us and our 
 paper. That's my theory of it." 
 
 "And perhaps you are nearly correct. There, the 
 lights are beginning to twinkle down below! I must be 
 going. Good-by, boys. Take a last good look at the old 
 college by moonlight. Good-by. God bless you. Keep 
 cool for to-morrow's speeches. Good-by." 
 
 As his figure became indistinct down the path in the 
 gloaming, the four boys again lapsed into silence, each 
 busy with his own thoughts. As the darkness fell, more 
 lights began to appear, making the unlit portions of the 
 building blacker by contrast. In the eastern sky were 
 some heavy clouds, which the nearly full moon silvered 
 and made resemble huge banks of snow. To the west, 
 low down on the horizon, was a broad band of saffron, 
 which paled away upward into the deep liquid blue of the 
 summer night. In bold relief against the western sky 
 stood the cross-crowned spire of the students' chapel. In 
 the moon's alchemy the gilded cross resembled bur- 
 nished silver. It was the most conspicuous object of the 
 softened evening scene. It was more beautiful, thought 
 the boys, than roof, or gable, or flash tower, for it had a 
 symbolic meaning for them. It typified to them their 
 faith, the foundation of all their education, and the motive 
 of all their actions. The stillness of the night, the occa- 
 sion of their meeting, and the beauty of the scene softly 
 lit up by the moonlight, made a deep impression. They 
 had made a kind of sentimental journey up the hill to 
 take a last look by moonlight of the college they loved 
 so much. They were amply rewarded. The scene was 
 fixed indelibly in their memory.
 
 RETROSPECTIVE. 225 
 
 "Dear old St. Cuthbert's, how I love you!" said Claude 
 Winters, breaking the silence with words that came from 
 the heart, and voicing the emotion of each. 
 
 "So do we all," remarked Hunter. 
 
 "Amen say I to that," said Stapleton, quite solemnly. 
 "On one thing I am determined. I shall so strive to live 
 that I may never be anything but an honor and a pride 
 to my alma mater." 
 
 "I'm sure that's the intention of all of us," said Howard 
 Hunter. "In fact we would be ingrates were we not all 
 actuated by such motives at such a time as this." 
 
 "I propose," said Claude Winters, who could never 
 keep in a serious or sentimental mood very long, "I pro- 
 pose that as by this time to-morrow we shall all be scat- 
 tered to the four winds of heaven or at least to the four 
 points of the compass, that we make a resolution to meet 
 here on this very spot this time ten years hence and 
 relate our intervening experiences. What d'ye say, boys ?" 
 They all agreed unanimously. Then Claude continued: 
 
 "Very well ; let us all join hands and promise each 
 other that if living and if it be physically possible we all 
 meet here ten years hence." 
 
 Four hands were joined in a quadruple handshake, 
 and with this outward manifestation of their agreement, 
 they all made the promise.
 
 226 LEAVE-TAKING. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 LEAVE-TAKING. 
 
 CLAUDE WINTERS had been seven years at St. Cuth- 
 bert's. At last the time had come for him when he must 
 sever connections with the college. Never in his life had 
 the warm-hearted boy been so tossed by contending emo- 
 tions. There was joy at being free, joy at the thought 
 of seeing home and mother and Laura and all the rest; 
 joy at the thought of beginning his battle with the world. 
 Ah, Claude, will you be so joyful ten years from now? 
 Will you at your proposed reunion if that ever takes 
 place have such roseate hues of life as now? You have 
 much to learn yet of the ways of the world. God grant 
 that the next ten years may be as happy as those you have 
 passed, and as decade after decade of your life shall pass, 
 may they bring you no grief, nor sorrow, nor remorse. 
 
 During his course Claude had absorbed a large amount 
 of knowledge and acquired some wisdom. He knew he 
 was now competent to take up the study of any profession 
 he might choose, with the brightest prospects of being 
 successful therein. 
 
 During this process of absorption the personal all-con- 
 quering example of devoted men had largely influenced 
 the boy. He had become deeply attached to his alma 
 mater. He loved every spot in and around it. The class 
 rooms, the yard, the ball-field, the wheel-track, the walks, 
 the river, the very stones of the buildings were objects 
 of affection to him. And his was the love, loyal and true, 
 of a sincere character.
 
 LEAVE-TAKING. 227 
 
 To think that the last day of his happy college life, 
 with all its joys and fascinations and its thousand and one 
 pleasures, would in a few hours be to him a thing of the 
 past, touched him deeply. He could scarcely realize it. 
 He did not wish to realize it. It was the one dark spot 
 in the happy ending of a sunny career. More than once 
 that last morning Claude felt a large lump rise in his 
 throat. More than once unbidden tears dimmed his eyes. 
 For him after to-day the delights of the ball-field, or the 
 bicycle race were no more ! For him no more the 
 delights of sweet companionship. Oh, the pity of it, 
 thought Claude. Why could we not be always boys. 
 Why, indeed! What choicer gift can there be than the 
 companionship of noble boys who are loyal and true? 
 
 Before the hour arrived for the graduating exercises 
 our young friend took a last journey through the build- 
 ings. He went .from class-room to class-room, and as he 
 went through each room he felt that he was leaving old 
 friends indeed. His run into the infirmary reminded him 
 of Howard Hunter's long illness, arising from the haunted 
 mill episode, and all the events that followed therefrom. 
 Winters intended these as farewell visits. He knew it 
 would be the last time he could come to these places, 
 because after the exercises there was to be a hurried 
 lunch, and then the hardest part of all for the warm- 
 hearted boy the final parting with the President, pro- 
 fessors, prefects, and his schoolboy friends. 
 
 The last spot Winters visited on his sentimental journey 
 was the woodland shrine of Our Lady, Seat of Wisdom. 
 Often had he made little pilgrimages to this beautiful and 
 secluded spot, to seek at Our Lady's feet that help and 
 consolation we all so sorely need at times.
 
 228 LEAVE-TAKING. 
 
 Claude, according to his ordinary style of locomotion, 
 came tearing up the hill at a rapid rate. The path led 
 up to the side of the shrine, and when he had reached 
 the little plateau where it stood, he had to make a sudden 
 turn to the right to be in front of it. About to enter, he 
 checked himself suddenly, for he saw some one kneeling 
 in front of the statue. He whom Claude saw there was 
 the last person whom he would have expected in such 
 a place. 
 
 It was Ambrose Bracebridge. 
 
 "Ambrose!" That was all he could say. His eyes 
 plainly spoke his wonderment. 
 
 "Claude!" Bracebridge arose from his knees and 
 turned to Claude with a frank, open smile on his face. 
 He held out his hand to Winters. 
 
 "What does this mean, Ambrose? Are you a " 
 
 "Am I a Catholic you are going to ask?" 
 
 "Yes. Are you a " 
 
 "Wait a moment, Claude," said Ambrose. "Let us sit 
 down on this log close here in the shade. I have a few 
 things to say." 
 
 "But tell me first, are you a Catholic? Oh, Ambrose, 
 if you are " 
 
 "Listen for a while and then you will hear what I am. 
 Do you remember what you told my father the last time 
 you visited him?" 
 
 "I remember nothing in particular." 
 
 "Think, Claude." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I remember something I said at table, for 
 which I was taken to task quite severely by Hunter after- 
 wards." 
 
 That there was an association among a number of you
 
 LEAVE-TAKINQ. 229 
 
 by which you bound yourselves to pray for my conver- 
 sion to the faith?" 
 
 "Yes, yes. I remember it now. How Hunter did 
 scold for revealing its existence. Why he did so I could 
 not well understand. I could see no earthly reason why 
 it should be made such a mystery. We are not ashamed 
 of it, nor of you, Ambrose." 
 
 "I hope not, especially the latter," said Bracebridge. 
 "But let me tell you, Claude, that statement of yours 
 made at my father's table affected him very much; but 
 it had a greater effect on me than on him. Excuse me 
 if I make some plain statements, which under other cir- 
 cumstances might be construed as offensive." 
 
 "Go on, go on, old man. You couldn't offend me if 
 you tried." 
 
 Bracebridge could not help smiling at this extravagant 
 statement. It was so like Claude. 
 
 "Well, when I came here last September, I came with 
 many prejudices " 
 
 "Hold on there, Brosie. Stick to the truth!" inter- 
 rupted Claude. 
 
 "That's the truth. I wasn't prejudiced against the sys- 
 tem of studies. I knew that to be of a superior grade. 
 But I was prejudiced against Catholics, who, I thought, 
 represented radically false principles. I was suspicious. 
 I had heard how much religion and I mean active, live, 
 energetic and real religion entered into th,e lives and 
 daily actions of Catholic students. When I came I first 
 expected to find it all a mere superficial something, a 
 conventionality affecting the surface of things, but far 
 from penetrating into one's inner life and actuating one's 
 motives."
 
 230 LEAVE-TORINO. 
 
 "You dear, misguided fellow! You thought we were 
 a sham. You " 
 
 "Wait, Claude, I want to tell you my actual experience. 
 From the first I saw everybody openly and without blush- 
 ing, daily, in public, say the Incarnation prayers, [Am- 
 brose meant the Angelus]. I watched your solemn 
 church service in the mornings, and I said to myself there 
 must be something real and genuine here. The conduct 
 of one and all at Mass was a great sermon to me. I 
 noticed that those who regularly frequented the confes- 
 sional were boys whose word was their bond, whose lives 
 accorded with their professions. I soon learned that fun 
 and jollity, aye and even practical jokes, were not incom- 
 patible with religious feeling. In fact religion to me now 
 is not the somber, depressing, uninviting affair it had 
 hitherto appeared. The Catholic religion is not the lugu- 
 brious affair I had always thought it was. The conse- 
 quence is that with God's help, I intend to embrace that 
 faith which produces such common-sense results. Any- 
 way it was the religion of our ancestors for fifteen cen- 
 turies." 
 
 "Whoop la! Glory! Hurrah!" shouted Winters, in the 
 exuberance of his delight at this good news. He jumped 
 up from the log where he was sitting, sprang high into 
 the air, and clicked his heels together three distinct times 
 before he reached ground again. Claude had to do some- 
 thing extraordinary to relieve his feelings. Then he be- 
 came serious again. 
 
 "Look here, Bracebridge, I know family petty perse- 
 cutions over conversions scarcely exist anywhere any 
 more, for there are too many thousands of conversions 
 going on all over the world in these days for that sort
 
 LEAVE-TAKING. 231 
 
 of thing to survive. But have you considered one thing? 
 You are your father's son, you know." 
 
 "I never doubted that incontestable fact," replied Am- 
 brose, laughingly. 
 
 "Getting smart, aren't you! Well, as your father's son 
 you will inherit his estate and his wealth and position by 
 and by. Will your faith, think you, be strong enough 
 to stand the loss of social prestige? Are you willing to 
 be probably looked down upon because you are a 
 Catholic?" 
 
 "What little I know of the world," replied Bracebridge, 
 "tells me your supposition is false. Your assumed posi- 
 tion of Catholics might have been true some fifty even 
 twenty-five years ago. It is so no longer. A very large 
 percentage in the learned professions in every city of the 
 union is Catholic. Who has not heard of the numbers 
 of famous Catholic scientists? The army and the navy 
 have their share of members of your faith, and this with- 
 out the slightest loss of prestige in either branch of the 
 service. The same in the arts, and in letters. No, Claude, 
 there is certainly no loss of prestige nowadays in becom- 
 ing Catholic." 
 
 "But my dear friend," answered Winters, "what about 
 the Gregsons, the plagiarists the 'tough' element?" 
 
 Ambrose laughed. 
 
 "That is no difficulty. They are undesirable in spite 
 of, and not because of, your system. The individual case 
 gives me no concern. For several months I have been 
 carefully watching results as the effect of a system and 
 it thoroughly satisfies me. With regard to individual 
 cases, you know the Scripture says that scandals must 
 needs come."
 
 232 LEAVE-TAKING. 
 
 "Yes, and 'woe unto him by whom the scandal com- 
 eth,' " replied Claude, who continued his queries. 
 
 "Do you think you will find difficulty in accepting the 
 doctrines of the Catholic Church? Some things appear 
 very hard, others absurd even, to outsiders." 
 
 "Candidly, I do not. I am like thousands of other non- 
 Catholics. We have very little practically nothing to 
 unlearn, because very little, or practically nothing, has 
 been taught us." 
 
 "This is all just splendid!" said Claude, enthusiasti- 
 cally. "When are you going to be received? After the 
 graduation ceremonies?" 
 
 "Impetuous Claude! Scarcely. It was only yesterday 
 I spoke to the President and put myself under his instruc- 
 tion. But wasn't it strange that he should say that he had 
 been expecting me to come and do this very thing?" 
 
 "Not at all." 
 
 "No? Well, papa is not going abroad this summer, 
 so during vacation I am going to study the question quite 
 thoroughly. Already the President has given me some 
 books and a catechism." 
 
 "Let me congratulate you, Ambrose," said the other 
 boy, warmly, and heartily shaking his hand. "From the 
 first time I saw you I liked you. Your conversion to the 
 faith will only rivet the bonds of our friendship more 
 tightly." 
 
 Still holding his friend's hand, he continued: 
 
 "This makes me wish you were my brother. Ever 
 since I knew you I felt as if you were. The only barrier 
 was the difference of our faith, and I hope that 
 now " 
 
 But Claude did not continue. He squeezed the hand
 
 CHUDWALLA. 233 
 
 of Bracebridge and then suddenly turned away. He had 
 a boy's repugnance to any display of emotion. 
 
 "I intend to interest Rose in my vacation reading, both 
 for the stimulus it will give me, and for the possibility 
 that it may lead her to think the same way as I do." 
 
 "Ah!" said Claude. It was a peculiar intonation. 
 There was, for a moment, a far-away look in his eyes. 
 Neither the tone of that one word, nor his look, nor the 
 "brown study" into which he had fallen and in which he 
 appeared to be building castles in Spain, shall we attempt 
 to analyze. They do not belong to our story, and we 
 simply do not know what they meant. 
 
 His reverie was interrupted by the ringing of the big 
 bell calling the students to the hall to witness the closing 
 exercises of the year. 
 
 Without speaking Claude clasped his friend's hand 
 once more. Silently, in that woodland shrine, the two 
 knelt at the feet of Our Lady, Seat of Wisdom a beauti- 
 ful close to Claude's career as a college student. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 CHUDWALLA. 
 
 "LooK here, young gentlemen, it is not customary for 
 even saloon passengers to take possession of my ship. 
 The first mate caught both of you down in the engine- 
 room this morning, and the steward says that at breakfast 
 time you were in the steerage and now here you are up 
 here on my own private domain."
 
 234 CHVDWALLA. 
 
 Two handsome boys, or to speak more correctly, one 
 young man and a boy, in white yachting suits and sailor 
 hats, stood before the captain of a big ocean steamer on 
 the captain's look-out bridge. The youngsters did not 
 appear to take the reproof of the captain very much to 
 heart. The elder one gave what he thought to be a nauti- 
 cal hitch to his pants and tugged at his forelock as he had 
 seen some sailors do. His smaller companion imitated 
 him. 
 
 "Ay, ay, sir," said laughing Claude Winters, for it 
 was he. 
 
 "Ay, ay, sir," said Ernest, in imitation of his brother. 
 The younger boy thought it was great fun. Both seemed 
 to regard the interview as a scene from "Pinafore." 
 
 A good-natured smile spread over the captain's 
 weather-stained features. He had taken a fancy to these 
 two pleasant-faced boys. There was something genial 
 sunny about them. He kept up a pretence of being 
 severe. Stroking his white side-whiskers to hide too 
 broad a smile, he continued: 
 
 "If you want to be sailors for this voyage you have to 
 keep the ship's regulations. You are out of bounds now 
 isn't that the term they use at college, eh ? They did in 
 my day. You have no right to be on my look-out bridge. 
 Here, Mr. Steward," and he shouted to that official, who 
 was just then passing on the deck below, "take these two 
 lambs down and put them in irons for insubordination. 
 Discipline must be observed on my ship." 
 
 Ernest looked frightened, and felt very much like cry- 
 ing. Claude took in the situation and with as nautical 
 an "ay, ay, sir," as he could command, began to go 
 down.
 
 CHUD WALLA. 235 
 
 "Here you boys, come here," said their father. "Cap- 
 tain, you must put these boys to picking oakum or some- 
 thing of that sort, if they are troublesome to you." 
 
 "That's all right, Mr. Winters," replied the laughing 
 captain. "They're good boys. Let them learn all they 
 can, and see all there is to be seen about a big ocean 
 vessel." 
 
 Ernest felt relieved. He had taken the captain's words 
 literally, to the great amusement of his bigger brother. 
 The two boys certainly saw all there was to be seen. The 
 thing that pleased Claude the most when out in mid- 
 ocean was the dark-blue of the waters and its marvelous 
 clearness. He would lean over the side of the vessel and 
 gaze long into the calm of the depths below, until he some- 
 times imagined that the great ship was floating through 
 space, with the material world of waters far below. 
 
 The phosphorescent illumination of the wave crests at 
 night was also a source of interest to him. Late into 
 the night he often watched these wonderful effects, as the 
 stately vessel forged ahead with untiring activity. 
 
 Claude's impressions of the sea were various. That 
 which seemed to have most influence upon him was its 
 immensity. The large ocean steamer, which, at the dock 
 and motionless, looked so gigantic, appeared to him when 
 in mid-ocean's tremendous expanse to be a small and 
 almost insignificant thing. The vivacious, but after all 
 genuine and thoughtful boy, realized on this, his first sea 
 voyage, how intimately man is directed and controlled by 
 a divine Providence. How especially, it seemed to him, 
 "those that go down to the sea in ships" require this 
 providential care. 
 
 This was realized particularly on one occasion when
 
 236 CHUDWALLA. 
 
 there came up a considerable "blow," causing the stately 
 vessel to roll and pitch most uncomfortably. Claude, 
 in this storm, was the only one of his party who suf- 
 fered from "mal de mer." 
 
 This was particularly annoying to the young Bachelor 
 of Arts, especially as neither his mother, nor father, nor 
 Laura, his sister, nor even Ernest suffered any inconven- 
 ience, and poor Claude was the object of some comical 
 solicitude. 
 
 On the afternoon of the third day of the voyage Mr. 
 Winters was sitting on the deck in the shade of the deck- 
 cabin. He had a book in his hand, and from time to time 
 turned over the pages. His reading was only a pretense, 
 for he was in reality intent upon enjoying the deliciously 
 soft breeze of the ocean. He was well pleased with him- 
 self. He had gotten away from New York without any 
 extra complications in regard to his boys' safety. He 
 was now, three weeks after Claude had left school, on his 
 way to India, finally to dispose of an affair which had 
 caused him and his wife many anxious hours. In a short 
 time he now hoped to have everything arranged, so that 
 there would be no more cause for alarm or uneasiness. 
 
 Looking up from his book, either by chance or perhaps 
 to rest his eyes for a moment, Mr. Winters received a 
 great shock. Not fifty feet away from him, leaning 
 against the capstan of the ship, stood the one man of all 
 others whom he desired the least to see. 
 
 That man was Chudwalla! 
 
 How and when had the great wizard come on board? 
 How had he concealed himself for so long a time? Not 
 one of the family had the faintest suspicion that the Hindu 
 was in the same ship with them. How had he come
 
 CHVDWALLA. 237 
 
 aboard? He certainly had not done this within ten min- 
 utes of the ship's leaving her moorings in the river. Nor 
 had he arrived by the ship's tender. 
 
 The father of Claude was much surprised. He felt a 
 chill as of some presentiment of impending evil come 
 over him. What did this man want on board? Did his 
 presence portend disaster to all his well-laid plans? 
 
 Chudwalla stood leaning against the capstan. With his 
 right hand he was stroking his black silken mustache. 
 At the moment he was perceived he was dreamily looking 
 out to sea. 
 
 As Mr. Winters watched his face, seen at the moment 
 in profile, he could but acknowledge that he saw a manly, 
 handsome face. The features were long and regular and 
 clear-cut. The black penciling of the eyebrows helped to 
 throw into prominence the piercing black eyes. The lips 
 were rather thin and coral red, showing off to advantage 
 the rich tawny skin. He was dressed in civilian's plain 
 black clothes, without a particle of color. Dressed as he 
 was in such inconspicuous garments, he would have at- 
 tracted attention nowhere, were it not for the swarthiness 
 of his face. 
 
 Suddenly Chudwalla appeared to start out of his reverie. 
 He straightened himself from his leaning position and 
 made as if to take a walking exercise along the deck. He 
 turned and saw Mr. Winters. He gave an almost imper- 
 ceptible start, checked himself momentarily and then ad- 
 vanced. Raising his hat slightly as he approached, he 
 said in almost perfect accents: 
 
 "I believe I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Win- 
 ters, formerly of India, and son of Colonel Winters of 
 Simla?"
 
 238 CHUDWALLA. 
 
 Mr. Winters, with ill-disguised coldness, arose and 
 bowed. He then motioned the other to a seat. 
 
 "You are, my dear sir, probably surprised at two 
 things," began Chudwalla. "First that I should not have 
 appeared among the passengers before this. The reason 
 of this is that I have been recently very much run down 
 by overwork and have been taking the modern American 
 rest cure for a few days in the seclusion of my own cabin, 
 where my attendant has brought me my meals. The 
 second surprise doubtless is that I know your name. 
 You must lay the blame of that to the publicity of the 
 ship's passenger list." 
 
 Mr. Winters bowed, but evinced no inclination to afford 
 opportunity for a tete-a-tete conversation. 
 
 "The name of Winters," continued the other, appar- 
 ently intent on forcing a dialogue, "has been familiar to 
 me in India from my childhood, and knowing that a Win- 
 ters was on board, I had but to look at you to be con- 
 vinced that I saw a son of the old colonel." 
 
 Mr. Winters murmured something conventional, end- 
 ing in "quite delighted," but Chudwalla perceived that it 
 was merely conventional. 
 
 "I should regret it extremely if I were intruding on 
 your privacy," he remarked inquiringly. 
 
 "Oh, no, I assure you; not in the least." 
 
 "Thank you. Then I may say frankly that I am glad 
 we have met. I have often desired to do so. Do you 
 know I once thought I saw you in a New York theater, 
 where I have been giving legerdemain performances for 
 nearly a year." 
 
 "I saw you once in the theater," replied Mr. Winters. 
 
 "Indeed ! Then probably it was you I saw after all,"
 
 CHUDWALLA. 239 
 
 at the end of the pathway leading from the stage! Yes? 
 How stupid of my man! I sent him out to invite you 
 to see me behind the scenes. He failed to bring you, 
 although he said he followed you to a hotel, but he either 
 had not the courage to address you, or was, perhaps, not 
 sure that you were the person I wanted." 
 
 Mr. Winters remembered the circumstance quite well, 
 but he now remained silent. While Chudwalla had been 
 speaking, the father of the two boys had decided on a line 
 of action. He perceived clearly that within the narrow 
 limits of a steamship, Chudwalla could do nothing to en- 
 danger his children's safety, whatever might be his plans 
 for the future. In the meantime some understanding 
 might be arrived at. At all events by allowing the Hindu 
 to talk freely as he seemed inclined to do he would 
 probably learn his intentions and so would not be acting 
 in the dark when the forced inactivity of the voyage had 
 come to an end. 
 
 He therefore determined to talk freely with the con- 
 jurer, who appeared to be a well-educated man, and of a 
 decidedly gentlemanly bearing. Only by conversation 
 could he arrive at the knowledge of Chudwalla's inten- 
 tions. If he were the personification of the revenge of 
 the tribesmen, he was probably also self-interested in the 
 recovery of the yellow diamond. He would hold to his 
 original plan of offsetting one of these against the 
 other. He therefore changed his manner toward Chud- 
 walla. 
 
 "I am pleased to meet one who knew my father," he 
 remarked. 
 
 "I knew, also, Samaba, the faithful old servant of your 
 family,"
 
 240 CHUDWALLA. 
 
 "Indeed ! You surprise me ! You must, then, have 
 lived at Chour, or at Simla?" 
 
 "I grew up the friend and companion of his son. On 
 the night that Samaba warned you not to bring your wife 
 and son back to Chour on account of the restless and 
 dangerous state of feeling among the natives, I was within 
 earshot of your conversation in the fort garden. He had 
 come to protect you and your wife and child, and shield 
 you all from danger ; I, to protect him." 
 
 "All this," said Mr. Winters, "is very interesting. Pray 
 go on. I should be delighted to hear the story of your 
 life." 
 
 "My life has been an uneventful one. When a boy I 
 was left an orphan. Samaba brought me up with his son. 
 When his boy died of the cholera, of which we both were 
 sick, he nursed me back to life and soon after adopted 
 me. When I was old enough, he sent me to Calcutta 
 to be educated at a large college there. The wonderful 
 always had a fascination for me. Even when a very small 
 boy, I could successfully imitate some of the illusions of 
 the fakirs. During my stay in Calcutta, which lasted sev- 
 eral years, my time was divided between my books and 
 the practice of legerdemain, which, as you know, is held 
 in such esteem almost veneration by my own country- 
 men. I possessed a wonderful faculty for acquiring lan- 
 guages. I read all the books I could secure on necro- 
 mancy, and I assure you I have read some most wonder- 
 ful things." 
 
 "And have become an expert in the black art?" said 
 Mr. Winters, suspiciously. 
 
 "By no means," replied Chudwalla, laughing, "I have 
 nothing to do with occultism or the black art, in which the
 
 CHUDWALLA. 241 
 
 aid of evil spirits is invoked. I directed my inquiries en- 
 tirely to what is known as magic or sleight-of-hand or 
 legerdemain, by which the skill of the performer deceives 
 the observer. I am quite persuaded that ninety-nine hun- 
 dredths of the effects produced by the Buddhist adepts 
 or so-called mahatmas are mere illusions. Before I finally 
 adopted the wizards avocation as a lifework I traveled 
 largely in Europe, in Asia, and in parts of Africa. My 
 intention was ever to find out some new and wonderful 
 performance which mere human skill could accomplish. 
 With what success I believe you were witness in New 
 York." 
 
 "Yes. The results you produced were certainly won- 
 derful, marvelous! I believe you are a friend of Za, the 
 chief of the tribe at Chour, near my father's estate?" 
 
 "Yes; for several years I was an inmate of his house, 
 and regarded as one of the family. It nearly broke the 
 old man's heart when he lost that great yellow diamond 
 at the time the little temple on the hill at Chour was 
 attacked." 
 
 "I have heard of that uprising," said Mr. Winters, hop- 
 ing that Chudwalla would continue. ''Was it then so val- 
 uable a stone?" 
 
 "Its intrinsic value was not nearly so great as the ficti- 
 tious and sentimental value Za attached to it. He was, 
 and even now is, very superstitious. He still attaches 
 great importance to its recovery." 
 
 "Do you think that will ever be accomplished?" 
 
 "I do not know. I have been searching for it for years. 
 It was owing to the faint possibility of recovering it in 
 the United States that I consented to come over to your 
 country. Za had consulted some yogi, who in a sort of
 
 242 CHVDWALLA. 
 
 pretended vision had said the stone was in the land of 
 great fresh water seas. Africa would answer that descrip- 
 tion equally well with America. I must confess that a 
 desire to see your wonderful country had more influence 
 with me than any well-founded hope of recovering the 
 stone." 
 
 "Did you discover any trace of the jewel?" 
 
 "Not a ghost of a trace. It is ten times more probable 
 that as your people say one would discover a needle 
 in a haystack. I am sorry for Za's forthcoming disap- 
 pointment. Just imagine, Mr. Winters, the improbability 
 of discovering a solitary, unidentified and probably 
 stolen diamond among seventy or eighty millions of 
 people and in so vast an area." 
 
 "What made you search for it then?" asked Mr. Win- 
 ters. 
 
 The wizard shrugged his shoulders and turned the 
 palms of his delicate hands outward. If he had a reason, 
 he did not, evidently intend to reveal it. Then he seemed 
 suddenly to change his mind and spoke freely. 
 
 "For hope of gain. You are aware Za promised some 
 very rich land and I know that he has the absolute 
 rights of its disposal to him who should return the dia- 
 mond. I confess that I very much wish to get possession 
 of that land." 
 
 This was just what Mr. Winters wished might be. 
 
 "You admit, sir," said Mr. Winters, "that the prospect 
 of finding this celebrated diamond in America was ex- 
 ceedingly slim, yet you have spent nearly a year in that 
 country. Am I not correct when I surmise that there 
 must be other reasons for your long sojourn there?" 
 
 "Your surmises are correct. There were ; one I have
 
 CHVDWALLA. 248 
 
 mentioned my love of travel and of seeing new sights 
 and new people. Yours is a wonderful people, in every- 
 thing the antithesis of mine. The genius of your people 
 is what some of you aptly term go-a-headitiveness; ours 
 is conservatism. Your people want to know the answer 
 to the why and wherefore in all that is wonderful and 
 strange; ours, on the contrary, are content to know of the 
 existence of the fact. You are progressive; we are sta- 
 tionary. In one thing only do I see that you at all 
 resemble us. Both countries have the extremes of 
 wealth and destitution, and the extremes of learning and 
 utter ignorance. Excuse me, perhaps I am wandering 
 from your question. Yes, love of travel, and a vague hope 
 of recovering the diamond were motives which brought 
 me to America; but there was a third reason, and one 
 that affects you, sir, and your family most closely." 
 
 "Ah!" Had Mr. Winters' life depended on it he could 
 not have resisted this exclamation. 
 
 "You probably remember when your father, Colonel 
 Winters, demolished the Hindu temple on his property 
 at Chour, our people and I say 'our' because I had been 
 adopted into Za's tribe our people swore to wreak their 
 vengeance on the Winters' family. They dared not touch 
 your father, nor you, but it was decided to steal and hold 
 as hostage your son. T was instructed by several of the 
 older men of the tribe to bring about this result. To the 
 credit of Za, it must be said that he was utterly and radi- 
 cally opposed to the project. But perhaps I tire you, Mr. 
 Winters?" 
 
 "No, no, no. Go on, sir, if you please, go on, go on/' 
 said he, breathlessly. His brain was in a whirl. Should 
 he have this smooth talker arrested! The ship was still
 
 244 CHUDWALLA. 
 
 under United States laws. The captain would certainly 
 listen. Confessed complicity in a conspiracy to kidnap. 
 He really did not know what to do at the moment. 
 
 "Well," continued Chudwalla with the utmost coolness, 
 ''I weighed the matter very carefully and came to the 
 conclusion that while in the United States, at least. I could 
 effect nothing. My spare time between my performances 
 was devoted to rest, or to searching for the diamond. If 
 that were found there was certain remuneration. If your 
 son were stolen by me, I imagined that with your marvel- 
 ous detective system, I should never get the lad safely 
 into India, but probably get myself into very serious 
 trouble instead. I must confess that I looked for him 
 occasionally in a desultory kind of way, but really I saw 
 little probability of success. Then, you see, there was no 
 particular reward offered for the boy's capture, and 
 
 "Upon my word, sir," interrupted Mr. Winters, very 
 excitedly. 
 
 "I beg of you not to get excited," was the counter-inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 "Not get excited ! Not get ex When the safety of 
 my own boy, and the peace of my own family for all these 
 years have been at stake!" 
 
 "Now, please don't don't get excited. It really isn't 
 worth while." 
 
 "I am not of your opinion, sir. I believe it decidedly 
 worth while." 
 
 "I have said," continued Chudwalla, in spite of his 
 auditor's fretting and fuming, "I have said that I relin- 
 quished the idea of capturing your son and by capturing 
 I mean putting him in the power of the more vindictive 
 members of the hill tribe because I saw no money in it.
 
 CHUDWALLA. 245 
 
 Money, I confess to secure money, is my chief object 
 in life now. And to be plain with you, your boy is now 
 and has been completely out of my power. Should he 
 ever be found, for instance, alone in the hill country in 
 India ah, that would be a different matter. But as that 
 will scarcely happen, you have nothing to be uneasy 
 about." 
 
 "Upon my word, sir," said Mr. Winters again, "this 
 cool, deliberate manner of discussing an enormous crime 
 is exasperating." 
 
 "It all depends, my good sir, on the point of view. If 
 by kidnapping your son, or anybody's else's son for that 
 matter, I could make as you Americans say 'a big stroke,' 
 believe me I should not hesitate to make the attempt, 
 and be prepared to face success or failure with equa- 
 nimity." 
 
 Mr. Winters recognized that the polished speaker 
 before him, so unlike the ordinary Hindu, was eager and 
 anxious only to acquire money eager with a Semitic 
 persistency. He therefore determined to play his last 
 card, which he knew to be a high trump. If this failed, 
 he decided to have the wizard arrested either at once, if 
 the captain of the vessel would act in the matter, or at 
 the first port they reached. 
 
 "You tell me that the acquisition of money is now the 
 chief consideration with you?" 
 
 "Candidly, the chief and only consideration. I have 
 seen too much squalor and misery ever to despise it 
 again." 
 
 "Now, sir, 1 am not by any means sure that I ought to 
 enter into any negotiations with you. On the contrary, 
 I believe I ought to institute proceedings against you."
 
 246 CBUDWALLA. 
 
 Chudwalla smiled a dark, significant smile and his white 
 teeth beneath his black mustache seemed to grate. ' He 
 did not speak, but bowed expectantly. 
 
 "But what would you do if I were to show you a sure 
 way of recovering the diamond ?" 
 
 "Recover the diamond!" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "The real Eye of Brahma! What would I do? Do? 
 I would do anything everything, everything!" 
 
 This time it was Chudwalla who was excited. Winters, 
 his plan promising success, became cool. The wizard's 
 wonderful black eyes now fairly sparkled with excitement. 
 Two vivid red spots had mounted to his cheeks. His 
 hands trembled. 
 
 "I would do anything," he said, "to get that diamond. 
 Where is it ? Do you know ? Speak, speak." 
 
 "Not so fast, my friend. I beg of you not to get 
 excited. It isn't worth while," said Mr. Winters, uninten- 
 tionally using almost the same words that Chudwalla had 
 addressed to him a few minutes before. The wizard saw 
 the unconscious humor of the situation, and, excited 
 though he was, burst out laughing. 
 
 "The tables are turned, surely! But tell me tell me 
 how I may recover that diamond and I will be your 
 friend forever." 
 
 The man who had for years suffered so much anxiety, 
 looked for a few moments into Chudwalla's eyes, as if 
 he would read therein this strange man's innermost soul. 
 The look was appealing as from one man to another. 
 But he was baffled. Those dark eyes, prominent now in 
 their excitement, revealed only this excitement. There 
 was really no human sympathy in them. Mr. Winters
 
 CHUDWALLA. 247 
 
 saw that sentiment, or a father's anxiety, would be no 
 factor in the solution of the case. He therefore took a 
 mere business view of the case. He would get as much 
 value for his money as he could. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Chudwalla, you seem to be a man of the 
 world, with a remarkable eye to the 'main chance' as we 
 say. It must be quite evident to you that I have a motive 
 in offering this suggestion." 
 
 "Of course. That is plain. Enable me to recover that 
 diamond and I will accede to every wish of yours. Mine 
 is chiefly a mercenary motive, I grant, but, believe me, 
 there is sentiment also. I loved and love old Za. He 
 has been a father to me for years. Nothing, I know, 
 would give him greater pleasure than the recovery of that 
 bit of carbon upon which he places so extraordinary a 
 value. I could perform no more gracious act for the old 
 man than this." 
 
 "Umph! Sentiment and graciousness do not seem to 
 enter into your calculations when a father's and mother's 
 peace of mind, or a son's safety are concerned." 
 
 "My dear sir, you forget the different conditions. You 
 and your family are strangers to me have no claim on 
 me. So far as you are concerned it is with me merely a 
 business consideration. Excuse me for speaking so 
 plainly. With Za and myself it is different. I love the 
 old man. He has been another father to me as I have 
 told you." 
 
 "I think I perceive the distinction you would draw. 
 Of course you can easily understand, that while not averse 
 to assisting you it is for my own benefit that I do so." 
 
 "I quite understand." 
 
 "Very well. Placate thoroughly the native population
 
 m CtiUDWALLA. 
 
 at Chour in favor of my family, assure me that the notJon 
 of and desire for revenge is obliterated, render it abso- 
 lutely safe for my children in the vicinity, and " 
 
 "And you give me the diamond?" 
 
 "It will be forthcoming as soon as I and the English 
 officers at Simla are satisfied. You will proceed at once 
 to Chour. I remain in England for some days. Three 
 weeks will be sufficient. I come at once to India when I 
 hear from my friends at Simla." 
 
 "I promise, I promise!" said Chudwalla, eagerly, and 
 Winters knew he would keep his word. "I am the great- 
 est man in the tribe, next to Za. The natives regard me 
 with something like superstitious awe as a wonder 
 worker." 
 
 "Very good. You will find, I believe, your tribe not 
 so difficult to manage now as formerly, for the Sisters of 
 Mercy are already established there." 
 
 "What! Those female Brahmins of your religion! 
 Your women mendicants who feed the old and the young! 
 Then my task will be so much the easier. When even 
 the money-getting men of your nation hold these won- 
 derful women in veneration, what will not the simple and 
 unsophisticated natives of the hills do? I promise. You 
 shall see how Chudwalla can keep his word." 
 
 Just at that moment Claude and Ernest, with their arms 
 entwined around each other's shoulders, came skipping 
 along the deck. They did not see the two men until close 
 upon them. 
 
 Ernest looked up first 
 
 "Oh, oh, Claude! There's Big Eyes. Oh, Tm so 
 frightened!" and Claude felt the little fellow tremble. "He 
 is talking to pa, too. Will he take him away ?"
 
 CHVDWALLA. 249 
 
 "No danger of that, Ernie. Don't be afraid. He can 
 not hurt you, now," said Claude. 
 
 "Let's run away/' said Ernest. 
 
 "Here, Claude, Ernest, come here," called their father, 
 just as they were on the point of beating a retreat. 
 
 "My two sons, sir," said the father to Chud walla, who 
 shook hands with the boys, but did not speak. Seeing 
 that the two lads were nervous, their father soon dismissed 
 them. He then said: 
 
 "Will you oblige me by explaining one thing?" 
 
 "Certainly, if I can." 
 
 "Why did you attempt to kidnap my younger son last 
 September at St. Cuthbert's college?" 
 
 "I see now it was your son, although not the eldest, 
 whom I took to the hotel that day. Then I was not very 
 sure. I told you before that I had no heart in this work. 
 The boy was evidently too young to be the one wanted. 
 Then the lad took my fancy, for he has a bright, cheerful, 
 good face, and, finally, I thought what would be the 
 parents' grief if I took him away." 
 
 Mr. Winters bowed. He was grateful to this strange, 
 mercenary individual who, he perceived, had some feeling. 
 
 "One more question, if you please. Claude tells me 
 that a mysterious carriage was supposed to appear at that 
 farmhouse near St. Cuthbert's on the night he had to re- 
 main there owing to a bad fall. Had you a hand in that?" 
 
 "I had. By that time I had heard that your eldest son 
 was in residence at St. Cuthbert's. I put men to watch 
 for him. I would have carried him off that night had I 
 not discovered in time that three stalwart farmers were 
 guarding the house where he was sleeping. They looked 
 too formidable, so I abandoned my plan."
 
 250 HOW IT ENDED. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 HOW IT ENDED. 
 
 OUR story is told. There remain only two or three 
 things to say. Chudwalla, of course, kept his word with 
 Mr. Winters. It was to his own interest to do that. One 
 sultry evening in the middle of August, Za, Chudwalla 
 and Mr. Peter Jenkinson, the buyer of animals and the 
 purchaser of freaks for the American amusement syndi- 
 cate, were once more seated on the luxurious cushions 
 in the chief's bungalow. Jenkinson, the globe traveler, 
 had wandered around to Chour in time, for in some mys- 
 terious way he had heard how the diamond had been most 
 unexpectedly recovered. Although he had now lost all 
 hope of securing some of the valuable land which the 
 chief had promised to the one who should restore the 
 precious stone, yet he had curiosity enough to induce him 
 to be present at the ceremony of restoration. He had 
 learned also that Mr. Winters, whom he had met in the 
 New York hotel had endowed the hospital and dispensary 
 of the Sisters of Mercy. He intended to be present at the 
 formal opening on the morrow. The group was larger 
 than the one which had met in the same room over a 
 year before, at the beginning of our story. A happy father 
 and two sons were also present. 
 
 Mrs. Winters could not be persuaded to attend. She 
 had suffered too much mental torture for any desire to see 
 the originators of it. She had no aversion to meeting Za,
 
 HOW IT ENDED. 251 
 
 the Hindu chief, but she could not bring herself to ex- 
 change courtesies with Chudwalla, whom she considered 
 the cause of all her and her husband's anxieties for the 
 last twelve months. 
 
 Servants lit the spirit lamp on the spiral tripod under 
 the brass dish of sandalwood, and very soon the room 
 was filled with delicious aromatic vapor. Za remembered 
 Mr. Winters as the Little Sahib. He also had a good 
 recollection of the Great Sahib Colonel Winters. The 
 chief insisted upon Mr. Winters taking the seat of honor 
 next to himself. His two irreverent boys burst into a 
 hearty laugh when they saw their father, in Oriental fash- 
 ion, sink into a pile of soft cushions. 
 
 "Oh, papa," said Ernest, "do please cross your legs. 
 You will make a fine picture of the Grand Mogul, or an 
 excellent model for a clay idol." 
 
 Chudwalla was in high spirits. He was, through the 
 instrumentality of Mr. Winters, about to become the 
 owner of several hundred acres of fine land, for the chief 
 had already signified his intention of keeping his promise 
 to the one who should restore him the diamond. 
 
 Za appeared to remember all that had passed at the 
 previous interview. He remembered that Jenkinson had 
 promised to show Chudwalla a greater American wizard 
 than he himself was. He asked the conjurer whether the 
 agent had kept his word. 
 
 Chudwalla assured him that Mr. Jenkinson had done 
 so. Jenkinson had taken him to Orange, New Jersey, 
 and had introduced him to the greatest practical inventor 
 of the world, and Chudwalla told the simple old chief all 
 the wonders he had seen. 
 
 "But did he keep his promise to show to you that you
 
 252 HOW IT ENDED. 
 
 could hear a man speaking five hundred miles away? Is 
 such a wonderful thing possible?" 
 
 "Quite possible," answered Chudwalla. "More than 
 once I heard a man speaking to me who was more than 
 live hundred miles away." 
 
 "Wonderful ! And can these Western people carry 
 their voices around in boxes ?" 
 
 ''Certainly. I have often seen that, and what is more 
 wonderful, the music of a whole band, horns, flutes, and 
 drums, and cymbals, and all, can be boxed and produced 
 at will. It is wonderful." 
 
 The old chief looked incredulous. 
 
 "The Sahib must have a wonderful country." 
 
 The two boys never realized how wonderful are some 
 of our American inventions until now. 
 
 I 
 
 Then came the restoration of the diamond to the chief. 
 Mr. Winters had allowed Claude to restore the diamond 
 to Chudwalla, who, in order that he might claim the 
 reward, was to give it personally into the hand of Za. 
 
 When Claude took the precious Eye of Brahma from 
 his vest pocket, and, relieving it of the tissue paper wrap- 
 ping, held it up to the light between his finger and thumb, 
 the old chieftain became extremely excited. He trembled 
 with eagerness to possess it. 
 
 "My treasure! My precious Eye! My talisman!" he 
 said, as he stretched out his long bony fingers to grasp it. 
 Claude stepped back a couple of steps. He did not know 
 what might happen. 
 
 "Oh, you will restore it, young Sahib ! It is my life ! 
 my treasure! my fortune! It also has brought me good 
 fortune ! Give it to me give give, 
 
 It appeared as if he doubted whether the Winters were
 
 HOW IT ENDED. 253 
 
 in good faith after all. The veins on his forehead swelled 
 and stood out like small cords. His sallow, wrinkled face 
 became livid. Great drops of perspiration gathered on 
 his brow. He trembled visibly. 
 
 "I did not promise to give it to you, but to Chudwalla," 
 said Mr. Winters. 
 
 "But it is mine, mine! my talisman!" 
 
 His misery seemed acute. The scene was becoming 
 too intense for the nerves of all. At a signal from his 
 father, Claude stepped forward and put the diamond into 
 Chudwalla's hand. Za's eyes, with an eager, hungry look 
 in them, followed the boy's every motion. He was some- 
 what relieved when he saw the diamond in the possession 
 of Chudwalla, but his mind was not fully at rest as yet. 
 
 With his long claw-like fingers still stretched out, he 
 looked eagerly half-doubtingly into the face of the 
 wizard. What would that strange and apparently heart- 
 less man do? Would he claim a right to it, and keep the 
 precious stone after all ? All doubt and anxiety were soon 
 set at rest. Chudwalla rose from his cushions, and kneel- 
 ing before the old man, took his trembling hand in his. 
 
 "My father," he said, with more feeling than Mr. Win- 
 ters imagined he ever possessed, "my father, be happy. 
 Take back your lost treasure. May all good fortune re- 
 turn with it!" 
 
 He took the old man's hand in his left, put the diamond 
 into it and closed the fingers over it, pressing them 
 slightly as he did so, to convince the chief, by the sense 
 of touch as well as that of sight, that he had actually 
 regained his talisman and treasure, the Eye of Brahma.
 
 254 HOW IT ENDED. 
 
 The following morning, August 15, a beautiful sight 
 was witnessed in the little domestic chapel of the Sisters 
 of Mercy at the hospital, not half a mile away from the 
 home of the Hindu chief. The community of Sisters were 
 devoutly kneeling at Mass. Lights and palms and won- 
 derful flowers beautified the little sanctuary. Several 
 Catholic officers and their wives, guests of the Winters, 
 were present. In the rear of the chapel also knelt the non- 
 Catholic Jenkinson. It was the first time he had ever 
 been present at the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, and like 
 all fair-minded Americans in a similar position, he was 
 deeply impressed. 
 
 To the Catholic visitors his attitude would have been 
 amusing, had they not seen in him an evident desire to 
 be respectful. He sat with his body bent forward, and 
 with his hat, into which he looked piously, placed before 
 his face. Whether he prayed into it or not it is hard to 
 say. Ernest, who had never seen an old style Protestant 
 at his devotions before, was much surprised, and only 
 repressed an audible giggle when he caught the stern 
 look of his father's eye. Jenkinson was in earnest, for 
 when at the sublime moment of the Elevation of the Host 
 he saw everybody in the chapel bow low and reverently 
 adore, he, almost unconsciously, dropped on his knees. 
 
 "I don't know what came over me." he said afterward, 
 "but I simply had to get on my knees, and I tell you, 
 gentlemen, it's a long time since I have been in that 
 position." 
 
 He was even more impressed when he saw the Winters 
 family, father, mother, Laura, Claude, and Ernest, kneel 
 together at the altar steps and receive Holy Communion 
 in thanksgiving for dangers and anxieties past, and in
 
 HOW IT ENDED. 255 
 
 prayer for blessings for the future. Nor was he less im- 
 pressed when the good Sisters whom the natives already 
 loved and whom their children fairly adored came two 
 by two with devout and modest motion to receive the 
 same Celestial Food, the only source of strength and cour- 
 age in the tireless round of duties of their arduous voca- 
 tion. 
 
 At breakfast, which was served on the shady veranda 
 of the convent-villa, Mr. Jenkinson remarked and those 
 who heard it say there was a strange earnestness, almost 
 wistfulness, in his voice "I have little or no religion, but 
 if I became anything I certainly would be a Catholic. I 
 wish I could be one. At all events I have learned some- 
 thing to-day. I have often wondered why so many Cath- 
 olic families seem so much happier than other people. It 
 seems to me that it is on account of their religion. To 
 see you, sir, and your family so united at that church ser- 
 vice this morning was a lesson to me. I wish I could 
 bring about the same thing in my family. This is my last 
 trip around the world, and I believe I'll try it when I get 
 back to New York." 
 
 That afternoon was the day of the formal opening of the 
 hospital and dispensary. The Sisters' school children had 
 a holiday and it was a gala day for the residents and the 
 natives. 
 
 The variety of costumes and the different colors of the 
 various races there present revealed a picturesque scene. 
 The beautiful park of Mr. Winters' former residence, now 
 the convent grounds, was admirably adapted to the pur-
 
 256 HOW IT ENDED. 
 
 poses of a fete on a large scale. Of course Claude and 
 Ernest came in for a large share of attention, for most 
 people knew the circumstances under which they had 
 come all the way from the States. 
 
 Many natives were on the grounds, and expressions of 
 good-will for the Sisters and toward the Winters family 
 were numerous. Mr. Winters, viewing the animated 
 scene under the large shade trees, and noting the change 
 of manner toward him, even by the older Hindus who 
 had been in years gone by chiefly instrumental in stirring 
 up the natives against him and his family, realized how 
 wise had been the advice of his New York lawyer. 
 
 The evening shades at length settled down over the 
 grounds. The last of the visitors had gone. Mr. and 
 Mrs. Winters were chatting with their Simla guests in the 
 large drawing-room of the older villa across the park, 
 which had once been the residence of Colonel Winters, 
 and was now, as the reader remembers, a summer villa 
 used by the officers of the garrison at Simla during the 
 heated term. Claude and Ernest were sitting on the steps 
 of the veranda, trying to catch a little breeze, for it was 
 a very sultry night. 
 
 "Where are the boys, mamma?" asked the now radiant 
 Winters, of his wife. 
 
 "I believe they are on the veranda. I saw them a 
 moment ago," was the reply. 
 
 Mr. Winters went to the glass door leading out to the 
 porch. 
 
 "Are you there^ Claude?" he asked, peering into the 
 darkness. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said the elder boy, jumping up at the sound 
 of his father's voice.
 
 HOW IT ENDED. 257 
 
 "Well, here's a letter for you from St. Cuthbert's. From 
 some bosom friend, I suppose. It came this afternoon 
 by the runner, but I was so busy with the fete that I for- 
 got to give it to you before. Please excuse me." 
 
 Claude lit the porch lamp and saw by the address that 
 the letter was from Ambrose Bracebridge. It contained 
 the glorious news for Claude of his friend's reception into 
 the Church. Claude read on in a transport of delight. 
 
 "I believe," ran a portion of it, "that to-day I am the 
 happiest man living. I could not have believed so much 
 joy could have entered one's heart had I not experienced 
 it. My only regret is that you were not present to share 
 it with me. The good old President was pleased to say 
 that he found me better instructed than he had anticipated, 
 and saw no reason for delaying my conditional baptism. 
 So I was baptized on the third Sunday of July. Father 
 and mother and Rose were present in the college chapel 
 at the ceremony. Rose was much impressed and I have 
 great hopes of her. 
 
 "And now, dear old Claude," the letter continued, "I 
 have some bad news for you. You are so far away out of 
 the world our world just at present, that it is more 
 than probable you have not heard of the death of poor 
 Gilkins." 
 
 "What's this? what's this? Surely I must be dreaming," 
 and Claude rubbed his eyes to make sure that he was not. 
 Going near to the entrance lamp to see better, he read on. 
 
 "His death happened, as far as I can learn, in this way. 
 You know his home is a few miles out of a large city. 
 He went to town one Saturday evening to visit a brother. 
 About nine o'clock he went to the nearest church to go to 
 confession, telling his brother's wife that he would be
 
 258 HOW IT ENDED. 
 
 back about ten, as he was going to confession, intending 
 to receive Holy Communion the next morning. He told 
 her it was his intention to receive every Sunday during 
 the vacation. Those who saw him in the church during 
 his preparation said afterward that they were impressed 
 by his earnestness and piety. He stayed till quite ten 
 in the church, making a long thanksgiving and prepara- 
 tion for Holy Communion. 
 
 "When he came out it was very dark, and a light rain 
 was falling. It seems he walked half a block away from 
 the church and from the electric light and then deter- 
 mined to cross the street. Not being over-familiar with 
 the* speed of the electric cars, or perhaps being distracted, 
 he did not notice the rapid approach of one. When he 
 heard the conductor's gong, he made a quick step to get 
 out of the way. The pavement was wet and slippery. 
 He slipped and in a moment he was under the wheels ot 
 the car. He lived but half an hour, but long enough to 
 receive the last sacraments. At the last, when he was 
 losing consciousness, he kept repeating, 'Oh, Ernie, 
 Ernie, don't, don't, don't!' What could he mean by 
 that ? Very, very sad, isn't it ? Poor old Gilkins ! and he 
 meant so well, too. Papa and mamma are very much 
 grieved over his death." 
 
 "Ernie," said Claude, very softly, "big Gilkins is dead, 
 killed by a street car." 
 
 "What! Dead! Gil " but the boy stopped, unable to 
 speak. For a long time he was silent. Claude did not 
 disturb him. Sitting there on the veranda steps, Ernest 
 cried long and quietly. His brother waited for some time, 
 wondering at the strange silence. Then he sat down 
 next to his brother.
 
 HOW IT ENDED. 259 
 
 "Do you know he was calling your name just before 
 he died ? Why ! Ernie, you are crying !" 
 
 "Did he? I am glad of that. What did he say?" 
 
 "Some strange words 'Oh, Ernie, Ernie, don't, don't, 
 don't!' What did he mean by that?" 
 
 Little Ernest now sobbed unrestrainedly. 
 
 "I never told you, Claude," and the weeping boy 
 timidly rested his tear-stained face on his brother's 
 shoulder, but seemed afraid to look him in the face. 
 
 "Told me what, Ernie?" said Claude, affectionately. 
 "Surely you have not been getting into trouble." 
 
 "It's past, but it's a hor-horrible story," sobbed the 
 boy, "and I'm ashamed even to mention it. I try not 
 even to think of it." 
 
 "Why, Ernest, what on earth are you talking about ?" 
 
 "About an awful time, and what poor Clarence did. 
 Oh! I'm going to pray for his soul all my life," said the 
 weeping boy, fervently. "I never told you about it, 
 Claude, because it was too bad. There was a time last 
 spring when I was an awful bad boy in the small division 
 yard at school. I got in with a crowd of bad boys and 
 they were bad, too!" 
 
 "Oh, Ernie ! why did you not let me know ? I'm sure I 
 could have helped you." 
 
 "But I didn't. Don't you remember I kept away from 
 you a good deal last March, and you scolded me for it ?" 
 
 "I know for a time I did not see much of you, but I 
 never dreamed anything was wrong." 
 
 "Well, that was the time. I, somehow, got mixed up 
 with these fellows. I smoked sometimes, and some of 
 them used awful bad language and swore, too, some- 
 times."
 
 260 BOW IT ENDED. 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 "I didn't give way to any bad talk, nor swear either, 
 because both are too dreadful, but I listened very often. 
 Then I neglected my lessons and I had a lot of penances 
 and my notes were low in that competition, and when I 
 went to confession I didn't feel half sorry and I was 
 pretty miserable, and " 
 
 "And you never told me anything about all this. Oh, 
 Ernie!" 
 
 "I was afraid." 
 
 "But what has all this to do with poor Gilkins?" 
 
 "Lots, Claudie. It was just he that did it all for me." 
 
 "What are you talking about? Gilkins swear and talk 
 bad! Nonsense!" 
 
 "No, no, no. You don't understand. He helped me." 
 
 "Helped you in what?" 
 
 "Helped me to break away from those boys. One day 
 I was near the division fence between the two yards. 
 Clarence heard me say something he didn't like. I don't 
 know what it was now, but I know it wasn't swear words, 
 'cause every time I felt like using them as the others did 
 I thought of mamma and Laura, and then I just couldn't. 
 That always checked me in time. When Gilkins heard 
 me say something across the fence, he said: 
 
 "'Oh, Ernie, that's terrible! Wait there, Ernie, and 
 I'll get permission, and I'll come round and talk to you.' 
 In five minutes he came and we went for a walk. When 
 we had got away from the college he began to talk quite 
 seriously to me." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "He told me how my conduct would hurt you, Claude, 
 if you were to hear of it; how it would pain papa and
 
 HOW IT ENDED, 261 
 
 mamma, and, above all, how it would lead to things 
 wrong and sinful." 
 
 Claude Winters felt an unaccountably large lump rising 
 in his throat, and for a moment he could not see the 
 stars clearly. Ernest went on: 
 
 "Then he begged me, for your sake, to have nothing 
 more to do with the rough boys in the small yard. And, 
 oh, he pleaded so earnestly, Claude! When I promised 
 him, he up and kissed me on the brow just like mother 
 does when we kneel every night for her blessing before 
 going to bed. He would not leave me until I had prom- 
 ised to go to confession that very night. He was big and 
 rough, but oh, Claude, he was so good!" 
 
 "Oh, Ernest, Ernest! All this, and you never came to 
 me through it all! God bless poor Gilkins!" 
 
 The little boy again laid his head on his bigger 
 brother's shoulder. Once more he wept undisturbed. 
 
 Claude was horrified at the revelation of how near his 
 brother's first year at St. Cuthbert's had been to a moral 
 tragedy how nearly the fine gold had been dimmed. 
 
 Bread cast upon the waters shall be seen after many 
 days. Surely no good deed is lost; no influence that 
 makes for good is wasted. 
 
 In all his gratitude to Gilkins for the good he had done 
 to Ernest, Claude Winters was utterly unconscious that 
 it was he himself that had been chiefly instrumental in 
 enabling the big boy to have an influence for good. It 
 was farthest from his thoughts to dream that the assist- 
 ance given to his own brother at a critical period of his 
 school life, never would, nor could, have been exerted, 
 had it not been for the influence of his own uprightness 
 and manly character on Gilkins.
 
 262 BOW IT ENDED. 
 
 Thus the shadows which had brooded for so long a 
 time over the family of Mr. Winters were lifted be- 
 cause of his kindly deeds to the native Hindus; and 
 a more portentous shadow, which at one time threatened 
 the moral life of Ernest, was dissipated by the influence 
 of one whose character had been moulded largely by 
 Claude himself. Thank God that in our Catholic colleges 
 there are many, many such noble boys as Claude Winters 
 of St. Cuthbert's. 
 
 PRINTED BY BENZIGKR BROTHERS, NEW YORK.
 
 STANDARD CATHOLIC BOOKS 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
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 CORRECT THINGS FOR CATHOLICS, THE. By LELIA HARDIN BUGG. 075 
 ELOCUTION CLASS. A Simplification of the Laws and Principles of Expres- 
 sion. By ELEANOR O'GRADY. net, o 50 
 EVE OF THE REFORMATION, THE. An Historical Essay on the Religious, 
 Literary, and Social Condition of Christendom, with Special Reference to 
 Germany and England, from the Beginning of the Latter Half of the Fifteenth 
 Century to the Outbreak of the Religious Revolt. By the Rev. WM. STANG. 
 Paper, net, o 25 
 GUIDE FOR SACRISTANS and Others Having Charge of the Altar and Sanc- 
 tuary. By a Member of an Altar Society. net, o 75 
 HYMN-BOOK OF SUNDAY-SCHOOL COMPANION. o 33 
 HOW TO GET ON. By Rev. BERNARD FEENEY. t oo 
 LITTLE FOLKS' ANNUAL, o.io; per 100, 7 50 
 READINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR JUNIORS. O'GRADY. net, o 5 
 SELECT RECITATIONS FOR CATHOLIC SCHOOLS AND ACADEMIES. 
 By ELEANOR O'GRADY. i oo 
 STATISTICS CONCERNING EDUCATION IN THE PHILIPPINES. HEDGES. 
 
 O 10 
 
 SURSUM CORDA. Hymns. Cloth, 0.25; per 100, 15 oo 
 
 Paper, 0.15; per 100, 10 oo 
 
 SURSUM CORDA. With English and German Text. o 45 
 
 PRAYER-BOOKS. 
 
 Benziger Brothers publish the most complete line of prayer-books in this 
 country, embracing 
 
 PRAYER-BOOKS FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 PRAYER-BOOKS FOR FIRST COMMUNICANTS. 
 
 PRAYER-BOOKS FOR SPECIAL DEVOTIONS. 
 
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 Benziger Brothers' school text-books are considered to be the finest published. 
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 NEW CENTURY CATHOLIC READERS. Illustrations in Colors. 
 
 CATHOLIC NATURAL READERS. 
 
 CATECHISMS. 
 
 HISTORY. 
 
 GRAMMARS. 
 
 SPELLERS. 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 CHARTS.
 
 A Home Library for $i Down. 
 
 20 
 
 Original American Stories for the Young, by the 
 Very Best Catholic Authors. 
 
 COPYRIGHTED BOOKS and a YEAR'S SUBSCRIPTION to 
 BENZIGER'S MAGAZINE (in itself a library of good reading). 
 
 Regular Price of Books, . . $11.70 } Regular Price, 
 Regular Price of Benziger's Magazine, 2.00 J $13.70. 
 
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 you pay $1.00 a month. 
 
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 And remember these are the Best Books that can be placed in the hands of Catholic 
 Youth AT ANY PRICE. 
 
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 Each year we publish four New Novels by the best Catholic authors. These 
 novels are interesting beyond the ordinary; not religious, but Catholic in tone 
 and feeling. 
 
 We ask you to give us a Standing Order for these novels. The price is $1.25 
 a volume postpaid. The $5-0 is not to be paid at one time, but $1.25 each time 
 a volume is published. 
 
 As a Special Inducement for giving us a standing order for these novels, we 
 will give you free a subscription to Benziger's Magazine. This Magazine is recog- 
 nized as the best and handsomest Catholic magazine published. The regular 
 price of the Magazine is $2.00 a year. 
 
 Thus for $5.00 a year paid $1.25 at a time you will get four good books 
 and receive in addition free a year's subscription to Benziger's Magazine. The 
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 the novels is in force, which, will be till countermanded. 
 
 Send $1.25 for the first novel and get your name placed on the subscription 
 list of Benziger's Magazine. 
 
 BENZIGER BROTHERS, 
 
 NEW YORK: CINCINNATI: CHICAGO: 
 
 36 and 38 Barclay Street. 343 Main Street. 211 and 213 Madison Street.
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY CAC 
 
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