-^P(^7~2-'
 
 THE NEW SENIOR 
 AT ANDOVER 
 
 BY 
 
 HERBERT D. WARD 
 
 Illustrated 
 
 BOSTON 
 D. LOTHROP COMPANY 
 
 WASHINGTON STREET OPPOSITE BROMFIBLD
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1891, 
 
 BV 
 HERBERT D. WARD.
 
 To my Wife. 
 
 2072218
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ANDOVER AHOY! II 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE DORMITORIES 27 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE ... 44 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND .... 64 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AN AUTUMNAL HAZE 72 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A PUSH AND A POSER 88 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WHO CHEATED? 107 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A WINTER SPREE. 123 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE LEVEE 142
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 POOR DOC. ! 164 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 "SCIRE EST REGERE" ..... 183 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE FIRST ANEMONE 205 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER 228 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE VICTORY 249 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 GOOD-BY 267 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM . . 29 1 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 DEAR OLD ANDOVER ! 315
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Uncle Jim's and the Academy .... Frontis. 
 
 John Strong 13 
 
 Latin Commons 30 
 
 Father Lambkin proposes the toast to Mrs. Grooge 
 
 and Kitty 39 
 
 Theological Seminary 47 
 
 On the famous elm-tree avenue 53 
 
 " Twenty marks, sir ! to what class do you belong, sir ?" 59 
 
 In the pallid light produced by alcohol and salt . . 75 
 
 The Gym. ......... 93 
 
 The girl with a quick motion flung off a sealskin cape 
 
 and handed it to John 113 
 
 The " Fern. Sem." 149 
 
 John Calvin finds a friend ...... 171 
 
 John gives Miss Selfrich the flower . . . . 219 
 
 The theologue jumped. So did the dog . . . 253 
 
 The chapel 281 
 
 " I'm glad you're here, Mr. Lambkin" . . . 295
 
 NOTE. 
 
 neighbors, and offered no criticisms on his old hosts 
 and friends. In regard to the one character of the 
 story which might be interpreted as historic, it is 
 perhaps just to say that the author never knew him 
 except through his forcible reputation. For this 
 reason the sketch is not a portrait, but an imagina- 
 tive outline which the pupils and admirers of Uncle 
 Jim will fill out affectionately each for himself. 
 
 The present admirable management of the Com- 
 mons Dining Hall, which it would be impossible to 
 confuse with that of a by-gone day, has left the 
 author scope for a snap-shot view of the Club 
 of twenty years ago, and even of a later day, when 
 all fitting schools were less highly civilized than 
 they are now. 
 
 With his personal opinion of the Academy's 
 eleven dormitories, the author is confident that all 
 true friends of Andover, old or young, heretical or 
 orthodox, dead or living, will heartily sympathize. 
 
 It only remains to add that the author is aware 
 how far he has fallen below the requirements of 
 modern boys' fiction in not having made his hero an 
 attractive madcap. Yet he hopes there may be found 
 readers who will take some interest in the history of 
 a boy who did not find it necessary to disgrace him-
 
 NOTE. 
 
 self or old Andover. In the tense reality of school- 
 life scrapes are not heroic. The larger half (if the 
 arithmetical parodox may be permitted) of our Amer- 
 ican boys have plain, sturdy, studious, manly quali- 
 ties which the struggle for Academic existence de- 
 velops, and which Phillips Academy vigorously cul- 
 tivates. Every reader will recall some brave and 
 quiet fellow who battled his way through an educa- 
 tion without a patron or an interpreter. 
 
 H. D. W.
 
 THE NEW 
 SENIOR AT ANDOVER 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ANDOVER AHOY ! 
 
 A NDOVER! All out for Andover ! " sang 
 /l^. out the conservative Boston & Maine 
 brakeman. As he threw open the door of the 
 heated car a welcome breath of air blew in the 
 face of a young fellow who had been looking 
 longingly out of the window ever since the 
 train had left Lawrence ; and now and then 
 rather wistfully at a group of boys apparently 
 oblivious of his presence. He had not heard 
 their comments as they ran like this: 
 
 " Rather old looking for a Prep." 
 
 "Perhaps he enters Theologue." 
 
 " Bet you a soda he goes Middler."
 
 12 ANDOVER AHOY ! 
 
 "Bet you he's a new Senior." 
 
 "Done!" 
 
 "Done!" 
 
 After the rollicking boys had rushed out, this 
 young gentleman grasped a battered carpet-bag, 
 and by the aid of a stick limped down upon the 
 platform. Eight or ten boys had come on this 
 train and these were already piled in and on 
 the old stage-coach which bore on the outside 
 the elaborate and doubtfully classic motto, " Pro 
 Bono Puplicko," which was said to have been 
 touched up by an extinct Middle class in a 
 moment of hilarity. 
 
 As this lame lad came up the platform to 
 hunt for his trunk, he was suddenly seized by 
 a bright, smooth-faced man with an obvious 
 badge upon his hat : " Here you are, sir ; take 
 you up and bring your trunk, all for a quarter." 
 
 "That's right, Pete, rope him in and hurry 
 up about it ; we can't sit here all day." 
 
 The voice that spoke was careless and some- 
 what contemptuous. The speaker was perched 
 outside of the vehicle on the driver's seat and 
 was lightly smoking a cigarette.
 
 ANDOVER AHOY ! 
 
 " Oh ! hold up, Selfrich, give him time ; can't 
 you see he ain't as fast as you are?" sung out 
 somebody from the 
 inside. A laugh 
 arose, and one 
 could hardly tell 
 whether it were 
 at the expense of 
 the fellow on the 
 box-seat, or of the 
 boy in Pete's 
 
 clutches. 
 
 " I am to live in 
 Latin Commons, 
 but I don't know 
 which room yet." 
 
 This voice was 
 deep and sympa- 
 thetic. The eyes 
 looked Pete quizzi- 
 cally in the face as J HN STRONG. 
 much as to say, " Do you think that with all 
 your cleverness you can prophesy which room 
 to take me to ? "
 
 14 ANDOVER AHOY ! 
 
 " Get in, and I'll take you to Uncle Jim's ; 
 will bring your trunk up later," Pete answered, 
 not at all abashed. 
 
 "All right," replied his willing victim as he 
 approached the coach. Now the body of the 
 coach was crammed full, and there was only one 
 seat left on top, up two flights of iron steps, 
 each just big enough for one foot. The boys 
 looked at the hesitating fellow as he glanced 
 appealingly into the inhospitable interior, and 
 up the Alpine heights. 
 
 " I don't think I can climb up there ; I'm 
 lame, you know." 
 
 In truth, one of the boy's legs was thin and 
 spindling. The trousers flapped in the wind 
 around it as if it had been a small liberty pole. 
 It was a sad sight. The lad's face was sturdy 
 and manly, so were his chest and body, so was 
 his whole right side ; but paralysis had set in 
 from his left hip down. He had been in this 
 condition since he was a very little child. He 
 had walked with a crutch all his life until now. 
 But he thought that his future classmates would 
 laugh at a boy with a crutch, so he had replaced
 
 ANDOVER AHOY! 15 
 
 it with a stick. His mother said he was foolish 
 to do so, he would suffer so much. And suffer 
 the poor boy did, as he balanced himself with 
 unaccustomed effort on his hooked cane. The 
 perspiration came out on his forehead. He 
 shut his teeth tightly and only smiled and said : 
 
 " Perhaps some fellow will give me his seat 
 inside, and sit on top ? It is hard for me to 
 climb." Not a soul budged. 
 
 " Oh ! hurry up, Sonny. Do you hear ? 
 Hurry up ! " It was the same Selfrich that 
 spoke. He looked as if he could have taken 
 the reins in hand and driven over the silent 
 youth. 
 
 " Well, I'll try. Will you help me ? " The 
 lame boy turned to Pete, the driver, who said : 
 
 "You fellers ought to give him room in there, 
 don't you see he can't climb ? " 
 
 Why is it that boys are blind to pain and act 
 like brutes ? And yet when thought overtakes 
 them they can be as tender as angels. 
 
 Just at this critical moment a face craned 
 itself far out of the window, and ejaculated : 
 
 " Hey, you, what class ? "
 
 l6 ANDOVER AHOY ! 
 
 " I'm entering the Senior class," answered 
 the perplexed boy. 
 
 "What's your name?" The speaker again 
 poked his face out of the coach. The most prom- 
 inent feature on it was a huge pair of gilt 
 spectacles which mighv have belonged at some 
 prehistoric time to an antediluvian theological 
 professor. The next thing visible was the 
 nose on which they were securely perched.' 
 This nose was long and lean, with staccato-like 
 bumps along its ridge ; these ended in a posi- 
 tive rise. It was so arranged by nature that if 
 the spectacles slipped down they could by no 
 means of their own slip entirely off. These 
 eccentricities of appearance were crowned by 
 a head which had just been treated to an eighth 
 of an inch cut. A white felt hat completed 
 the picture. 
 
 " Can't you leave off chaffing, Doc. ? " an- 
 other voice spoke from within. " Give him 
 your seat and be clone with it." 
 
 The fellow called "Doc." laughed merrily, 
 jumped out and said : 
 
 "There, get in. If I'd known you were a
 
 ANDOVER AHOY! 17 
 
 reverend Senior I'd have done it before. I 
 have a great respect for the Senior class, except 
 for that fellow, Selfrich, who is mean enough 
 to eat dirt." 
 
 "Thank you," said our lame friend as he 
 carefully took the vacant place. " I hope we 
 shall know each other better." Then the coach 
 impatiently rolled up the hill, bearing within it 
 one who had left a dear home, and was feeling, 
 in spite of his composure, as if he had fallen 
 into the hands of the Philistines. 
 
 He sat quietly looking out on the houses as 
 they flitted past. What was his fate to be in 
 that new world he had entered ? How insig- 
 nificant became the New Hampshire academy 
 which he had left ! How overwhelming seemed 
 to him the faces of the strange boys as they 
 flocked into the post-office, as they walked up 
 the street ! They dazed our wondering lad, and 
 he clutched his stick in momentary terror to 
 think that he had to compete against all these, 
 make his way and force his place where no one 
 cared for him or seemed to want him. But the 
 town looked bright, attractive and healthy, and
 
 l8 ANDOVER AHOY ! 
 
 in the fall haze the white-painted houses seemed 
 cool and comfortable. All at once he gave a 
 start. A red flag waved conspicuously from a 
 post in front of a very white house. The green 
 blinds were drawn. Farther up the street, on 
 the other side, he could see another blood-red 
 banner. Small-pox in town ! That dreadful 
 disease in Andover ! The papers had not men- 
 tioned it. He was glad his mother knew noth- 
 ing about it. Perhaps the school would not 
 open. He looked at the faces of the boys, but 
 they seemed oblivious of their danger. The 
 coach came to a stop before a house bearing 
 the fever signal attached to a post in front. 
 The coachman took the flag and waved it in 
 the air. The boys gave a cheer as one of their 
 number stepped down and nonchalantly swag- 
 gered into the plague-stricken house. When 
 Pete came back our friend plucked up courage 
 to ask him : 
 
 " Is there much small-pox in town ? There 
 are a good many red flags out." A roar 
 drowned the poor boy's last words. That was 
 almost the last straw, that these new school-
 
 ANDOVER AHOY ! 19 
 
 mates of his should joke in the face of death. 
 But relief came soon. One of the boys ex- 
 plained as soon as he could stop laughing, that 
 these were coach signals. Red flags were put 
 out when the "Townies" wanted the coach to 
 stop. Our hero joined briskly in the laugh at 
 his own expense. At this moment the coach 
 came to a jolting halt. 
 
 "Here you are at Uncle Jim's. All out for 
 Uncle Jim's!" 
 
 Pete swung himself down from the box. 
 Selfrich stared impatiently while the coachman 
 helped the halting boy out and gave him his 
 old valise. As John Strong put his cane under 
 his arm to pay his fare, he. was surprised to see 
 Doc. beside him. 
 
 " What's your name ? " asked the queer boy. 
 
 "John Strong." 
 
 " ( Well, John Strong an awfully funny name 
 for this chappie," he uttered under his breath 
 "give me your bag and I'll see you to Uncle 
 Jim Tyler's ; I'm his favorite." His eyes 
 winked ferociously. His hat made desperate 
 efforts to stick on. He was so awkward, yet
 
 2O ANDOVER AHOY ! 
 
 so good-natured, so ridiculous and so jovial, 
 that John Strong liked him. 
 
 " Good-by, Stumpy." It was Selfrich who 
 added this parting shot as the stage swung off. 
 "Good-by, Doc. Goggles." 
 
 " Selfrich can't leave a fellow alone," said 
 Doc. as he grasped the bag and led the way. 
 
 "Say," said John's strange conductor, "you're 
 not easily scared, are you? Uncle Jim's power- 
 ful hard on new ones. He grinds 'em. I've 
 been here these five years and am used to 
 him. My father was his classmate. He don't 
 scare me. You just speak right up and keep a 
 stiff upper lip. Here we are," he added, as 
 they came to the dooc. 
 
 It was a brick house, one of two built to- 
 gether. The front door was wide open, and 
 Doc. walked confidently in, put the bag down 
 in the hall, and after a long breath which seemed 
 to give him courage, climbed the hard stairs 
 and knocked at the door of a room whence gruff 
 sounds came sounding to the awe-struck boys 
 like the intermittent growls from a menagerie. 
 
 " Come in ! come in ! There, there, you can
 
 ANDOVER AHOY! 21 
 
 go now," said the huge voice to a small boy 
 who seemed shivering under the tempestuous 
 onset. 
 
 " Whom have we here ? Ah, Shelby ! Back 
 again, sir ? This is your last Middle year, do 
 you hear, sir ? " wiping his hot forehead. " Sir ! 
 how does your father" 
 
 The Principal recollected himself just in time. 
 It was not necessary for Doc. to say, " My 
 father died this summer." Uncle Jim, con- 
 scious of his narrow escape, crimsoned with 
 embarrassment and looked at the orphan as if 
 either death or the boy had taken him in on 
 purpose. " But," continued the lad, relieving 
 the tension of the situation with unexpected 
 tact, " I've brought a new Senior. Mr. Strong, 
 Dr. Tyler; Dr. Tyler, Mr. Strong." The spec- 
 tacles gave a hop. They seemed discouraged 
 at the prospect of not sliding off, and then 
 subsided. One hand clutched the white hat, 
 while the other pushed John Strong and his 
 wilted leg and stout stick forward into the 
 redoubtable presence. 
 
 The Principal of Phillips Andover Academy,
 
 22 ANDOVER AHOY ! 
 
 Dr. James Tyler, known familiarly to every- 
 body in town and out as " Uncle Jim," stood 
 in front of his desk. He was a middle-sized, 
 middle-aged man, quite stout, and very imposing. 
 He wore glasses, a smooth face, and profuse 
 gray hair. His whole appearance gave the 
 first impression of leonine power. His set 
 lips told the story of his sternness ; but his 
 deeply-sunken eyes showed good-nature, an ap- 
 preciation of humor and quick nervous deter- 
 mination. John Strong stood before him. 
 There was a moment of silence. The two 
 looked at each other. The Doctor's gaze 
 bored the youth like an auger. The boy re- 
 turned the look, wondering whether he had 
 found a friend, a father, or a foe. His mother 
 had conducted all the correspondence. This 
 was his first introduction to the celebrated 
 Principal of Phillips Academy. 
 
 " Mr. Shelby, you may wait in the hall, sir, 
 while I talk with Mr. Strong," said the eminent 
 instructor. Shelby started as if a cannon-ball 
 had struck him, and vanished after an incau- 
 tious wink at the waiting boy.
 
 ANDOVER AHOY ! 23 
 
 When the two were left alone the dreadful 
 voice spoke again. 
 
 " Now, sir, are you lame ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "Then sit down." This, the boy thought, 
 was said more tenderly. 
 
 " How long ? " 
 
 "Ever since I could remember, sir." 
 
 " Does it hurt you to walk ? " 
 
 "A little, sir; not much. I'll be stronger 
 soon." 
 
 "How poor are you? You look poor!" 
 This seemed brutal to the lad. As the Doctor 
 said this, he scanned John's neat and well-worn 
 clothes and his hat of ancient cut. 
 
 " I have just twenty-two dollars left. I 
 started with twenty-five. Mother said that I 
 would have a chance to earn some. Mother 
 has no money left now ; she's too poor." 
 
 " Humph ! " ejaculated the merciless inspec- 
 tor, wiping his glasses to gain a fresh start. 
 " What did you come here for ? Can you 
 study ? " 
 
 " I do my best ; I was second in my class in
 
 24 ANUOVER AHOY ! 
 
 Conacoot. I graduated this year. But it didn't 
 take me far enough to enter college." 
 
 " Humph ! " came the same uncompromising 
 reply. " Can you take care of a garden ? Are 
 you strong enough to work ? " 
 
 " I think so. I'll do anything to earn my 
 way through. I must get to college. My 
 father went; he worked." 
 
 The stern educator of a thousand youths 
 looked the plucky boy again in the face. He 
 noticed the frank blue eyes, the open, broad 
 brow, the willing smile. He took the lad in at 
 a glance. He rarely made a mistake in his 
 estimates of character. He was proud of his 
 wonderful perceptive faculty. On the other 
 hand he never relaxed. This was the secret of 
 his disciplinary power never to unbend, no 
 matter how warmly his heart might beat. 
 Could a boy stand before him without wincing, 
 he was sure of the Principal's secret favor at 
 least. 
 
 "There! There! You won't be in mischief, 
 I'll warrant. We'll see what can be done. 
 Your room," he consulted his papers, " is 2, 2
 
 ANDOVER AHOY ! 2$ 
 
 Latin Commons. You are to board at the 
 Milktoast Club. There, sir, you will report 
 to-morrow morning at prayers and take your 
 place in the Senior class. Here, Shelby ! " 
 Shelby suddenly bobbed into the room like 
 Punch in the show. He readjusted his binocu- 
 lars and looked around to see how the wind lay. 
 
 " Shelby, take Mr. Strong to No. 2, Room 2, 
 in your Commons ; get the janitor and the key 
 and show him to the Milktoast Club. And, 
 hark ye, attend to your lessons this year, or I'll 
 have to know the reason why, sir." 
 
 " Is it far? " asked the neophyte of his con- 
 ductor, when they both breathed more freely 
 on the sidewalk again. 
 
 "No, indeed ; see those play houses all in a 
 row ? Six of 'em. Yours is the second ; your 
 room is on the ground floor, window facing this 
 way ; my room is in the next house. It's nice 
 enough now wait till winter comes." This 
 was said in an ominous tone. 
 
 They soon stopped in front of what seemed 
 to John the dreariest row of wooden houses in 
 North America. "Wait here," said Shelby, " I'll
 
 26 ANDOVER AHOY ! 
 
 send the janitor to you, and when I see Pete I'll 
 tell him where to bring your trunk. Second- 
 hand furniture can be bought next house but 
 one. I'll come for you at supper time." 
 John Strong was left alone.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE DORMITORIES. 
 
 THEY stood there, six of them in a row. 
 They looked as if they had been struck 
 off from the same stern die. They looked like 
 weather-beaten, brown sentinels, stolid and for- 
 bidding, on guard to warn the unwary away. 
 They appeared to John Strong as he edged 
 off to take a good look at them, like dragons 
 with eyes and mouths ready to devour the un- 
 wary student who didn't know enough to keep 
 away from them. Dingy blankets hung out of 
 the windows. Wood and coal, book-boxes and 
 blown, brown paper formed the foreground of 
 the scene. Grumblings and noises reverberated 
 from within these six grim shells. He counted 
 them again. Yes, there were six. And through 
 the trees on the other side of the play-ground he 
 counted five more like monsters. He won- 
 27
 
 28 THE DORMITORIES. 
 
 dered how many more there were. A prison 
 in Siberia might be worse, he thought, but, 
 with the intensity and inexperience of youth, 
 rather doubted it. 
 
 Latin Commons, No. 2, Room 2 ! His moth- 
 er's heart would have ached had she seen him 
 looking at the barracks, which the Academy 
 Trustees furnished to their boys with the fur- 
 ther inducement of only three dollars a term 
 room rent. Don't let us be too hard on the 
 Phillips authorities. These six brown boxes 
 are there to help educate poor boys. They 
 have turned out many a manly fellow, and by 
 their very hardship fitted him to make his way 
 in the seething world. We only pity the " pious 
 founders' " taste in the selection of an architect. 
 
 Every boy who has been away to school or 
 college for the first time, knows that the set- 
 tling interval is the dreariest. It taxes all the 
 Spartan in a boy not to give way to discourage- 
 ment when the lonely feeling overtakes him at 
 such a critical time. Our hero was going 
 through just such a stage. All the manhood 
 he had was now required. He didn't know a
 
 THE DORMITORIES. 2Q 
 
 soul in Andover except the burly Principal and 
 the boy called "Doc. Goggles." Here he was, 
 stranded and in all respects helpless, on the 
 door-step of the saddest-looking wooden house 
 he had ever seen. He looked into the window 
 of his future home. He saw bare floors, two bare 
 chairs, a bare table, two open doors and a stove- 
 pipe hole. That was all. As he was peering 
 through the window and feeling more desperate 
 than ever over the prospect of the homelessness 
 and the sickly green wall paper, a hand touched 
 him on the shoulder. 
 
 " Are you the new Senior ? " 
 
 The boy turned and saw a fat, jovial man, 
 done up in overalls and jingling a big bunch of 
 keys in his hand. 
 
 " I'm Mr. Locks, your janitor. I guess you'd 
 like to get into your room." Then, after a pause, 
 as he proceeded to open the refractory door : 
 " We generally give these floor-rooms to Preps, 
 and the Seniors go up to the top, but I was told 
 you'd want a bottom room. I guess you'll be 
 better suited here ; the steps are pretty rough 
 for any one to climb."
 
 3O THE DORMITORIES. 
 
 Indeed they looked it, winding, steep, chipped, 
 and worn with the countless feet of nearly eighty 
 years. 
 
 A warm, overpowering, stuffy smell greeted 
 John as he briskly followed the janitor and put 
 his bag on the floor with a sigh of faint relief. 
 The room looked even more forbidding when 
 
 LATIN COMMONS NO. 2, ROOM 2. 
 
 he was in it than it did from the outside. There 
 were two windows, one on the side and one in 
 front, and these lifted with difficulty and then 
 staid up on sticks. The green wall paper had 
 faded to a homesick color and was liberally 
 daubed with red and black ink. The door was 
 hacked and mangled. It gaped at the bottom
 
 THE DORMITORIES. $1 
 
 as much as the windows did at the top. The 
 floor rose and fell as if an earthquake had 
 passed through the land. One could almost 
 peer through the chinks into the murky dark- 
 ness below. There were a couple of chairs that 
 had evidently been reconstructed lately by the 
 janitor himself, for he looked at them with 
 peculiar pride. The table in the corner of the 
 room was the most respectable bit of furniture, 
 and that was bravely supported by two laths, 
 that were securely nailed upon the stumps of its 
 pathetic front legs. It reminded John Strong 
 of a veteran of the war, so patched up and yet 
 so able. 
 
 " Here's your bedroom. You can put your 
 trunk and things in the other one." This is the 
 warmest in winter. Did you bring any bed- 
 clothes? We don't furnish bedding." 
 
 " I've got some sheets and blankets in my 
 trunk, if it only gets here in time," answered 
 John, as he approached a chair with caution. 
 
 "Well, I guess I'll have to put you up a mat- 
 tress and a pillow ; you can pay for it when you 
 feel like it."
 
 32 THE DORMITORIES. 
 
 " If you please I'll pay for it now. How much 
 will it be?" 
 
 John Strong had made up his mind about one 
 thing he would starve first, but he would not 
 fall in debt. They were poor at home ; how 
 bitterly poor no one else knew, and they kept 
 it to themselves. However, they never owed 
 any man a penny. It was part of their religion 
 to keep themselves free, though they ate mush 
 and molasses to do it month after month. 
 
 It was not long before the new Senior had 
 bargained for a second-hand mattress and pil- 
 low, an old student's lamp, a gallon of kerosene 
 oil, a self-feeding stove, and a broom, for the 
 modest sum of ten dollars, cash down. It was 
 about five o'clock and he set to work putting 
 things to rights. Pete brought his trunk very 
 promptly, undoubtedly stimulated by a slight 
 feeling of pity for the lame boy. The janitor, 
 Mr. Locks, soon came puffing and glowing with 
 his conveniences in hand, all but the stove. 
 Flocks of boys peered into the windows to catch 
 a glimpse of the lame Senior who was to room 
 in Commons. They wondered if he would be
 
 THE DORMITORIES. 33 
 
 surly and cross. Somehow, impatience of tem- 
 per is associated with physical deformity in 
 boys' minds. They argued whether he would 
 be a good one to eat at the first table of the 
 Milktoast Club. 
 
 The bed was made upon the hardest of slats, 
 but John didn't mind an uneasy bed. The rooms 
 were swept. The few pictures and prints his 
 mother had slipped in his trunk were tacked 
 upon the walls. The pitcher was filled with 
 water at the famous old pump near by which 
 even the theologues patronized. The cellar 
 was inspected, and Mr. Locks showed him 
 where his pile of wood and coal was to go. 
 The sloping colonial roof of the Milktoast 
 Club was pointed out to him by an enterprising 
 Junior Middler in the same building. A new 
 Junior (known in schoolboy parlance as a 
 "Prep.") in the room opposite had hesitatingly 
 asked the new Senior's advice about a washer- 
 woman ; and now, seated gingerly on a chair 
 by the open window, John was looking at the 
 parched meadows through the opaque drizzle. 
 His mind wandered in quick confusion. He
 
 34 THE DORMITORIES. 
 
 thought of home and Cicero, of tuition bills and 
 chapel bells, and wondered what the morrow, 
 the tenth of September, the opening day of 
 the fall term, would bring forth. The rain, to 
 complete the desolate scene, now came down 
 heavily, as it always does at the famous Phillips- 
 Exeter ball-games, Commencement Day, or the 
 opening week of the fall term. Just then a 
 vigorous knock at the door was heard. 
 
 Awaking from his revery, John Strong turned 
 his head. It was just ten minutes of six, and 
 sure enough, in bounced Doc. Shelby, his queer, 
 simple face beaming with good nature. 
 
 " Halloo ! All settled ? Are you ready for 
 hash ? We'll have to start pretty soon ; you'll 
 find you have got to be there when the doors 
 are opened or you lose your chance." 
 
 Our new Senior was soon walking as fast as 
 he could under his friend's umbrella. They 
 only had about five hundred yards to go before 
 they came to the site of the famous Milktoast 
 Club, where hundreds have caught their first 
 symptoms of the dyspepsia that became chronic 
 in college boarding-houses, was hardened by
 
 THE DORMITORIES. 35 
 
 post-graduate landladies, that was knocked out 
 of them by a Western ranch, or soothed out of 
 them by a sensible wife, or that lasted them till 
 the memory of boyish days and hardships seemed 
 but a dim outline of a half-forgotten youth. 
 
 " I'll take you around and introduce you to 
 our landlady, Mrs. Grooge," continued Doc. in 
 his effervescent way ; " she has been at it twenty- 
 five years and is now considered as good as any 
 one of the faculty. If you get on the right side 
 of her, you're sure of plenty of grub." 
 
 They pushed their way through groups of 
 boys standing massed under umbrellas and en- 
 cased in water proofs about the locked front 
 door. Others were roosting like black turkey- 
 buzzards on the fence, waiting for the rush to 
 begin. When the two emerged from the drip, 
 drip ! overhead, through the back door into the 
 warm kitchen, John Strong noticed a boiler full 
 of potatoes standing on the table, and mountains 
 of milk toast warming on the stove. 
 
 " Here you, Kitty ! " a high voice was heard 
 above the clatter from the dining-room within, 
 " give the boys plenty of milk to-night ; it's
 
 36 THE DORMITORIES. 
 
 their first meal, and they've got to write home 
 that they are not starved." 
 
 Doc. pushed through to the dining-room, 
 where a tall, lean woman, with deep wrinkles 
 in her forehead, with her hair severely smoothed 
 down over her ears, was putting the finishing 
 touches on the four tables. 
 
 "Hem! Is that you, Mr. Shelby? Back 
 again ! You march right out of here and wait 
 outside till the doors are opened !" jerked out 
 this peremptory and bristling landlady. 
 
 " Excuse me, I have brought you a new 
 boarder. Mr. Strong, Mrs. Grooge ; Mrs. 
 Grooge, Mr. Strong. He's a new Senior. Per- 
 haps he can stay in this time and you can show 
 him his seat," answered Doc. apologetically. 
 
 "Oh! that's another thing. O, yes ! I heard 
 about you from Mr. Locks. Let me see. The 
 Senior tables Mr. Lambkin sits there 
 hurry up, Kitty, with that milk toast ; put 
 three dishes full on the table, with four dishes 
 of the boiled potatoes Landor sits here put 
 four milk toasts at the Seniors' table, they eats 
 most Dalstan there I'll put you nearest
 
 THE DORMITORIES. 37 
 
 the door, opposite Lambkin. You set right 
 down and hang your hat in the hall You can 
 pay me the ten dollars down to-morrow." 
 
 " Here it is, ma'am, I'll pay before I eat," 
 quickly answered John. 
 
 "Well, you are a good beginner; keep it up 
 and you'll come out all right. You'll find the 
 receipt under your plate at breakfast. You'd 
 better be prompt ; 6.30 sharp, or you won't get 
 much. They are like bears when they eat." 
 
 It was only a minute more before the tables 
 were set and the door was opened. There 
 was so much stone china crockery and so little 
 food ! Then the rush began. 
 
 " Hey, you fellows, milk toast to-night, hur- 
 rah ! " yelled the foremost boys. 
 
 In they trooped, while John Strong sat and 
 silently watched them. 
 
 During this rush and scrimmage, Kitty and 
 Mrs. Grooge took good care to keep out of 
 harm's way. One could easily tell a new-comer 
 by the hesitation he showed at first. The 
 older hands grabbed their plates and made a 
 dead set for the toast dish and potatoes.
 
 38 THE DORMITORIES. 
 
 Others caught up the milk pitcher. It looked 
 as if a battle would be fought, so lawless these 
 young gentlemen were. 
 
 " Halloo, is that you, Doc. ? " some one 
 shrieked ; " catch that ! " A potato went whiz- 
 zing through the air losing its jacket in its 
 flight. 
 
 The Seniors were hardly more decorous, 
 though one had had the grace to help John, 
 who waited in his seat, the only one at the 
 table, who did so, for his turn to come. It is 
 no exaggeration to say that butter flew through 
 the air, and one melting patch was seen to 
 trickle down a new Prep.'s shirt collar. Bread 
 was a staple article of attack, as well as \.\\e piece 
 de resistance. 
 
 " You'll get used to it," said Lambkin, bend- 
 ing over to Strong. " Wait till flap-jack morn- 
 ing. This is nothing compared to the fun 
 then." 
 
 At that moment, the majestic figure of Mrs. 
 Grooge appeared in the. doorway. There was 
 a hush. The boys all looked that way. 
 
 " Good-ev'n, boys," she said : " hope you are
 
 THE DORMITORIES. 41 
 
 all getting enough to eat this term. I do my 
 best, though you did begin on milk toast 
 to-night." 
 
 The boys looked impulsively at the Senior 
 table as if the first response should come from 
 there. He who was known as Father Lambkin 
 arose with gravity. 
 
 " Fill your glasses, my children, and drink to 
 Mrs. Grooge " 
 
 " And Kitty," broke in a treble voice. 
 
 " All right ; Kitty too," went on the impur- 
 turbable leader. "Who are Mrs. Grooge and 
 Kitty ? " continued the spokesman, bowing 
 with playful sarcasm at the last word to the 
 Middler of the treble voice. "Now answer!" 
 
 Then came the wonderful reply that always 
 stirs the heart of the lad who hears it for the 
 first time. They all yelled in unison : 
 
 " First in peace, first in war, first in the hearts 
 of the Milktoast Club!" Stamp, stampity 
 stamp, stampity stamp, stamp, stamp ! rattled 
 their feet on the floor with mighty clang and 
 perfect precision of time. 
 
 The boys roared and drank.
 
 42 THE DORMITORIES. 
 
 John Strong wondered if any woman's pres- 
 ence could calm this restless, undisciplined 
 crew. He thought of his mother's simple and 
 orderly table. Why should a boy not behave 
 like a gentleman even if away from home ? 
 Then the backward stampede began. A final 
 volley of potato peelings and bread crumbs set 
 in, and John was drawn into the retrogressive 
 movement. A hand caught him by the arm. 
 The benevolent and interesting face of Lamb- 
 kin approached him. 
 
 " It's pretty rough, I know," he said, when 
 they were well outside ; " a boy takes it hard 
 when he first comes from a decent home like 
 mine. This is my fourth year. We are used 
 to it. I'll take you to chapel to-morrow if you 
 like and start you in. We are not like the 
 swell ones, here in Commons, but we hold our 
 own." 
 
 They parted at John Strong's door. 
 
 " You must come in and see me soon," John 
 slowly said. 
 
 " That I will. Good-night ! " 
 
 And the new Senior went to his bare room,
 
 THE DORMITORIES. 43 
 
 his few books, his mother's picture and his hard 
 bed. He had just fallen asleep when he was 
 aroused by muffled sounds right under his open 
 bedroom window. 
 
 " Wonder how the fellow will like it ? " said 
 a voice that sounded like that of Selfrich. 
 
 Splash ! came a volume of water on the bed. 
 John sat up, dripping. He heard laughing and 
 running, and then fully realized that he was a 
 member of Phillips Academy,
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 
 
 WHAT can I do for you ? " 
 " I heard that you wanted a boy to do 
 some work." 
 
 " What do you want to work for ? " 
 " For an education, sir," answered a frank 
 voice promptly. 
 
 It was our new Senior who had started out as 
 soon as he could to find work. He was one of 
 the sturdy class who prefer to make their own 
 way, and who think it is a poor way if they are 
 pushed. He had naturally gone first to one of 
 the many Professors who were in the habit of 
 employing a boy. John Strong had a certain 
 nobility of countenance which made him an 
 aristocrat to look upon, no matter how poorly he 
 might be dressed. Add to this the inevitable 
 lines that intelligent suffering brings, and he 
 
 44
 
 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 45 
 
 looked, unfortunately enough for his purpose, as 
 if it would not be quite the thing to offer him 
 manual employment. 
 
 The reverend man he now called upon hap- 
 pened at that time to fill the Hebrew chair in 
 the Theological Seminary, and he was, as it 
 also happened, nearsighted and unpractical. 
 
 " I am sorry," he said ; " I should like to help 
 you, but we have just engaged our furnace boy. 
 Let me see " He stood in the doorway ; his 
 lean, shaven face posed in thought. "Ah, I 
 have it. Can you copy Hebrew texts ? I am 
 publishing a revised edition of Gesenius." 
 
 "No, sir," sorrowfully answered John Strong. 
 He was not up to Andover requirements; "I 
 am afraid not." 
 
 " Then I do not see how I can help you. 
 I am sorry. Come and see me again. Good 
 afternoon." 
 
 John Strong watched the learned figure until 
 the door shut. He was by no means discour- 
 aged. He made up his mind to try the next 
 place. 
 
 He now walked boldly up to the front door of
 
 46 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 
 
 the adjoining house, where another theological 
 Professor lived, who was noted, not only in his 
 scholastic department as a successful teacher, 
 but also because he had a fast horse and a 
 good cow. 
 
 This was the Professor of Depravity. It 
 is a well-known fact that all of the houses on 
 the hill are either occupied by Professors or are 
 used as boarding-houses ; and there are not half- 
 enough to go around. John Strong thought as 
 he approached his second venture, that he could 
 well offer to take care of the horse and cow. 
 He was fond of animals, and of course could 
 milk ; so he rang the bell. 
 
 " Is the 'Professor in ? " 
 
 "No," answered the maid, "but she is; will 
 you walk in?" 
 
 Now, under no circumstances is it easy for 
 a high-spirited young man to ask a woman for 
 work, and John Strong wished himself miles 
 away. But before he could excuse himself, the, 
 girl had ushered him into the bookish parlor, 
 filled with portraits of eminent theologians from 
 Melanchthon and Luther down to present date ;
 
 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 49 
 
 and he had to sit and wonder with all his mind 
 how on earth to open the subject in the best 
 way. While he was considering the ticklish 
 problem from its many standpoints, the Pro- 
 fessor's wife entered. 
 
 " Oh ! Dr. Strong, where are you ? " she cried 
 shrilly. She had an air as if some eminent 
 man were playing hide-and-go-seek, and might 
 bob up from behind a lounge, for instance. 
 
 " I am afraid you are mistaken, madam," 
 mildly suggested the young man. " I am Mr. 
 Strong, a member of the Academy." 
 
 " Why, I thought it was President Strong of 
 Buncome College, who is expected here. I am 
 so disappointed. Mr. Strong, what can I do 
 for you ? " 
 
 She laid a peculiar stress on Mister. There 
 are those to whom the continual use of some title 
 or other as Doctor, Professor, President is 
 as necessary as water to a Sandwich Islander. 
 Such a one was the animated, black-haired 
 woman opposite the new Senior. 
 
 " I called to ask about work. I heard that 
 you wanted a boy to do chores. If so will you
 
 5O THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 
 
 take me ? I want work." The case was stated 
 in a brief, manful way. 
 
 " O, dear me ! You are the fifteenth boy, I 
 am sure, that has applied this last week since 
 the school opened. We always take one from 
 the Academy. The Professor says that is giv- 
 ing a tenth to the Lord." 
 
 Though he had stated the case plainly, it now 
 took on a doubtful hue to the respectful lad. 
 
 "Well, perhaps I might suit, Madam," he 
 cheerfully replied. " I can run a furnace and 
 take care of the cattle. I can milk." 
 
 The young mistress of the house seemed 
 quite impressed by this unusual catalogue of 
 accomplishments. To do her credit, we may 
 say that most of the applicants wanted as little 
 work to do as possible, in order to earn their 
 dollar and a half a week honorably. Those she 
 had hitherto employed had seldom given an 
 overdose of satisfaction. It must be admitted 
 that she was on the point of engaging the student 
 one week on trial at half-pay when she happened 
 to notice the heavy stick and the limpness of his 
 lame side.
 
 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 51 
 
 "Can you " she cautiously proceeded, "can 
 you run ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am ; that is almost the only thing 
 about a farm that I can't do." John Strong 
 began to look sad. 
 
 "Well," went on Mrs. Professor, with re- 
 newed ease, as if she had gotten on her accus- 
 tomed track, " I am truly sorry, Mr. Strong. 
 In that case you won't suit. We have a very 
 high-strung and tender cow, which is given to 
 running away. She lifts the bars with her horns 
 and then runs down the street. I don't see how 
 you can catch her if you can't run too. She's 
 a very nervous cow." 
 
 John Strong feebly assented and rose. " I 
 am sorry," he said, "and will not take up your 
 time any more. Good afternoon." 
 
 " You might try the next house," suggested 
 the lady kindly. 
 
 She was the new wife of a new Professor, 
 
 V* 
 
 not njuch used to Andover, yet ; she had 
 come with some beautiful theories about how 
 to treat Academy boys ; when she had time 
 she meant to invite them all to supper. " That
 
 52 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 
 
 Professor wants a boy. I am sorry you can't 
 run. Good afternoon." 
 
 The wind rose in a gust at this minute and 
 the door happened to slam in the disappointed 
 boy's face. 
 
 Momentary discouragement is nothing "to be 
 ashamed of, when it does not overwhelm the 
 victim into final inactivity. For the most part, 
 these mental ups and downs are as much due 
 to the temperament as to circumstances, and 
 they need a mild antidote to drive them away. 
 John Strong thought as much, and now cut 
 directly across the green common, past the 
 granite library, towards the brick buildings of 
 the Theological Seminary. He had a cousin 
 in the Seminary, a rich young fellow, who had 
 astonished everybody by first turning theologue, 
 and secondly by entering such a quiet school 
 as that at Andover. Roger Mansfield was an 
 interesting character. His father was a wealthy 
 stock broker in New York, and the son had 
 developed unexpected religious ideas of his own 
 at Harvard, and now was in his second theologi- 
 cal year.
 
 
 
 
 IAlf'7- 
 
 to *Y 1 
 
 i 
 
 . 

 
 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 55 
 
 As John walked down the famous Elm-tree 
 Avenue he met a couple of girls who were com- 
 ing briskly along and who almost brushed 
 against him. The one nearest to him attracted 
 his attention ; he could hardly tell why. Per- 
 haps it was her eyes which seemed to envelop 
 him as she gave him a swift glance. They did 
 not look at him. They rather absorbed him. 
 
 " What a fine head he has ! " whispered this 
 young lady to her companion, when John had 
 fairly passed. 
 
 "Why, you stupid, Elva," answered her com- 
 panion with a sniff; "didn't you see that he 
 was lame ? " 
 
 "What does that matter when one has so 
 true a look ? " the one called Elva gravely 
 answered. Then they talked of other things. 
 
 John would not have dismissed that pair of 
 gray-blue eyes so soon had he heard the girl's 
 Hoble answer. As it was, his healthy imagina- 
 tion had quickly outrun his feet, and was al- 
 ready at his cousin's room. A few minutes 
 more, a climb of a flight of stairs, and he was 
 about to knock at a battered door that bore
 
 56 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 
 
 upon its ancient face a fashionable bit of paste- 
 board, engraved by Tiffany, bearing the legend : 
 
 Mr. Roger Mansfield. 
 
 when the following theological discourse ar- 
 rested his attention, and before he knew it, he 
 was standing still, an unconscious eavesdropper. 
 
 " Say your prayers, sir ! Head down ! 
 Down ! I say." 
 
 After a short interval, the word came, sharp 
 and stern : " Amen." This was followed by a 
 sound that might have been made by the clap- 
 ping of two hands once together. 
 
 John had instinctively, for he was a devout 
 lad, closed his eyes and bent his head. 
 
 Then came the surprisingly contradictory 
 order that electrified him : 
 
 " Now dance, sir! Up! Up again! That's 
 right. Now faster faster ! " Then came a 
 mad clattering around the room. There was no 
 doubt about it that some rousing performance 
 was going on in these sacred apartments. 
 
 Was this the way they studied theology ? 
 
 " Hold ! " Then followed another snap. 
 
 Now order after order came sharp and fast ;
 
 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 57 
 
 these were capped by sounds that gave John 
 the impression that they had been obeyed with 
 tremendous vim. 
 
 "Repeat the catechism, sir." 
 
 " Now leap-frog, sir." 
 
 " Be a Congregationalism" 
 
 "Be a Presbyterian." 
 
 " Now deny the Nicene Creed." This order 
 was followed by a flop. 
 
 " Now plead your case before the Supreme 
 Court, sir." 
 
 " Now be a heretic and die ! " 
 
 John thought it was about time to knock. 
 As he did so, the final command came in alarm- 
 ing tones : " Now turn the rascals out ! " 
 
 The door was flung open and a large, dark 
 form leaped upon him. It was a magnificent 
 Newfoundland dog, nearly three feet high. It 
 placed its paws upon the student's shoulders 
 and breathed in his face. This was the worst 
 reception John had yet encountered in An- 
 dover. The brute looked as if he would say, 
 " How dare you come in without my master's 
 countersign ! "
 
 $8 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 
 
 " Down, Calvin, down ! " rang out the voice 
 of his master from the doorway. At this, the 
 trained beast dropped on his four paws and 
 came to his owner's feet as demurely as if he 
 had been lapping milk. 
 
 Roger Mansfield, the gay theologue, and his 
 cousin, John Strong, the plain Academy senior, 
 were soon acquainted. More than that, they 
 began to like each other immensely. Whether 
 it was because opposites are easily attracted to 
 each other, or whether each recognized in the 
 other a like intrepid, manly quality which both 
 possessed, but which cropped out in far different 
 ways, who can say ? John easily yielded to the 
 fascination of knowing one who gladly under- 
 stood him, while the older man felt through that 
 subtle power which is sometimes described by 
 the name of magnetism, that here was one who 
 could see beyond the luxurious exterior and 
 could discern the sincerity of a nature that had 
 been too often misunderstood. 
 
 "And is this your first and last year here ? " 
 continued Mansfield ; " I have another year to 
 stay, and begin to chafe for active work."
 
 .
 
 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 6l 
 
 " And I have been here only a week, and I 
 chafe for work too." 
 
 Then John Strong told his cousin his whole 
 story, and asked what he thought he had bet- 
 ter do. 
 
 " Have you tried the ' Compo ' shop ? " asked 
 Roger. " I wouldn't recommend it very highly. 
 A couple of theologues work there. You sew 
 shoes and make rubber bags and do stitching of 
 some sort. You wouldn't like that," glancing 
 at the high brow of the impecunious student. 
 " However," he continued, thoughtfully patting 
 the huge dog on the head, "one might do worse. 
 I almost wish I had to do it." 
 
 " If I can't get any other work," answered 
 John, " I'll have to try that. I can make shoes. 
 Mother and I learned to do it home one winter. 
 That was a dreadful year." 
 
 The lad looked so unconscious of having said 
 anything remarkable that his host sat aston- 
 ished. Mansfield had been so accustomed to 
 hear his poorest classmates make light of, and 
 excuse and gloss over and hide their poverty, 
 that here was a new experience. This brave
 
 62 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 
 
 heart frankly acknowledged what most people 
 consider disgraceful. 
 
 " I tell you what, I'll take you over and intro- 
 duce you to Uncle Jim. He isn't so bad as he's 
 painted. He'll fix you somehow," said Mans- 
 field gaily. 
 
 " But I've been there, the first day I came. 
 I don't think he will do much," answered John. 
 
 " Oh ! he has forgotten all about you by this 
 time. If he knows you're my cousin " ( rather 
 proudly) "he will do something, I warrant." 
 
 So they both went over; John in his shabby 
 suit of brown clothes, and Mansfield in rather a 
 heretical tennis suit and an uncatechismal red 
 tie. John Calvin, like a true, Puritan dog, led 
 the way in giant bounds. Mansfield walked 
 boldly through the outer door of the Principal's 
 house and knocked sturdily, a little irreverently, 
 Strong thought, at the study door. Calvin 
 pawed impatiently on the sill. 
 
 " Come in," said a mighty voice. The young 
 men opened the door. Calvin bounded ahead, 
 stopped for a moment to reconnoiter, and with- 
 out the slightest embarrassment, pounced into
 
 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 63 
 
 the awful presence. Uncle Jim was writing 
 busily. He had not raised his eyes. 
 
 " You forget yourself, sir," growled the great 
 man, still without looking up. "Twenty marks, 
 sir ! What class do you belong to, sir ? " 
 
 Calvin wagged his tail pleasantly. Without 
 further hesitation he walked deliberately around 
 the table and put his fore paws on the cleanest 
 sheet of manuscript he could find. It proved 
 to be the initial draft of the yearly catalogue 
 which Uncle Jim had just laboriously completed. 
 
 " What do you mean, sir ? " The Principal 
 of Phillips Academy raised his distinguished 
 head. The lion and the dog regarded each 
 other, their faces not three feet apart.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 THE two young men had watched the per- 
 formance of John Calvin, the one with a 
 species of hopeless resignation, the other with 
 open amusement. It is a dangerous feat to put 
 a dog either through college or a Theological 
 Seminary, no matter how handsome, winsome 
 or well-trained he may be. If he does not undo 
 you in the presence of the lords of the institu- 
 tion at some critical moment, he will betray you 
 in a thousand other ways, much to your humilia- 
 tion. Roger Mansfield could have strangled 
 his pet at that moment : but in times of su- 
 preme trial the soul waits the final verdict with 
 apparent calmness. Quietly, hardly above a 
 whisper, Roger said: "Down! charge, sir!" 
 For the first time in Calvin's natural history, 
 the dog deliberately disobeyed. He opened his 
 64
 
 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 65 
 
 large mouth, gave a mighty yawn, and with a 
 superbly caressing motion pawed closer to 
 Uncle Jim, devastating in his attempts a few 
 more sheets of closely written paper. 
 
 The terrible man, made more ominous by an 
 unexpected calm, turned himself around slowly 
 and gave the young men a piercing glance. He 
 took in the quiet amusement visible in John 
 Strong's face, as well as the blush of embarrass- 
 ment that mantled the usually nonchalant theo- 
 logue's cheeks. With one look at the unabashed 
 dog, he said with tremendous sarcasm : 
 
 " Pray, Mr. Mansfield, let your representative 
 remain. He, at least, knows no better than to 
 interrupt my time and to spoil the work of days." 
 
 " I am very sorry, sir," began the unfortunate 
 introducer of his cousin's virtues. 
 
 "You need not be, at all, sir," interrupted the 
 Principal, in his grandest tone. " The Academy 
 has no class formed as yet, for dogs, sir. Our 
 canine department is as yet unendowed. You 
 have simply mistaken your grounds." 
 
 " But I came to introduce my cousin here and 
 to ask you "
 
 66 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 "That is also needless," interrupted Uncle 
 Jim, again with a wave of his hand. "He is 
 capable of introducing himself. And if," he 
 continued, with a bow to poor John Calvin, who 
 by this time had come down to his proper level 
 and was looking from one to another in the most 
 bewildered way, " you have no other ^business 
 with me, sir,I beg you to leave me to regret that 
 your presence and that of your friend," pointing 
 to the now thoroughly subdued dog, " have not 
 been more exhilarating. Good afternoon, sir." 
 
 Oh, thou luckless friend of my youth ! What 
 disgrace hast thou not heaped upon my loving 
 head in the name of canine fidelity ! So thought 
 Mansfield, after the manner of thousands of 
 others, who with the best intention in the world 
 have attached themselves to a dog and a profes- 
 sion at the same time. With his tail between 
 his legs, John Calvin, for the first time in his 
 life, followed his master out. It is thus that 
 the social blunder of a dog can effect the recog- 
 nized order of precedence. 
 
 John Strong would have fled too, had not the 
 awful voice thundered :
 
 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 6/ 
 
 " Stay, sir, I wish to have a talk with you." 
 
 Uncle Jim's manner softened perceptibly 
 when the door was closed, and the pat ! pat of 
 the paws had died away in the vestibule. 
 
 " You needn't have brought him along to help 
 you," began the rich, deep voice with another 
 look at the seated boy. 
 
 " Oh ! I didn't wish to come at all, only he 
 thought you had forgotten that I needed work 
 to pay my way." 
 
 " He did, did he ? " demanded the great man. 
 " So you haven't found work yet ? How much 
 money have you left ? " 
 
 " Only a few cents, sir. The last went for 
 books. I don't owe anything. I thought of 
 applying at the Compo shops," answered John 
 Strong with a little brave gulp. It isn't so easy 
 after all to be poor at the start. 
 
 "Nobody wants you, sir?" This sounded 
 of itself cruel, though it was said with a twinkle 
 of the spectacle. 
 
 " Jt appears not," answered the boy. " What 
 do you think I had better do, sir ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid you'll have to stay here. If no-
 
 68 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 body will have you, I suppose I must, sir." 
 This was said with great brusqueness. " You 
 may consider yourself engaged to me at three 
 dollars a week to do work of any kind, and you 
 may come in after supper and begin copying 
 these papers." He pointed ruefully at the paw- 
 imprinted manuscript. " Your duties begin at 
 once, and so does your pay. Here are ten dol- 
 lars in advance." 
 
 The good man had really a fatherly look as 
 he smiled upon the lad who thus saw independ- 
 ence before him. 
 
 John Strong had hardly strength to say 
 "Thank you." He looked it, and Uncle Jim, 
 who knew how to read boys' faces so well, un- 
 derstood what the signs meant. But right here, 
 that infallible reader of the countenance made 
 his first grand mistake. 
 
 " Living in the Commons, Strong, you have 
 the best opportunity of coming in contact with 
 the boys. Now, if anything goes wrong, I am 
 sure you will report to me promptly the nature 
 of the trouble." 
 
 John Strong had risen, and he stood opposite
 
 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 69 
 
 his Principal's desk, behind which the speaker 
 was seated. John felt dazed. Was this part of 
 his " work of any kind " to report the boys ? 
 To tell tales ? He hesitated. Again he saw 
 his income diminishing. His heart grew sick 
 and faint. At last, with dry lips, he asked the 
 terrible Principal whose eyes were looking 
 steadfastly at his : 
 
 " Do you mean me to be your spy, sir ? " He 
 had to look straight into those eyes. They fas- 
 cinated him. He could not, would not look 
 away. 
 
 " That is an ugly name for a student's duty, 
 sir," answered the Principal impatiently. "It 
 is for the sake of discipline I trust you to do 
 this, sir." 
 
 "Then," with a great sigh, said John, "I 
 must decline your offer of employment." The 
 poor boy laid the ten-dollar bill upon the table. 
 " I cannot do what would be dishonorable for 
 me, though others may think it right." Then, 
 after a pause, he exclaimed : " I am so sorry ; I 
 can't help it though." 
 
 Expression after expression crossed the Prin-
 
 7O DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 cipal's face with tornado-like rapidity. But the 
 boy stood firm. The great man had his struggle, 
 too. He was not used to being met with so 
 manly a refusal from one of his boys. It un- 
 nerved him. 
 
 " You may go, sir," he said cuttingly to the 
 steadfast lad. 
 
 John left the room. When he had reached 
 the end of the hall he heard the summons : 
 "Strong, come back. I wish one more word 
 with you, sir." 
 
 The boy reluctantly returned. He had no 
 wish to prolong the scene. When he was in the 
 room, the Principal, in whom the fatherly nature 
 had won the victory over the ingenious discipli- 
 narian, said : 
 
 " Stay, my boy. Perhaps you are right. My 
 tutors do that. They are paid for it. You 
 shall do different work, and now take your 
 money. If you deserve it we will see about a 
 scholarship. Now leave me, sir. No words ! 
 and come after supper." 
 
 Uncle Jim waved him off. They had both 
 had a new experience, and there was born in
 
 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. ^1 
 
 John's heart a love for this man, battling alone 
 against unbridled, boyish nature that was in- 
 stinctively antagonistic to him, and which he 
 conquered in his own way with far fewer mis- 
 takes than the average teacher. This feeling 
 John always retained long after Uncle Jim was 
 peacefully buried in the old Chapel Cemetery 
 on Andover Hill.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AN AUTUMNAL HAZE. 
 
 JOHN STRONG had been at school now 
 several weeks. He had been introduced 
 to the majority of his fifty or sixty classmates 
 who unanimously voted him a harmless fellow. 
 Of course it was out of the question that he 
 could make a record as an athlete. They soon 
 recognized him as a " dig," and a great acquisi- 
 tion perhaps to the Philomathean Debating So- 
 ciety. Beyond that they did not think of him 
 at all. 
 
 Strong's greatest discomfort in school was 
 that he had to sit next to Selfrich. The class 
 up to this time were seated alphabetically, and 
 John wished that his name did not begin with 
 S. One evening, as he was revolving an impos- 
 sible scheme to get his seat in class changed, 
 he heard a timid knock at his door. After a 
 72
 
 AN AUTUMNAL HAZE. 73 
 
 little preliminary shuffling the young "Prep." 
 who roomed opposite glided in and with a stage 
 whisper announced that he thought some fellows 
 were sacking Doc. Shelby's room. He had 
 heard faint gurgles and suppressed laughter as 
 he passed by. He didn't know much about it, 
 but thought that he would tell " Mr. Strong " 
 who might like to see the fun. 
 
 John immediately hurried over. It was a 
 cold autumn night. The wind blew viciously. 
 Drops of stinging rain slapped the boy in the 
 face. When he had come to Doc.'s door he 
 knocked vigorously. The hall was draughty 
 and cold. It was the sort of a night when a 
 fellow enjoys a comfortable room and wants to 
 stay in it. Sounds that came at first mysteri- 
 ously from within, suddenly ceased at his pound- 
 ing. Evidently a consultation was holding. He 
 could hear the whisperings. 
 
 Bang, bang! went John's fist on the door. 
 
 Sh-sh-sh ! came from the other side. 
 
 " Get out of the windows, boys ! It's the 
 teacher ; it's Uncle Jim." 
 
 " No, it isn't," said John, " it's I. Let me in."
 
 74 AN AUTUMNAL HAZE. 
 
 "It's that bow-legged prig, Strong ; I suppose 
 we'll have to let him in. If you don't he'll 
 rouse the Faculty," said a voice that could be 
 easily recognized as that of Selfrich. The bolts 
 were drawn with a clang, and John beheld the 
 following spectacle : 
 
 In the pallid light produced by alcohol and 
 salt ( and there is none more ghastly this side of 
 the River Styx) John saw his friend Doc. Shelby 
 ornamenting the center table. The hazed boy 
 sat a-squat an over-running foot tub with his 
 night-shirt on. His arms and legs were dan- 
 gling helplessly over the side of the tub. Five 
 masked and hooded figures were picturesquely 
 stationed about him. The tall form of Selfrich 
 was clearly the leader of the gang. The carpet 
 was ripped up and lay tossed upon a heap of 
 books. The pictures were turned upside down. 
 The pair of Indian clubs that usually stood 
 upon the mantel-piece were dangling from 
 Doc.'s neck. The kerosene lamp was neatly 
 put to bed with sheets carefully tucked around 
 the chimney. The wash-bowl and the pitcher 
 protruded from the interior of the stove which
 
 IN THE PALLID LIGHT PRODUCED BY ALCOHOL AND SALT.
 
 AN AUTUMNAL HAZE. 77 
 
 was reclining with the air of an invalid upon 
 the lounge. Shelby's best clothes had been 
 spread upon the floor and did service as an 
 Axminster carpet. The only thing in the room 
 that seemed to be in place was Doc. Shelby's 
 spectacles. These had evidently been left for 
 the joke of it. The sight was so ludicrous that 
 John himself could not keep from laughing. 
 But he was ashamed of it as soon as the first 
 sound had escaped him, for Shelby looked at 
 him with piteous astonishment. The windows 
 were open. The room was cold. The outraged 
 boy shivered in his tub. This was not notice- 
 able by the usual chattering of the teeth, but by 
 a convulsive bobbing of the spectacles. At this 
 sight John flashed fire. If anything, he was 
 loyal, and the first fellow that befriended him in 
 Andover was suffering before his eyes. 
 
 " You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, 
 Selfrich and the rest of you fellows, whoever 
 you are ! I don't mind a respectable bit of 
 fooling, but to make a fellow catch his death of 
 cold a night like this is outrageous ! " 
 
 As John blurted this out he walked up and
 
 78 AN AUTUMNAL HAZE. 
 
 with a quick motion emptied Doc. out of his tub 
 upon the table. The water splashed all over 
 Selfrich and wet the rest of the conspirators. 
 Doc. had now scrambled upon his feet and stood 
 near his preserver, a dripping statue of white 
 amid black and relentless ghosts. 
 
 " Look here, you pious, bandy-legged Strong, 
 you ! " broke in the leader after the first shock 
 of surprise at John's audacity, "you get right 
 out of here. We are going to put Goggles 
 through, you bet." 
 
 "What has Doc. done to you? Come now, 
 what reason have you for treating him this 
 way ? " John asked this question partly to gain 
 time, as well as to give Doc. a fair chance to 
 speak for himself. The question acted as a 
 poser upon the hot-headed boys. 
 
 "He wears silly glasses," said one voice 
 feebly. 
 
 " He looks like a prize-fighter," said another, 
 as if it were a sufficient reason for instant anni- 
 hilation. 
 
 " He's the biggest fool in school," said another 
 with convincing emphasis.
 
 AN AUTUMNAL HAZE. 79 
 
 Selfrich had evidently been trying to conjure 
 up a final argument. When his followers had 
 made their petty excuses, he broke forth : 
 
 " I don't like the fellow. Nobody likes him 
 but you. That's reason enough." 
 
 "That's a mighty lie, and you know it," an- 
 swered the intrepid lame boy. And now pick- 
 ing up a coat from the floor and putting it over 
 the shivering lad, he said : 
 
 " Here, put it on. Now, go into your bed- 
 room and dry yourself off. They won't trouble 
 you any more to-night." The boy gave him a 
 grateful glance and was about to go, when Sel- 
 frich broke out: "Won't we, though? Here, 
 you fellows, catch him. Don't you let him go 
 in there." At the same moment he made a 
 lunge for Doc.'s arm, and managed to catch 
 hold of his soaked night-shirt. 
 
 Rap ! came a dull thud which was followed 
 by a shriek of pain. John had dealt Selfrich's 
 hand a stiff blow with his faithful stick. His 
 blood was now thoroughly up. He stood with 
 his back to the bedroom door which protected 
 Doc. and said :
 
 8O AN AUTUMNAL HAZE. 
 
 " If you fellows want to put any one through, 
 here I am. I've got a lame leg, but pretty good 
 arms. I'll paralyze a few of you in the process." 
 
 He swung his heavy stick ominously. No 
 one came on. Besides, it would not do to at- 
 tack one of their own class. Selfrich whispered 
 a moment with the rest in a corner. Then he 
 scowled malignantly at his classmate. 
 
 "You'll be sorry for this, Johnny. Let's go, 
 fellows, now and leave the babies together." 
 The dark procession tiptoed themselves out, 
 who could tell to what further mischief ? Boys 
 know how one determined spirit will master a 
 crowd. It was in the natural course of moral 
 events that John should remain General in com- 
 mand of the field of action. 
 
 " It's all right now, old fellow. Brace up," 
 said John to Doc. as the door into the hall softly 
 closed behind the hazers. " I'll stay by until 
 you are thoroughly in order." 
 
 The fact was, he feared a second attempt if 
 he left Doc. alone, and resolved to spend the 
 greater part of the night with his bewildered 
 friend.
 
 AN AUTUMNAL HAZE. 8l 
 
 In truth, Shelby needed a good deal of cheer- 
 ing up. He was thoroughly dazed. He didn't 
 know what the whole business meant. He 
 couldn't for the life of him imagine what the 
 boys had against him to treat him so. It 
 crushed his spirit to find out suddenly that 
 there was an element in the school that would 
 go to such an extent to prove its hostility. His 
 state was really pitiable. 
 
 " I'll go home to-morrow," he said to John. 
 " Nobody wants me here. Everybody seems to 
 hate me." 
 
 "Nonsense," said John, cheeringly ; " Sel- 
 frich and his gang are the meanest fellows in 
 Andover. They don't represent public opinion. 
 Nobody respects them. You're all right." 
 
 In this sensible way he gradually put Doc. 
 into a quieter state of mind. If boys would 
 only stop and think before they haze their vic- 
 tim what the effect would be on his mind as 
 well as his body, there would be less meanness 
 in schools. It is not strange that a sensitive 
 nature suddenly abused by a force that repre- 
 sents a cowardly average of five or ten to one,
 
 82 AN AUTUMNAL HAZE. 
 
 should mistake the scum for the deep current 
 of public opinion. 
 
 It was three o'clock in the morning when 
 John left. He had put the room to rights, so 
 that, save a few extra spots here and there, no 
 one could have suspected the onslaught. He 
 had watched the boy as a slight fever seemed 
 to pass over him ; and now Doc.'s slumber was 
 easy and natural. Nature had thrown off the 
 shock, and Doc. rested as peacefully as if he 
 had been the cleverest and the most popular 
 boy in school, instead of a plodding fellow who 
 never did the right thing in spite of superfluous 
 efforts, who never remembered what he tried 
 to learn, and who felt the doom of incapacity 
 settling slowly down upon him. Doc. slept, 
 and John, after a final look, crept back through 
 the rain to his own room to get a few hours' 
 rest. 
 
 When he opened the door and struck a match, 
 he started back thinking that he had gone into 
 the wrong room. But yes, it was Number Two, 
 and there was his card tacked upon the panel. 
 If Doc. Shelby's room was changed, John's was
 
 AN AUTUMNAL HAZE. 83 
 
 transformed beyond the most astute power of 
 recognition. The stove had disappeared. In 
 the center of the room was a heap of wood and 
 coal capped by books and pictures, thoroughly 
 drenched in water. The little rag carpet was 
 gone. The bedding was gone. The chairs 
 were gone. His trunk and clothes were gone. 
 The bedstead was piled in a conglomerate heap 
 upon the wash-bowl and pitcher, which were 
 cracked and broken. It was as complete a 
 wreck as if the Conemaugh River had swept 
 through from door to door. The windows were 
 open, but panes of glass were smashed, arid 
 stones in the room told the manner of the de- 
 struction. It was not hard to trace the vandal 
 hand. John was thoroughly discouraged and 
 disgusted. It was bad enough to sack a Mid- 
 dler's room, but for Seniors to attack a class- 
 mate's room was an unparalleled outrage. John 
 felt that it was more than he could bear. His 
 first impulse was to go straight to Uncle Jim 
 and tell him the whole story. Then he chuckled 
 to himself at the audacity of the job, and made 
 up his mind to brave it through.
 
 84 AN AUTUMNAL HAZE. 
 
 He soon found his lamp in the coal closet and 
 lit up the ruined scene. It is needless to say 
 that John worked the rest of the night. The 
 pictures were re-hung. The bed, table and 
 chairs were mended and put in their places. 
 The jagged panes of glass were carefully taken 
 out. When the first gleams of daylight came, 
 he made a systematic search for the rest of his 
 belongings. His stove was near by in the hall, 
 rusty with a good drenching, but otherwise un- 
 injured. This he polished up and put in place. 
 His bedding was rescued from the coal cellar 
 below. Other articles were soon discovered 
 waving from adjacent apple-trees. He worked 
 with a proud vim. At five he trotted down 
 town, roused up a glazier, got some panes of 
 glass and putty, and by half-past six his windows 
 looked better than ever before. His rag carpet 
 was swept, turned and tacked securely over the 
 puddle in the middle of the room. 
 
 By breakfast time his victory was complete. 
 No visitor could have suspected the tragedy of 
 the night before. John himself was as smiling, 
 as non-committal as you please. At prayers
 
 AN AUTUMNAL HAZE. 85 
 
 that morning all the boys looked at him curi- 
 ously, for Selfrich had well circulated the fact 
 of the catastrophe in John Strong's room. 
 
 When some asked him how he was and 
 whether his room were all right, John answered 
 briskly that as far as he knew everything was 
 straight. It is needless to say that his class- 
 mates were considerably puzzled as to the real 
 state of affairs. After the first recitation, when 
 John was looking out of his fresh windows he 
 saw Selfrich walking by with some of his 
 hangers-on, laughing uproariously. Then John 
 darted out as quickly as he could, stopped them 
 with a pleasant gesture and said : 
 
 " Halloo, Selfrich ! come in, all of you, and see 
 how nicely I am fixed. You have never given 
 me a call. Come in for a moment." 
 
 An interested crowd had collected. The 
 conspirators tried to beg off, but John insisted, 
 and they all went in, to a man. Everything 
 was in apple-pie order. Selfrich looked in vain 
 for evidence of his dastardly deed. His face 
 fell more and more as he perceived that John 
 had foiled him before so many fellows.
 
 86 AN AUTUMNAL HAZE. 
 
 " By the way, Selfrich," said John loudly, so 
 that all could hear, when they parted, " if you 
 hear any fellows saying that my room was 
 sacked last night, you can deny it, as you have 
 seen it for yourself. Good-by ! " 
 
 The crowd set up a regular yell. Boys ad- 
 mire pluck and good humor ; above all they 
 respect one when he gets out of a scrape with- 
 out telling his grievance to the Faculty or whin- 
 ing about it to the boys. They admire a cheerful 
 stoicism, and John captured his class that day 
 by his manly forbearance. They easily saw the 
 reason of his courtesy to Selfrich and applauded 
 his good-natured victory over the unpopular 
 bully. But when they heard later in the day 
 how Strong had protected Doc. Shelby, and 
 that Shelby could not leave his room in con- 
 sequence of his ill-treatment at the hands of 
 Selfrich, then enthusiasm for the lame boy 
 took a more permanent form. 
 
 So when the fall term had passed away, John 
 had a positive following in the class, not because 
 he went to prayer-meeting, though he did ; and 
 not because he proved a fair debater or a steady
 
 AN AUTUMNAL HAZE. 8/ 
 
 and almost brilliant scholar, for the mere "dig" 
 is never popular, but because he had proved 
 himself a downright manly fellow. 
 
 But Selfrich, as you will see, did not give up 
 the game so easily.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A PUSH AND A POSER. 
 
 WHAT is more dismal than a poor boy's 
 homeless vacation ? The Phillips 
 Commons are dreary enough at best : but to be 
 one of two or three lonely fellows trying to 
 make those dark hulks cheerful during the cold 
 Christmas holidays is an ordeal that requires 
 brave endurance. No one can fathom the 
 amount of silent suffering bottled up in the 
 heart of a boy struggling for an education 
 against poverty, physical misfortune, and a sen- 
 sitive nature. John Strong could not afford to 
 go home. Lambkin's family had the measles 
 six cases : so he stayed too. Thus it came 
 about very naturally that, after the friends had 
 eaten their late breakfast with solitary propriety 
 at the Senior table of the Milktoast Club, 
 where bread and potatoes had become food in- 
 88
 
 A PUSH AND A POSER. 89 
 
 stead of ammunition, they should grow chummy 
 in each other's rooms. The burly, irrepressible, 
 good humor that Lambkin possessed was a nat- 
 ural foil to Strong's finer temperament. 
 
 Andover had brought great changes to our 
 new Senior, but none surprised him so much as 
 a new feeling of physical hopefulness. At 
 times this swept over him like a great wave of 
 joy. The cripple, who had always looked upon 
 his lameness as a permanent affliction, began to 
 dream of sometime running like other boys. 
 These hopes came after he had tried the experi- 
 ment of walking to recitation without his heavy 
 stick. In spite of the fresh spasms of pain, and 
 the exhaustion, he felt that the time might soon 
 come when it could be done. One morning 
 after the invariable breakfast of oatmeal and 
 milk Lambkin said : 
 
 " Let's go to the Gym. and bowl." 
 Now John had shunned no spot more per- 
 sistently than the old gymnasium. It was 
 the place for athletes, and not for him. Why 
 add a fresh aggravation to life by witnessing 
 further exhibitions of other fellows' activity?
 
 QO A PUSH AND A POSER. 
 
 And so John answered with surprise and some 
 indignation : 
 
 " To the Gym. ? I to the Gym. ? Why, you 
 must be fooling." 
 
 " Not a bit of it. Why shouldn't you go ? " 
 
 " But what can I do ? It's no fun looking 
 on." 
 
 " Of course you don't know what you can do 
 without trying, old boy. Have you ever been 
 there ? " 
 
 " No, and " 
 
 "Well, come on. We'll have the old barn all 
 to ourselves. You can try to do something, and 
 if you make a dead flunk, I won't give you away." 
 
 So the two boys ploughed their way through 
 the choicest of Andover " corner drifts," up 
 Salem Street, until they stood panting before 
 the door of a forbidding brick building, com- 
 monly known to the boys as the " Gym." The 
 place was guarded by desolate and leafless trees. 
 Their limbs swayed and cracked under the load 
 of ice as the boys approached. 
 
 Lambkin swung open the door with a vigor- 
 ous push, and a damp, chilling, dusty breath
 
 A PUSH AND A POSER. 9! 
 
 which puffed out, did anything but encourage 
 the new athletic aspirant. The bowling alleys 
 opened before them, and chipped balls lay dis- 
 consolately along their gutters. On the left, the 
 stairs ascended to the upper story where the 
 leathern horse and the jumping board seemed 
 frozen to the floor. The dust alone rose to 
 greet these two with its usual hospitality. But 
 Lambkin glowed with the feeling of a gymnastic 
 sponsor. He put up the pins and John man- 
 aged to roll the balls merrily. Indeed, had 
 these young fellows not made pretty good time, 
 the unwarmed December dungeon would have 
 converted them into frozen nine-pins. Pretty 
 soon Lambkin produced a base-ball and made 
 John pitch. " This will act upon another set 
 of muscles," he said. 
 
 Now John's hands and arms, as is often the 
 case when another member is disabled, were 
 abnormally strong. He had hardly found it out 
 himself. John began awkwardly ; he had never 
 handled a ball before. He soon became inter- 
 ested. Bending forward or balancing himself 
 on his well right side he sent the balls so swiftly
 
 92 A PUSH AND A POSER. 
 
 that even Lambkin's capacious hands tingled as 
 he stopped and held the stinging missile. 
 
 " What a pitcher you are ! " said Lambkin, 
 looking towards Strong in amazement after sev- 
 eral minutes of vain wrestling with the ball. 
 " Where did you get it from ? " 
 
 John made no answer. The consciousness of 
 physical power came to the invalid lad with a 
 thrill that made him shiver. No well boy can 
 understand this. John looked across the dreary 
 building out of the high windows. It was be- 
 ginning to snow. To the end of his life he will 
 remember how that old gymnasium looked at 
 that moment. The gaunt, cobwebbed windows 
 revealed dead branches waving fantastically be- 
 fore the coming storm. John was silent and 
 did not answer Lambkin's question. He turned 
 his back. Lambkin came up, touched John 
 upon the arm, turned him about, and saw tears 
 in his eyes. 
 
 This memorable scene wa* the first of many 
 such, and the dawning possibilities of physical 
 achievement made this homeless vacation the 
 cheeriest memory of the lame boy's life.
 
 A PUSH AND A POSER. 95 
 
 But now the boys, the theologues, and the 
 Fern. Sems. had come back. Roger Mansfield's 
 penetrating whistle had recalled John Calvin to 
 his theological studies. This circumstance was 
 a great relief to the Hill. For John Calvin 
 had been left during the vacation with Mr. 
 Locks, who had put him faithfully to bed in the 
 cellar of the old chapel. There he had been 
 bolted in at night, and every morning Mr. Locks 
 was mightily surprised to find him mournfully 
 sitting on the stoop of Bartlett Hall looking 
 expectantly down the street for his master. 
 How did he get out ? The fact was, that when 
 night and loneliness came on, the dog began to 
 wail and howl to such an extent that sleep in 
 the neighborhood proved impossible. Unsanc- 
 tified terms were freely expressed by those 
 whose theology was above suspicion. The shiv- 
 ering theologues, such as were left, had taken 
 turns in slipping from their historic and wind- 
 rocked beds to steal down in sniall clothes and 
 let the dissenting member of the Seminary 
 loose. Things had come to such a pass that 
 Strong, responding to a deputation of desperate
 
 96 A PUSH AND A POSER. 
 
 citizens, had taken the dog to his own room. 
 His kindness was rewarded with the prompt 
 desertion of John Calvin through four panes of 
 glass when his master's whistle sounded from 
 the stage-coach in front of the Cheever House. 
 
 Perhaps John Calvin felt that he had been 
 guilty of a breach of hospitality, for the first 
 morning that the cousins met, the dog's abrupt 
 apology tossed John Strong into the furry snow. 
 
 " How are you, John ? Had a good vacation ? 
 He didn't mean it. It is a way he has. Charge, 
 Calvin ! Charge, I say, you brute ! You look 
 a different fellow. What's up ? " 
 
 The gay theologue had caught John on his 
 way from Uncle Jim's furnace to the recita- 
 tion room. The two stopped and shook hands 
 warmly while the dog conscientiously kicked 
 the snow with his hind legs all over them. 
 
 " Pretty fair ! I say it's lucky you came as 
 soon as you did, otherwise you'd have found a 
 dead dog or have been murdered yourself on 
 your return," laughed John. 
 
 The boy looked under-dressed beside the 
 great fur-lined ulster his Cousin Roger wore.
 
 A PUSH AND A POSER. 97 
 
 Mansfield noticed the glaring difference. His 
 hands were in fur ; John's were bare ; one 
 was hidden in a scant side pocket, while the 
 other held tightly to his stick. The blue shone 
 through at the knuckles, the purple at the tips 
 of the fingers. Roger's /ace dropped into sad- 
 ness, and a feeling of unworthiness came over 
 him. In an embarrassed way he answered : " O, 
 yes ; Calvin is a dreadful rogue always getting 
 me into trouble. Come and see me. Good-by." 
 John Strong, misunderstanding his cousin's 
 brusqueness, did not suspect that the sight of 
 his poverty and his pluck had touched a usually 
 nonchalant heart with a sense of shame. 
 
 " O-oh ! isn't it cold ? My room is cold as 
 an Esquimau's grave." Doc. Shelby was the 
 speaker. A great cake of snow thrown by 
 some fellow behind, had just landed on his coat 
 collar. He shook it off with a rueful gesture 
 towards the back of his neck down which a few 
 pounds, more or less, of slush were dribbling. 
 
 " Selfrich again ! " said John. " Don't look at 
 him, Doc. I'll brush it out of your neck."
 
 98 A PUSH AND A POSER. 
 
 The path was narrow. It had been ploughed 
 out, and the snow had been thrown up so that 
 it reached almost to the shoulders of the boys. 
 Three fellows came down arm in arm, and 
 would have elbowed the two into the drift had 
 not John straightened himself up and looked 
 threateningly at them, stick in hand. 
 
 " You fellers together again," sneered Self- 
 rich. "The owl and the bat ! I hear, Johnny, 
 you are going to sneak in on the nine, practic- 
 ing in the Gym. on the sly ! You'll pitch a fine 
 bow-legged curve. He looks like it, doesn't 
 he ? " 
 
 The other two boys seemed this time a bit 
 ashamed of their leader and didn't answer. As 
 they passed in single file, Selfrich fell to the 
 rear, and when he was opposite Doc. Shelby, the 
 Senior gave the Middler a tremendous shove 
 into the bank of snow. Doc. plunged head-first 
 in and sank out of sight, all but his legs. Self- 
 rich and the two ran on with loud laughter 
 while John, with stern, set mouth, picked the 
 floundering Middler up. 
 
 " Oh ! " Doc. gasped, " I thought he'd let me
 
 A PUSH AND A POSER. 99 
 
 alone this term. I'm so cold ! " He trembled 
 violently. His spectacles had been lost in the 
 snow, as well as his hat. His face was livid. 
 His prominent eyes stared helplessly. In a 
 stupid way he kept repeating, " Why did he 
 shove me ? Why did he shove me ? " 
 John saw that something must be done. Doc. 
 was evidently the worse for the tumble, more so 
 than the occasion demanded. Since he had 
 been hazed last term, Doc. Shelby had never 
 been the same lad. He had lost what the boys 
 called his " spunkiness." He became subdued 
 and suspicious. Only John Strong understood 
 that Doc.'s paleness and new hesitancy grew 
 from that hazing, the memory of which made 
 Doc. Shelby often shriek with fright as he 
 underwent the torture again in nightmare hor- 
 rors. But now he was suffering. It would not 
 do for him to go to class hatless or glassless ; 
 without his spectacles he was practically blind. 
 The blast blew cuttingly across the open field 
 and struck like flails upon face and hands. 
 How could Doc. face it uncovered ? John 
 glanced at the seminary clock. In five minutes
 
 IOO A PUSH AND A POSER. 
 
 the examination would begin the first and the 
 most dreaded one of the term. Uncle Jim 
 taught geometry, and he brooked no tardiness, 
 much less an absence, during his examinations. 
 John had " boned" like a Trojan for this special 
 ordeal. He would have been ashamed to fail 
 or even to stumble under Uncle Jim, and he 
 was looked upon both by the Principal and the 
 boys as the leader of the class in mathematics. 
 During the moment of decision a troop of Fern. 
 Sems. dressed in furs, with laughing, rosy faces, 
 came up the walk. John noticed that Selfrich 
 and his companions had bowed ostentatiously 
 to the girls, some of whom coquettishly waved 
 their muffs. John and Shelby stood aside to 
 let them pass. John had hastily undone a 
 tippet he had around his neck and was binding 
 it over Doc.'s chattering head. The last girl in 
 the line halted before the two boys. 
 
 " Come on, Elva ; what are you stopping 
 for ? " said her companion pettishly. 
 
 The girl's face was familiar to John, but she 
 seemed like a new girl now. He had never 
 seen her so near before. There were lines of
 
 A PUSH AND A POSER. IOI 
 
 sweetness in her face more marked than is 
 generally the case in so young a girl, but some- 
 thing in the cut of her features faintly recalled 
 to John one of his classmates. 
 
 " He looks hurt and cold," said a voice, flut- 
 tering with sympathy. Her eyes rested on John 
 as she spoke, with a look of unguarded approval. 
 
 " Yes, Miss," said John with great shyness. 
 "A fellow just knocked him into the bank 
 there. He's lost his hat and glasses and can't 
 see. He isn't very tough. It's shaken him up 
 pretty badly. He seems all chilled through." 
 
 " Here, put this cape on him." The girl 
 with a quick motion had flung off a sealskin 
 cape and handed it to John. She added hur- 
 riedly, " You can give it to my brother for me. 
 His name is Selfrich." 
 
 With another bright look at John and a pity- 
 ing one at Doc., she ran after the other girls 
 who greeted her with laughter and derisive 
 sympathy. 
 
 " What a sister to what a brother ! " thought 
 John, but he had no time to think anything 
 more about it then. Shelby was now shivering
 
 IO2 A PUSH AND A POSER. 
 
 madly. John flung the warm cape over his head 
 and hurried him to 2, 2, Latin Commons, which 
 boasted a fire that struggled to defy impetuous 
 draughts and open cracks. Shelby was cer- 
 tainly pretty sick. He had dressed that morn- 
 ing in a room without a fire. A Commons boy 
 can understand what that means ; no one else 
 can so well appreciate the necessity of thawing 
 a wash-bowl and a tooth-brush which persist in 
 freezing next to a red-hot fire in some of those 
 gaping rooms. The subsequent cold douche 
 and perhaps the outrage repeated by the same 
 old hazing gang had given Doc. a mental as 
 well as a physical shock, which, following right 
 upon a previous chill, threatened to become 
 serious. John had no time to spend with Doc. 
 now. He hurriedly put him in a chair before 
 the fire, turned on the draughts, shut the bed- 
 room door, and left him with a cheery : 
 
 " Now, Doc., you stay here until I come back ; 
 I'll fix you all right then and see that you get 
 excused." Then he hurried off to his examina- 
 tion, absent-mindedly taking up his geometry 
 as he left the room.
 
 A PUSH AND A POSER. IO5 
 
 It had long been a debatable question at 
 Phillips Academy whether it imparts a more 
 penetrating chill to face one of those old-fash- 
 ioned January blasts as it comes howling and 
 whistling up the valleys, ricochetting from build- 
 ing to corner and invariably playing the mis- 
 chief with noses and ears, or to face one of Uncle 
 Jim's mathematical examinations. John hurried 
 upstairs into the Senior room, Number 9, as fast 
 as his legs could carry him ; he was fully ten 
 minutes late. All eyes were raised in wonder 
 as he came in amid the intense hush which that 
 particular brain work demanded. Uncle Jim 
 had been pacing the floor and darting vivid 
 glances here and there to intercept a notorious 
 few from their innate tendency to " crib." Self- 
 rich was the most prominent among this cata- 
 logue of worthies. At the moment that John 
 quietly opened the door Uncle Jim was standing 
 with his back to it, contemplating a suspicious 
 pair of cuffs over which Selfrich was pulling 
 down his coat-sleeves carelessly, while he looked 
 everywhere else. The question as to how many 
 problems of Euclid can be transferred to a
 
 IO6 A PUSH AND A POSER. 
 
 square inch of laundry is alas ! not a new one 
 in this or other fitting schools. 
 
 The door bunted against the august Principal, 
 who replied with a threatening sound. This 
 was the first time that John Strong had opened 
 himself to the least of criticisms from his in- 
 structor and friend. The tide of favor toward 
 the struggling lad had been rising steadily in 
 Uncle Jim's mind. There are times when im- 
 pressions are so vague and volitions so intricate 
 that even the most conscientious man cannot, 
 for the life of him, tell why in his mind the 
 tide of good-will toward any one has reached 
 its height and is about to recede. Perhaps this 
 tardiness of John's became an unconscious turn- 
 ing point in the favor of his terrible Principal 
 which the good man would never have acknowl- 
 edged if he had been brought to face it. 
 
 " What, sir ? You, sir ? Late ? Ten marks, 
 sir. I am surprised. Take your papers," point- 
 ing at the desk, " and sit there on the front seat." 
 
 The severe forefinger indicated a vacant space 
 between Selfrich and another suspicious charac- 
 ter. The Doctor frowned upon the unfortunate
 
 A PUSH AND A POSER. IO/ 
 
 lad. Self rich gave an open sneer. But John 
 quietly took the front seat of disgrace and bent 
 to his writing. 
 
 There were five questions. These were put 
 upon the blackboard. The perfect mark on 
 each was twenty. Three at least must be an- 
 swered perfectly in order to pass. They were 
 anything but easy, and many of the boys were 
 staring stupidly from the window to the shield 
 of Achilles posed upon the wall. This was their 
 method of raising inspiration. 
 
 John pushed his book away from him when 
 he found that against the rules he had taken it 
 in. The edges of a card could be seen between 
 the leaves. John worked rapidly and success- 
 fully. He did not touch the book, nor need to. 
 Selfrich eyed that Euclid with longing. With 
 a mock gesture of disgust he adroitly threw a 
 paper over it. He then recollected himself, 
 with a superb unconsciousness reached for his 
 paper and managed to extract the card from the 
 geometry at the same time. Who could notice 
 the act when done by so accomplished a hand ? 
 When Selfrich examined his booty under cover 
 of his own work, a smile of satisfaction crept
 
 IO8 A PUSH AND A POSER. 
 
 over his evil face. Among the questions given 
 the last one was the hardest. It was an original 
 problem which had been explained to the class 
 at the previous recitation. It was very difficult 
 and intricate. Uncle Jim had asked each of 
 the class to prepare his own demonstration of 
 it. John, with his usual thoroughness, had 
 worked late and had finally solved the theorem. 
 Most of the boys had not thought that Uncle 
 Jim would be " mean enough " to bring up the 
 last lesson at this critical time. They had not 
 troubled themselves about it. But here it was, 
 to the astonishment and dismay of the whole 
 class. 
 
 John glanced cheerily at the blackboard. 
 The first four questions were quickly answered, 
 and now he blessed his stars for his evening's 
 work. Before the time was up he snapped his 
 fingers and gave his paper to the Principal who 
 regarded him more graciously. 
 
 When he finished his examination John was 
 at liberty to go. He hurried from the room to 
 his sick friend and forgot all about his book. 
 He did not suspect the storm that was to burst 
 upon him next morning.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WHO CHEATED ? 
 
 DOC. SHELBY was seriously ill, and 
 when John had returned, radiant from 
 his successful examination, he found the lad 
 alternating between hot fever and rigorous 
 chills. With the alacrity of a hospitable fellow, 
 John took his bed to pieces and moved it from 
 its place in the rear room to the study. This 
 apartment was barely large enough to accommo- 
 date the additional strain upon its resources. It 
 measured exactly twelve feet six by twelve feet ; 
 but it was a drawing-room compared to his 
 bedroom, which extended six feet nine inches 
 to the north and six feet seven and a half 
 inches east and west. John hurriedly put 
 Shelby to bed and hastened for the nearest 
 of the half-dozen village doctors. This disci- 
 ple of yEsculapius proved to be a young man 
 109
 
 HO WHO CHEATED? 
 
 with a vigorous constitution, who pronounced 
 Doc.'s indisposition " a cold induced by malaria 
 arid aggravated by exposure." He promptly 
 prescribed, quinine, three grains, three times a 
 day, and rest for a few hours, and left. 
 
 Thus began the first day of Doc.'s life in St. 
 John's Hospital. When he had recovered from 
 his attack of fever both of the boys looked for- 
 ward with a hope to a speedy release. John 
 had brought over Doc.'s clothes and bedding 
 and had installed himself in the second dimin- 
 utive bedroom which until now had only been 
 opened occasionally to inspect his half-empty 
 horse-hair trunk. 
 
 The next day shone brightly. True, John 
 had slept only a few hours. He had taken care 
 of Doc. during all his spare time up to eight at 
 night. The sick boy would hardly allow John 
 to take up a book. John had studied till twelve. 
 Then he crept into his cold bed. He was not 
 ashamed to kneel down first and pray for Doc. 
 Next morning he was up at six. Then came 
 Uncle Jim's furnace, breakfast, a few minutes 
 with Doc., prayers, and a recitation in geometry.
 
 WHO CHEATED ? ITT 
 
 As he walked into class he saw that the 
 boys regarded him with curious glances while 
 some turned away with looks of disappointment 
 and aversion. None spoke to him. He could 
 not help noticing with wonder the marked 
 change. When he entered, Selfrich whispered 
 loud enough for all to hear : 
 
 " See, the conquering hero comes ! " 
 The Senior class took their seats alphabeti- 
 cally. This was the morning when they were 
 to be seated according to examination rank. 
 John sat down quietly. He spoke to Lambkin, 
 The big fellow answered by stroking his side 
 whiskers, the only pair in the class, and looking 
 at John mournfully. 
 
 Let us step for a moment behind the scenes, 
 before the Academy bell rings, and the curtain 
 of events rolls up. 
 
 Selfrich had copied the difficult problem 
 which John had so arduously worked out from 
 the card he had "hooked." He had then 
 watched his opportunity and had slipped it back 
 again into John's book. This Selfrich pushed
 
 1 12 WHO CHEATED ? 
 
 along the seat near enough to John to be con- 
 cealed by the flaps of his overcoat as he was 
 looking the other way. 
 
 After the examination was over, and Uncle 
 Jim with a baleful smile had collected the papers 
 from the saddened boys and had left, Selfrich 
 broke out and said : 
 
 " You fellows know that I don't like that fel- 
 low Strong. It is because I always thought he 
 was a hypocrite. Now you see if his exami- 
 nation isn't perfect. Why ? The sly coon for- 
 got his book and there it is, and I'll bet stews 
 for the crowd that any one can open to the very 
 questions. I saw him open the book myself 
 under his overcoat. Nobody could see him but 
 me. I watched him like a cat. I haven't put the 
 job up this time. The book speaks for itself." 
 
 Some of the boys cried : 
 
 " Oh ! shut up, Selfrich ; can't you leave 
 Strong alone ? " while many listened and almost 
 believed. One fellow known by the nickname 
 of " Sunshine " cheerfully said : 
 
 " We'll be fair to the fellow. He's poor 
 enough and needs it. I'll look at the book."
 
 WHO CHEATED? 113 
 
 As he opened it the card fell out from a page 
 on which another examination problem was 
 printed. Sunshine scowled and said : 
 
 " If that Soup is such a hypocrite I for one 
 will cut him dead. I'd just as lief he'd crib as 
 not if he didn't set up to be so virtuous about 
 it." 
 
 How quickly in the unreasonable flurry of the 
 minute, boys will change a righteous opinion 
 based on facts ! 
 
 Selfrich did not lose his advantage. 
 
 " You fellows remember," he said cunningly, 
 " when the Depravity Professor's windows were 
 whitewashed and the town hose was found in 
 the street, and you," pointing to a laughing lad, 
 " were almost fired ? Well, who told ? They 
 say that Bow-legs found out and gave the whole 
 job away to Uncle Jim." 
 
 The boys were profoundly impressed with 
 this new view of Strong's character. They 
 separated, talking in groups, and before night 
 John was the most unpopular fellow in Phillips 
 Academy. All the ignominious offenses of the 
 term were quickly heaped upon his blemisl
 
 114 WHO CHEATED? 
 
 reputation. It is thus that a contemptible cur 
 can by his malignity influence scores of honest 
 fellows to suspect the honor of an unsullied 
 classmate. 
 
 A hush fell over the room. Uncle Jim stalked 
 in with more than usual noise and solemnity. 
 An ominous frown clouded his massive face. 
 The two furrows above his eyes looked dark and 
 deep. The boys were on the qui vive. Some- 
 thing uncommon was coming. Selfrich winked 
 from the class towards Strong as much as to- 
 say : " I told you so. He'll catch it at last." 
 
 The terrible disciplinarian waited for a few 
 moments until the bell stopped ringing, and then 
 casting a look around to see that all the places 
 were filled, began with deep tones of disgust : 
 
 " This examination is the most astonishing 
 exhibition of ignorance ever given in Phillips 
 Academy. Gentlemen, your ears ought to 
 tingle when I tell you that only one member of 
 the class has passed the ordeal with a perfect 
 mark. Mr. Strong, stand up, sir, and take your 
 seat at the head of the Senior class."
 
 WHO CHEATED? 115 
 
 John arose with his usual modesty. As he 
 did so, a hiss started along the seats. The 
 Principal sternly checked it with a vigorous 
 thump upon the desk. 
 
 " Let the gentlemen take their seats in the 
 following order." 
 
 He read off a list of names with lightning 
 rapidity. The boys took their seats as quickly 
 as possible. Only one was left standing in this 
 hubbub of readjustment. Selfrich looked ap- 
 pealingly at Uncle Jim, and with a visible fall- 
 ing off of his pertness and confidence said : 
 
 " Excuse me, sir, you omitted my name," 
 then he added with a complacent smile, "am 
 I conditioned ? " 
 
 The Principal regarded him with a new ex- 
 pression which was as yet uncatalogued among 
 those experienced by his pupils. One would 
 have sworn it to be a look of respectful admi- 
 ration, had not his pupils contracted and ex- 
 panded in a way that boded no good to the 
 hypocrite. Uncle Jim spoke in caressing tones. 
 
 " Mr. Selfrich, I have reserved a place for 
 you. Gentlemen," turning to the class, "only
 
 I 16 WHO CHEATED ? 
 
 two of you were able to solve the last problem 
 correctly. Mr. Selfrich is one of these." 
 
 The scholars noticed a peculiar emphasis on 
 Mister that made them stare. 
 
 "Mr. Selfrich," continued Uncle Jim suavely 
 "take this piece of chalk and write out your 
 remarkably original demonstration for the in- 
 struction of the class. Do you hear, sir? use 
 that blackboard ! " 
 
 Selfrich grew deadly pale. His hands shook. 
 Mechanically he took the chalk and tottered up 
 to the board. The class bent to watch the 
 unique sight of Selfrich teaching them exact 
 knowledge. Uncle Jim regarded him with a 
 smile in which sarcasm and contempt struggled 
 for the mastery. Selfrich began a diagram. 
 His memory refused even the barest outlines of 
 the one he so successfully stole. His arm fell 
 listlessly at his side. He stopped and breathed 
 hard. 
 
 " Perhaps you have forgotten the theorem. 
 Let me refresh your jaded memory." And the 
 Principal repeated slowly and with urbanity the 
 dreaded problem. By this time the boys began
 
 WHO CHEATED? I I/ 
 
 to suspect the game, although they did not 
 understand its full significance. 
 
 Self rich did not move. His back was to the 
 class. He wriggled his legs and bent his head 
 uneasily. His fingers scribbled aimlessly on 
 the board. 
 
 " I have forgotten it, sir ; I can't do it now." 
 
 The lad looked up with his old "cheek," de- 
 termined to brazen it out. He started to sit 
 down. 
 
 " Hold ! " thundered the Principal, " that is 
 impossible. No one can originate such a dem- 
 onstration and forget it in twenty-four hours." 
 Then with seeming kindness, " You are con- 
 fused, sir; try again." 
 
 The unhappy culprit did not stir. His eyes 
 glanced from blackboard to Principal. The 
 chalk fell from his nerveless fingers and clicked 
 upon the bare floor. He moved again towards 
 a seat. He could not imagine what was coming. 
 He cast a venomous glance of hatred at John 
 Strong, and then looked to the floor. 
 
 " Stop, sir ! " said the Principal, with such 
 force and distinctness that it sounded to Self-
 
 Il8 WHO CHEATED? 
 
 rich's confused mind like a pistol shot. "Stand 
 where you are, sir, for the present. Strong ! " 
 continued Dr. Tyler, turning towards John with 
 a milder expression, " go to the blackboard and 
 demonstrate to the class this theorem. You 
 were the only other scholar who solved it 
 correctly." 
 
 John started, blushing for very shyness at 
 being made so prominent. He was almost 
 ashamed of himself that he had worked it out. 
 He feared that perhaps he might fail at the last 
 moment. 
 
 " Yes, sir, I'll try." 
 
 The boy walked with tolerable erectness to- 
 ward the board. At first his diagram grew 
 slowly, then recovering his composure he drew 
 the figure with rapidity and precision. When 
 he had finished, Uncle Jim said curtly : 
 
 " Now demonstrate, sir ! " 
 
 That Senior class will never forget with what 
 wonderful rapidity John demonstrated his orig- 
 inal problem. Not a boy could follow its in- 
 tricacy. But when he ended triumphantly that 
 A B C = X Y Z and that therefore etc.
 
 WHO CHEATED? I IQ 
 
 Q. E. D., a murmur of admiration arose from 
 the boys, and a few feet stamped their unquali- 
 fied approval. 
 
 John turned to go to his seat. His face was 
 flushed with the elation of this achievement. 
 He was only a few feet from Selfrich, and the 
 class had full opportunity to note the nobility 
 and the modesty of the one, the vulgarity and 
 self-conceit of the other. 
 
 " Remain where you are, sir," said Uncle Jim 
 to John. The class started. The Principal 
 now arose slowly from his seat behind his desk. 
 Walking to one side he faced the two boys 
 diagonally, and the class at the same time. 
 Each lad watched his face breathlessly. The 
 stillness might have been that of a funeral. 
 Uncle Jim regarded the two before him and 
 then said, turning to the class : 
 
 " Gentlemen, the two students before you 
 not only wrote the theorem correctly in their 
 papers yesterday, but demonstrated it in the 
 same way by the very same letters and figures. 
 One demonstration might have been a photo- 
 graph of the other."
 
 I2O WHO CHEATED? 
 
 " He looked in his book ! " muttered Selfrich. 
 
 The Principal caught the words and turned 
 on the unfortunate lad like a tiger. 
 
 " You lie, sir ! Let me not hear another 
 syllable from you. I will tell you the facts. 
 When I saw Strong bringing his book in I 
 watched it. I noticed the card between the 
 leaves. I saw you" pointing with withering 
 scorn his talon-like fingers at Selfrich, "take 
 the card from the book. I saw you copy it. I 
 saw you put the card back. I saw you put the 
 book under Strong's elbow. I know that you 
 accused that honorable gentleman behind his 
 back, and before your classmates, of cheating. 
 Sir ! " Dr. Tyler towered above Selfrich who 
 now almost fell beneath his scorching eyes, 
 "sir, apologize to your superior ! " 
 
 Every heart in that room bounded. Boys in 
 other classrooms heard that roar and bent more 
 diligently to their work. Selfrich did not move. 
 He bent lower. His forehead, cheeks, ears and 
 neck paled. 
 
 " I command you to apologize ! " rang out the 
 imperious voice again.
 
 WHO CHEATED? 121 
 
 " Don't, please, sir, don't." 
 
 John Strong had touched Uncle Jim's arm. 
 But he might as well have tried to stop the 
 Corliss engine in its revolution. 
 
 Selfrich's voice now quavered a few undis- 
 tinguishable mutterings in which the word 
 " sorry " was heard. 
 
 " Now turn and apologize to the class ! " 
 
 Selfrich did not budge. The unhappy lad 
 shot a despairing look from the picture of the 
 ruined Coliseum to the tortured group above 
 the door, marked " Laocoonte." With a spin 
 Uncle Jim turned him about face. Selfrich 
 suffered horribly. His jaws emitted a few 
 words and then fell. 
 
 " Now, sir," continued the inexorable voice, 
 " I have watched you long enough. You are a 
 blot upon Phillips Academy. I have telegraphed 
 to your father." 
 
 At that moment a knock was heard at the 
 door. 
 
 " Here he is," continued Uncle Jim. 
 
 The dramatic tension was at its height. 
 John Strong opened the door. There walked
 
 122 WHO CHEATED ? 
 
 in a tall man with a face of such refinement and 
 sadness that the boys heaved a sigh of pity and 
 of sympathy. 
 
 With high-bred courtesy the gentleman bowed 
 to Uncle Jim. The Principal returned the salu- 
 tation with the fine indifference of a Diogenes. 
 
 " I am sorry that my son has disgraced his 
 honorable name," said the father distinctly to 
 the Principal. "Come, rny son." 
 
 What heart could resist such an appeal ? 
 Selfrich burst into tears, and sobbing like a 
 baby, the broken-hearted boy followed his 
 broken-hearted father out. Phillips Academy 
 knew him no more. 
 
 Of course his classmates did the handsome 
 thing by John. Uncle Jim was just in his own 
 estimation. The class meant to be. But John, 
 greatly moved, evaded the boys, and hurried 
 back to his room and to his sick friend.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A WINTER SPREE. 
 
 IT was a day or two after the dramatic expul- 
 sion of Selfrich. John was walking down 
 to the evening mail. Doc. Shelby was not jeal- 
 ous of these half hour tramps down the long hill 
 to the brick post-office and back, after supper. 
 The sick lad was always expecting the letter 
 that did not come. As for John, he received 
 but one letter a week ; that came from his 
 mother in Conacoot. He had not been down 
 for several days, and this was the day that the 
 letter was due. 
 
 John walked briskly for a lame boy. The cold, 
 clear air exhilarated him. Andover sidewalks 
 being systematically, and with good reasons, 
 avoided by her citizens at the season when they 
 are most needed, John walked down the hill in the 
 middle of the street. The hardened snow cracked 
 I2 3
 
 124 A WINTER SPREE. 
 
 under his step. It was the evening moon, and 
 sleighs rang their rapid way past him, some 
 polluting the purity of the night with an odor 
 of bad tobacco, while now and then a sleighing 
 party diffused in its wake the delicate scent of 
 rose or mignonette. This gave John an inde- 
 scribable longing. He did not fret because he 
 was not rich, but he would have liked to be able 
 to take a gay ride once in a while. And some- 
 how, when he looked up at these seal-skinned 
 ladies, enveloped in warm robes ladies whose 
 brilliant eyes stared pityingly perhaps upon 
 the awkward, scantily-dressed plodder, John's 
 thoughts involuntarily reverted to the snow- 
 drift scene, to Selfrich laughing at Doc.'s 
 shivering discomfiture ; then they rested upon 
 the gracious girl who handed him her cape, and 
 whose presence seemed to the single-hearted 
 lad like a delicate perfume. For the sake of 
 the sister John's heart began to warm towards 
 his fallen enemy. 
 
 It did not take long, but a little longer than 
 it would have taken the other boys, for John to 
 reach the post-office. He found his letter as he
 
 A WINTER SPREE. 125 
 
 had expected do not mother's letters always 
 come when they are expected ? and, being 
 still fresh, he started down toward and past 
 the town library. He was thinking in that 
 lazy, hazy way which we call a day-dream, 
 when he was awakened by the jingling of 
 bells, the hollow rattle of hoofs upon the 
 packed snow, the sliding of runners and a 
 sudden "Whoa, there sst ! " The sleigh 
 stopped a little beyond him. It was a large 
 one. It had three seats, and six Seniors occu- 
 pied them. John had not overheard the brief 
 discussion aroused in the sleigh by the sight of 
 him. 
 
 "Look ahead! There's Strong! See him 
 limp ! Yes, it's Strong ! " 
 
 " He'll tell of us, sure pop ! " 
 
 "No, he won't." Sunshine said this. "He 
 isn't that mean, I know." 
 
 " Let's take him with us so he can't," sug- 
 gested one of the fellows. " What fun to take 
 him along ! " 
 
 " He won't come," answered the first voice. 
 " I know him. Let's tell him we're out for a
 
 126 A WINTER SPREE. 
 
 short ride, and have got permission. That'll 
 fetch him, I'll bet." 
 
 It was too late to plot further. 
 
 " Halloo, Strong ! Is that you ? Jump in, 
 and take a ride ! " The call came cheerily. 
 John limped along and overtook the crowd. 
 The sky was cloudless. The moon was so 
 bright that she seemed to be conscious of it 
 and proud of it. Here and there a star was 
 seen, clear-cut and blushing like a girl watched 
 through an opera-glass. The atmosphere was 
 crystal. It was an evening in a thousand. The 
 impatient horses pawed the snow and tossed 
 their heads with an aristocratic gesture, as if 
 they had never seen the stalls of a livery stable. 
 The sleigh-bells tinkled merrily. 
 
 John flushed at the courteous invitation. He 
 was not one of the kind of boys who receive 
 such attentions from classmates. The novelty 
 touched him. It made his heart beat fast. 
 But, as he looked again at the party, he noticed 
 that the two boys on the front seat were Self- 
 rich's most intimate friends. 
 
 He felt a recoil at this discovery. Then, it
 
 A WINTER SPREE. I2/ 
 
 was not his crowd. These were the rich, the 
 careless, one might say the "fast" fellows. 
 Why should they ask him ? John heaved a 
 sigh of disappointment. 
 
 " I'm sorry, but I must go back soon." 
 
 " But we'll take you back. You're not afraid 
 of us ? " John stood irresolute. Where was 
 the harm ? Surely none. 
 
 " It sha'n't cost you a cent," said another fel- 
 low, with a perceptible sneer. This stung the 
 poor boy bitterly. 
 
 " Oh ! come along. I'll see that you get home 
 all right." Sunshine spoke carelessly, yet with 
 a shade of real kindliness in his voice. He was 
 the most respectable boy in the sleigh. John 
 was almost persuaded. 
 
 " We've got permission from Uncle Jim. 
 We'll be back by the first study bell." 
 
 The party in the sleigh preserved an uncom- 
 fortable silence at this audacious lie from the 
 front seat. The horses began to be restless in 
 the cutting cold. John took a step toward the 
 sleigh. Evidently the boys wanted him to go. 
 He wondered why. How could John suspect
 
 128 A WINTER SPREE. 
 
 them ? And of what ? He slowly climbed into 
 the back seat beside Sunshine ; and the party, 
 with a cautious look in all directions, that to a 
 trained observer would have indicated a minus 
 quantity of official permission, started ahead, 
 down the hill, over the railroad bridge, on the 
 road to the city of Lawrence. 
 
 John yielded to the fascination of his position. 
 It was the first sleigh-ride he had taken that 
 year. The road was in rare condition, and the 
 horses went at a rattling pace. At first, John 
 sat silently. He was drinking in vigor and life. 
 He seemed entranced. John was thoroughly 
 happy. He forgot his poverty, his lameness, 
 his struggles, everything in the physical exuber- 
 ance of the moment. It does not take much to 
 confer happiness upon a poor boy. A ride will 
 often give more lasting enjoyment than a five- 
 dollar bill ; an invitation to join a home circle is a 
 pleasanter memory than a cast-off coat. But 
 suddenly John roused himself with a start. 
 His eyes that had been open without perceiving, 
 now saw. The moon was higher on his right. 
 They had not turned. They were going away
 
 A WINTER SPREE. I2Q 
 
 from Andover. It must have been nearly half- 
 past seven. John began to grow very uncom- 
 fortable. As yet, he suspected no deceit. He 
 thought that the boys were very careless. Yet 
 he could not blame them much the night was 
 so fine. He was about to speak, when a puff of 
 smoke from a cigarette blew into his face and 
 almost choked him. One can hardly expect a 
 fastidious fellow to be otherwise than nauseated 
 with the vile breath of a cigarette. There is no 
 more disagreeable polluter of God's pure air 
 than this sickly combination of stale tobacco and 
 medicated paper. As John turned his face to 
 breathe, he heard a whisper from the front 
 seat. 
 
 The words cannot be repeated upon these 
 pages. John caught them imperfectly and 
 confusedly. He was as innocent as any well- 
 brought-up boy should be. This clean lad sim- 
 ply did not understand what he overheard, but 
 it set him to thinking ; and thought stimulated 
 distrust of his companions. Perhaps these fellows 
 were going to make a call or so, and their game 
 was to take him along, too. That they were not
 
 I3O A WINTER SPREE. 
 
 going to turn back soon, did not occur to him. 
 "Very probably," he thought, "they are taking 
 me a long way round to fool me." He was just 
 going to speak for the second time, when the 
 driver said distinctly to his companion : 
 
 " Say, I'm not going to treat to-night. Some 
 other chap's got to. You'd better go it easy 
 this time. You lose your head too quick." The 
 sleigh was speeding now on the South Lawrence 
 road. John felt that it was time to say some- 
 thing. 
 
 " Look here, fellows ! Aren't you ready to 
 turn around ? It's later than you think." 
 
 " That's all right, Strong," said one, in as re- 
 assuring a tone as he could muster. "We'll 
 turn around soon." 
 
 John relapsed into silence again, and occupied 
 himself in evading the noxious smoke that would 
 blow in his face. He was now thoroughly un- 
 happy. How would Doc. Shelby stand this long 
 neglect ? Besides, Uncle Jim's furnace must be 
 attended to. John's routine was to shake the 
 furnace down before supper, put on the coal 
 and shut it up at nine o'clock.
 
 A WINTER SPREE. 13! 
 
 The horses were now urged to their topmost 
 speed. Every minute bore the sleigh a fifth of 
 a mile further from Latin Commons. Every 
 minute added to John's desperation. Yet he 
 was too modest to insist. He was still too 
 trustful to suspect the crowd of concerted and 
 outrageous lying. 
 
 "I guess we're safe to-night," hazarded one 
 with an exultant laugh. Sunshine had not as 
 yet said a word. He smoked a good cigar, and 
 John mentally thanked him for that slight con- 
 sideration. Pretty soon the first two seats 
 broke into a song. A feeling of liberty which 
 may be catalogued by the word license swept 
 like a tide over them. The thousand eyes of 
 Lawrence now blinked before the party. " We 
 won't go home till morning ! " sang the boys 
 with spiteful gusto. John waited until the 
 mutilation of this good old song had been 
 accomplished, and then firmly asked : 
 
 "How soon are you fellows going to turn 
 back ? " 
 
 " We won't go home till morning ! " came the 
 mocking answer.
 
 132 A WINTER SPREE. 
 
 " I will know when you are going to turn 
 back." John spoke at white heat. Their game 
 had lasted too long for him. 
 
 " You will, will you ? " The front seat now 
 threw off its mask. "We're not going back 
 until we're ready. What'll you take when we 
 get to Lawrence ?" 
 
 " One beer," answered another, with a jeer. 
 
 Now, at last, John Strong saw the trap into 
 which he had so easily stepped. 
 
 "Whip up the steeds! We've got him this 
 time ! " yelled the second seat exultingly. 
 
 They had now come to the outskirts of South 
 Lawrence. John was speechless for a moment 
 with rage and mortification. He had heard 
 vague rumors of Lawrence dissipations. Some 
 of the boys in the sleigh had been pointed out 
 to him as fast fellows. But how much did he 
 know of what that meant ? Almost as little, 
 still, as he had in his mother's country home. 
 How should he guess that these, his classmates, 
 in the English department, were avenging them- 
 selves on him for the expulsion of Self rich ? 
 How should he know that this sleigh was bound
 
 A WINTER SPREE. 133 
 
 for a black spree ? Surely, it was only a madcap 
 lark ? How could it be anything worse ? 
 
 " You stop this sleigh ! " It seemed to John 
 that his body would burst to pieces with 
 indignation. 
 
 His chin quivered. His hands were clinched, 
 and cold shiverings chased each other up and 
 down his spinal cord. Was it coming to a 
 fight or what ? 
 
 " Not a bit of it. Hold him, fellows ! " 
 
 This was too much for John. He arose from 
 his seat ; but his companion pulled him back. 
 It was evident that the crisis of that sleigh-ride 
 had come. 
 
 There may be some readers who will criticise 
 this scene as being exaggerated beyond the pos- 
 sibility of fact. But none will do so who are 
 intimate with the life of a great fitting school. 
 There the instinctive uprightness of one boy 
 will arouse the combatativeness of another, and 
 the looseness of a few, the scorn of the ma- 
 jority. There hundreds of homes furnish hun- 
 dreds of characters. Such an incident as we 
 are recording is no peculiarity of Andover,
 
 134 A WINTER SPREE. 
 
 which holds herself high in the moral scale of 
 important schools. 
 
 John Strong was for the first and only time 
 in his Andover career, brought face to face with 
 the grosser features in that element that goes 
 to make up the dark statistics of class history. 
 Remove the restraint of home obedience, and it 
 takes good training and good manliness, espe- 
 cially when one's parents are rich, not to give 
 in to the temptation of dressing loudly, swagger- 
 ing ridiculously, running up questionable bills 
 recklessly, and of imitating in speech and man- 
 ners the vices of men. There is no more con- 
 temptible sight than a boy aping the dissipa- 
 tions of a society club-man. These brilliantly- 
 plumaged birds are found in every class, in every 
 large fitting school and college. These were 
 the madcaps of the Senior class, these boys in 
 the sleigh. Andover was not proud of them. 
 Had Uncle Jim only caught them on the road, 
 the last moon had risen for them in that pure 
 village. 
 
 But John's fight was not a moral one. What 
 had he to do with them ? He wanted to get
 
 A WINTER SPREE. 135 
 
 home, finish his work, nurse Doc., study his 
 lessons, and go to bed. He was not tempted 
 by a Lawrence spree. What was the fun in 
 skulking to besmirch one's life ? These boys 
 did not realize his position. It was a careless 
 frolic for them, but they had found their match 
 in their new classmate. 
 
 "I insist," blazed John, "you shall let me 
 out ! It is my right. I insist upon my right." 
 
 " Right ? " sneered the driver from the front 
 seat ; but he checked his horses to a slower 
 gait. " What rights have you here ? You 
 don't pay for this team ! " 
 
 " At least," answered John, firmly and plainly 
 this was his last resort "I have the right 
 to report this sleigh-ride. I have never done 
 such a thing, but I might if you forced me to it." 
 His tone took on a resolute sternness. The 
 boys had gone too far. and they knew it. The 
 two front seats whispered together. The horses 
 were now walking. John arose again. 
 
 "Look here, Strong," came the reluctant sug- 
 gestion, " if you will keep mum, we'll put you 
 down at the South Lawrence Station. There'll
 
 136 A WINTER SPREE. 
 
 be a train down at nine or so. Pete will take 
 you up to your room. Tell him to hang it up 
 on me.'' 
 
 The sleigh was only a little distance from the 
 station. The clocks now struck eight sober 
 strokes from the towers in the city. But John 
 had made up his mind not to go another step 
 with a crowd he could neither respect nor trust. 
 He answered authoritatively : 
 
 " You either turn right back home, or stop 
 this sleigh immediately. I will get out here and 
 walk back." 
 
 "But you can't walk!" sneered one of the 
 fellows. 
 
 " Stop this sleigh or" The sleigh stopped. 
 Sunshine helped the lame boy out. 
 
 John stood still on the frozen snow, facing 
 the uncomfortable crowd. His features were 
 blanched with emotion and gleaming in the 
 white moonlight. The other fellows wondered 
 dully what it was he looked like, but Sunshine 
 thought of Sir Galahad at the court of the great 
 king. 
 
 " Look here, Strong, you won't peach, will
 
 A WINTER SPREE. 
 
 you? The train will take you back all right." 
 So said one of Selfrich's cronies. It did not 
 occur to the "well-off" boy that John had not 
 in his pocket ten cents with which to pay the 
 railroad fare to Andover. 
 
 " No," answered John proudly ; " no, I don't 
 tell tales ; but I wish you fellows would go back. 
 I don't think you'd be sorry." 
 
 But this jarred on the wrong nerve. A fan- 
 cied manhood was at stake. Only "softies" 
 give up. 
 
 " Whoop her up ! " cried the driver impa- 
 tiently. John turned and set his face toward 
 home. How could he, who had never walked 
 more than two miles, walk those slippery four ? 
 
 The boys could not help looking after him, 
 try as hard as they might. As he limped away, 
 slowly, putting a widening line of light and snow 
 between himself and them, he had a strange 
 look. If the fellows had been reading boys, they 
 would have thought of the boy-angel in Charles 
 Lamb's beautiful story, "who goeth lame and 
 lovely." 
 
 Now to Sunshine this scene meant something:
 
 138 A WINTER SPREE. 
 
 more than it did to his companions. To him 
 there had come the rapid fire of a new conflict. 
 He was not fast only too fond of fun. This 
 was his first spree of the kind. John's stand 
 was a revelation of will to him. He wished 
 that he had been as firm himself. He was 
 thoroughly ashamed of his companions he 
 was manly enough for that but like most 
 boys, he was too cowardly to stand up for the 
 unpopular. He had not come to the aid of his 
 lame classmate. He did not abuse him, but he 
 had kept silent. But now an opportunity urged 
 him. His chivalry could not allow John to go 
 home alone. How the fellow looked in the 
 moonlight, limping off, solitary and sad! What 
 was to be done ? The horses dashed ahead. 
 To wait, was to lose the chance. With a great 
 leap, the athlete bounded from the sleigh to 
 the frozen ground. He slipped and fell ; but 
 jumped lightly to his feet again. He was not 
 hurt, only bruised a little. John hurried back 
 to him. The sleigh stopped. 
 
 " What's the matter, Sunshine ? Aren't 
 you ?"
 
 A WINTER SPREE. 139 
 
 " I'm going home with Strong," interrupted 
 Sunshine brusquely. 
 
 " But we got up the party for you. We're 
 going to show you the sights to-night." 
 
 The driver spoke moodily, with a coarse allu- 
 sion, and an oath. Sunshine's answer came 
 back now manfully enough : 
 
 " I've seen enough for one night. I won't 
 go. I'll never go with you. You can go alone. 
 Come along, Strong ! We'll go back." 
 
 The two turned their backs abruptly upon 
 the party, and struck directly homeward. The 
 sleigh started, stopped. A few jeers and taunts 
 were hurled out in a bravado tone. Then the 
 sleigh dashed ahead who knew where ? 
 
 " But you needn't have done it for me, Sun- 
 shine," said John, after the jingle had died away. 
 
 " Look here, old fellow, don't say another 
 word ! I did it for myself." 
 
 The two boys walked as briskly as John could 
 for a short distance. Neither spoke. They 
 passed a lighted house with a barn behind it. 
 An old man was going to the barn with a pail 
 of something.
 
 I4O A WINTER SPREE. 
 
 " I don't think I can walk all the way home. 
 What shall we do ? " asked John sadly. 
 
 "You just stay here a minute," answered 
 Sunshine, " I've got an idea and plenty of cash 
 in my pocket. I'll get the old man here to 
 hitch up and take us back. He'll be glad to 
 make a couple of dollars, and we'll get back by 
 nine." 
 
 It was said and done. The old gentleman 
 had an old horse and an old carry-all on runners, 
 and Sunshine had some new bills. The boys 
 clambered into the carry-all, and sat silently. 
 Both were busy with their own thoughts. John 
 hoped to get back in time for Uncle Jim's 
 furnace and to save Doc. a bad night ; Sun- 
 shine knew that he would be laughed at next 
 day. But he could stand that ; he was popular. 
 He was glad that it was as it was. 
 
 As the horse groaned up the beginning of 
 the long hill from Frye Village, a thundering 
 sound was heard behind. The old man's team 
 turned timidly to one side, and the two boys 
 crouched deep in the back seat out of sight, as 
 a familiar sleigh with five boys and two dashing
 
 A WINTER SPREE. 14! 
 
 horses rattled past. Was it conscience, or ex- 
 ample, that drove this reckless crowd back so 
 soon ? 
 
 " Perhaps they'll take ye the rest of the way," 
 suggested the weary old man, not relishing a 
 longer ride with his stupid party. 
 
 " No, they won't. You can't catch them," 
 said Sunshine. " You take us to the top of 
 Andover Hill as I bargained, and I'll pay." 
 
 The driver grumbled into acquiescing silence 
 and revenged himself by coughing and muttering 
 and walking his horse all the rest of the way. 
 
 When they got out opposite the brick Acad- 
 emy, at the meeting of the two streets, it was 
 not yet nine o'clock. After the old man and 
 his vehicle had creaked away towards Lawrence, 
 Sunshine drew near John to say good-night. 
 
 "John Strong," he said with evident emotion, 
 " you're as innocent as a girl. Do you know 
 what you got me out of ? If you don't, I won't 
 tell you. Good-night. You're a good fellow, 
 and I'll say so to anybody. Good-night."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE LEVEE. 
 
 THE air in the Senior class had been con- 
 siderably purified by the summary dis- 
 missal of Selfrich. John Strong had become 
 prominent and popular, as much for his manly 
 modesty as for his ability. This was especially 
 true among the Middle class men, when they 
 found out that Shelby was being nursed by a 
 Senior, and that the Senior was having a hard 
 time of it. John Strong was really ignorant 
 of the extent to which he was discussed. He 
 was too busy to think of himself. Had it not 
 been for Father Lambkin he would have given 
 out. To keep his rank, nurse Doc., and earn his 
 living, was almost too much for the lame Senior. 
 Yet he stood to his duty uncomplainingly. 
 
 The long winter tern!, as every one knows, 
 determines the final rank of the graduating 
 142
 
 THE LEVEE. 143 
 
 class. The stand one loses in this term can 
 never be made up in the spring. What with 
 his first-division Latin, and his Iliad, his Greek 
 and Latin composition which every Senior 
 who is not a genius or a fool dreads more than 
 he would a letter home from Uncle Jim what 
 with geometry and "trig.," physics, essays and 
 elocution, term examinations and reviews, life 
 was a rub to John. It is a high excellence of 
 Phillips that it makes its students work whether 
 they will or no. Lambkin fairly dragged Strong 
 by force to the gymnasium once a day and made 
 him pitch. This was his only rest and amuse- 
 ment. And John put his whole soul into this 
 exercise, realizing that upon it depended his 
 lease of courage as well as of strength. 
 
 It became quite a sight in the old Gym. to see 
 John play ball. The awkwardness attendant 
 upon his necessary lameness, due to the short- 
 ness of his left leg, was overlooked by the 
 spectators and often forgotten by John himself. 
 Many of the movements that at first had given 
 him excruciating pain soon became bearable 
 and finally exhilarating.
 
 144 THE LEVEE. 
 
 There he stood at the upper end of the long 
 alley ; Lambkin faced him below. The cob- 
 webbed, grated windows shed a cold gleam 
 upon John's flushed face and his sparkling eyes, 
 which at those times lighted with more than 
 ordinary intentness and enthusiasm. There he 
 stood in his gray flannel shirt manfully sup- 
 pressing any signs of those painful twitches 
 that darted through his body as he played. 
 There he pitched, feeling that with every agony 
 a cord was broken that bound him to the physi- 
 cal inertness he had endured since memory re- 
 corded a bedridden childhood. This exercise 
 seemed the peculiar remedy adapted to his case, 
 and the brave boy was literally battling for the 
 vigor of life against what doctors had pro- 
 nounced a hopeless spine. Which one of you 
 boys, who jumps and runs without a thought, 
 can understand this desperate struggle to over- 
 come a desperate disease and to attain the spring 
 of life ? While most of the fellows thought 
 John only pitched to pitch, Lambkin under- 
 stood that it was a duel between the base-ball 
 and the crutch. The skill developed came as a
 
 THE LEVEE. 145 
 
 cheery attendant upon this heroic treatment, 
 and an astonishing in-curve that made the boys 
 whistle, meant to John the resurrection of so 
 much dead tissue into natural activity. This 
 was not athletics for fun or fame. It was the 
 battle for health. 
 
 One thing puzzled John considerably after 
 Selfrich went. It was the young lady's cape. 
 There it lay in his room, done up in brown 
 paper with a string. The very knot of the 
 string and the color of the wrapper seemed to 
 reproach him. The thermometer was, as usual, 
 below, and naturally the owner might want her 
 furs. The very fact of her being Selfrich's 
 sister made it doubtful whether it were proper for 
 him to call. His difficulty was solved in this wise. 
 
 Three days after she had given it to him, he 
 had plucked up his courage, had taken the 
 bundle and had trudged along down School 
 Street to the enchanted grounds. He paused 
 before the fence that protected from the mascu- 
 line world the sacred inclosure of Abbot Fe- 
 male Seminary, better known to all Andover
 
 146 THE LEVEE. 
 
 as the " Fern. Sem." Being somewhat puzzled 
 which of the four buildings to choose, he natu- 
 rally took to the nearest, a small brown cottage. 
 The bolts of paradise were shot, and the door 
 opened, perhaps, an inch and a quarter. The 
 person on the other side was no angel, but a 
 servant who had come from the West and had 
 been at the institution only long enough to get 
 into the spirit of the place. 
 
 "Is Miss Selfrich in ?" stammered John, per- 
 spiring profusely. This modern Miss Peter 
 yielded him not a hair's breadth of the door. 
 She regarded him critically with one large dis- 
 dainful eye and ejaculated: "Be you a minister ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Be you a missionary ? " 
 
 "N-no." 
 
 " Be you a theologue ? " 
 
 "N-n-no." 
 
 " Well ! Be you anything to her ? " 
 
 "N-n-n-no!" with a mournful shake of the 
 head. 
 
 "Then you can't see her;" and the door was 
 slammed in his despairing face.
 
 THE LEVEE. 147 
 
 The question was what to do next. He didn't 
 like to mention his failure to Lambkin. He 
 thought seriously of applying to Uncle Jim for 
 advice, but feared he knew not what. Doc. 
 was too sick to be consulted. Some Gordian 
 knots are cut by war, some by peace, some by 
 marriage and some by death. This one was 
 shattered by a dog. 
 
 John Calvin was no ordinary dog. Leaving 
 out of the question the necessary education that 
 must accrue from attendance upon a variety of 
 dog-matic lecture courses, he had a large bump 
 of intelligence and responsibility peculiarly his 
 own. John Calvin, like some poets, was born 
 great ; and circumstance thrust additional no- 
 toriety upon him. He had a number of tricks 
 which he was altogether too ready to perform. 
 
 Now the time had come for John Calvin to 
 distinguish himself in Andover. His method 
 of doing so has made him historic in that town. 
 Fully to explain the circumstance we should say 
 that John Calvin was in the habit of taking 
 upon his shoulders most of his master's social 
 obligations. To call upon all of Mr. Mansfield's
 
 148 THE LEVEE. 
 
 young lady friends Calvin considered the first 
 of canine duties. In Roger's absence he paid 
 visits of his own accord and alone, with pains- 
 taking and embarrassing regularity. Now this 
 very social theologue, Mr. Mansfield, frequently 
 called upon four or five different young ladies 
 in the same evening. Calvin, being a great 
 beau, always came in for his full share of the 
 parlor conversations. The town recalls with 
 amusement that during the last vacation Calvin 
 began at the foot of the hill and worked up to 
 the Professor's quarters without omitting one 
 of his master's young lady acquaintances. He 
 would make on the average eight calls a day, 
 and he scratched and howled at the doors of 
 Fem. Sems. and Professors alike until they were 
 forced for very shame to let him in. 
 
 While Strong was contemplating the bundle 
 containing that fur cape, a scratching was heard 
 at the door, accompanied by a short, sharp, im- 
 patient yelp. Doc.'s face brightened up. He 
 was unutterably weary of lying there. He had 
 begun to tire of the Samaritan Society, a com- 
 mittee of whose members had, in the most deli-
 
 THE LEVEE. 151 
 
 cate and unobtrusive manner, paid him visits at 
 the rate of one a day. Andover is a very 
 charitable place, and her ladies do not neglect 
 suffering students. There is not, perhaps, a 
 fitting-school to be found, where a sick boy will 
 receive more attention from the townspeople. 
 
 Calvin bounced in with his usual exuberance. 
 He hopped upon Doc.'s bed and licked his face 
 and bespattered the clean sheets. John Strong 
 dragged him down. At this Calvin gave him a 
 reproachful look, but continued to lap Doc.'s 
 hand as it hung over the side. 
 
 Then Calvin made a tour of inspection to see 
 if everything were natural. When he came to 
 the brown paper package he stopped and gave 
 it an interrogative sniff. He walked away 
 sedately, but soon returned and eyed it with 
 suspicion. John Strong, who had greeted Cal- 
 vin courteously, was studying with his back to 
 the scene. Doc. watched the dog with absorb- 
 ing interest. Pretty soon Calvin hunted up a 
 ball and laid it first at John's feet to tempt 
 him. John continued absorbed. Then the pa- 
 tient guest laid the ball upon John's lap, poking
 
 152 THE LEVEE. 
 
 the book away with his wet nose. John put 
 the ball down and continued his work. Now 
 Calvin felt abused and became impatient. Tak- 
 ing the ball in his mouth he bent down upon 
 his fore haunches and growled and danced about 
 in his most playfully enticing form. 
 
 John studied on. 
 
 Calvin laid down the ball. Cocking his ears 
 up and with a sidewise winking motion of the 
 head he walked around John, regarding him 
 with interest. He lay down at the young man's 
 feet for a moment, licked his boots without at- 
 tracting attention, and then finally gave it up. 
 He now turned and looked for other game. 
 
 In an unlucky moment Calvin rediscovered 
 the brown paper parcel. It did not take long to 
 poke it with his nose from the chair on to the 
 floor. At the fall Calvin stopped and looked at 
 John for instructions. None came. The young 
 man was still oblivious. John Calvin, thinking 
 it all right, now tore the paper in shreds and 
 when he came upon the fur his joy knew no 
 bounds. With a sound like a snort, a gurgle 
 and a bark combined, he threw the cape in the
 
 THE LEVEE. 153 
 
 air, raised himself up on his hind legs and 
 caught it in its downward career. Calvin 
 played with the cape like a cat, making all the 
 noises and motions that owners of a dog know 
 well. He worried it, tossed it, dragged it, 
 dropped it, and finally in his overflow of joy 
 gave a resonant bark. Doc. could no longer 
 control himself ; he laughed as loudly as his 
 weakness permitted. Then John Strong awoke 
 from his study and surveyed the ruin. 
 
 " Come here, sir ! Drop it ! DROP IT ! " he 
 cried in horror. Calvin, obeying none but his 
 master, and considering this an invitation to 
 play tag which indeed had come better late than 
 never, now entered into the spirit of the chase. 
 He approached the lad and then whisked away 
 with a bark of ecstasy. In vain John yelled ; 
 Calvin only dodged the quicker and held the 
 tighter to his prize. The chase became excit- 
 ing. Now the dog shot under the bed. Now 
 he jumped over. Crash went a lamp ; down 
 came a book-case. The room rocked and the 
 house reverberated. 
 
 " Shut up, down there ! " yelled a student
 
 1 54 THE LEVEE. 
 
 from above, vigorously stamping his feet upon 
 the floor. 
 
 At last John had cornered the dog. He bent 
 to grasp the precious cape, when Calvin with a 
 growl and a spring cleared him, upsetting the 
 youth with a mighty crash upon the floor. Cal- 
 vin fairly danced with orthodox glee ; bits of fur 
 were seen frothing at his mouth. At the last 
 fall the door opened impetuously. A visitor be- 
 gan speaking, but was cut short by Calvin's 
 dashing out. The dog felled the young tutor 
 at the door with his first bound and disappeared. 
 
 To dash on one's hat in order to follow the 
 thief was the work of a moment. When John 
 turned he observed a strange pallor on Doc.'s 
 face. The excitement had proved too much for 
 the sick boy. Doc. had fainted. 
 
 While John was restraining his impatience 
 as best he could, and with the tutor's help was 
 restoring the sick lad, Calvin was seen to fly 
 past the school building. Snowballs followed 
 him from all sides. Some of the fellows gave 
 chase when they saw the fur in his mouth. 
 The Newfoundland dodged everybody and con-
 
 THE LEVEE. 1 55 
 
 tinued his flight down School Street. As he 
 neared the Fern. Sem. his pace decreased. A 
 feeling of shame seemed to overtake him. His 
 exhilaration gave place to a downcast expres- 
 sion. His tail dropped. His ears fell ; but he 
 still clung in a dogged way to his prize. When 
 he came in front of those mysterious buildings, 
 from sheer force of habit he turned to a familiar 
 door, and huddled up against it. Mr. Roger 
 Mansfield might call on half a dozen young 
 ladies in an evening, but the dog knew, if no- 
 body else did, where he stayed the longest. 
 
 Calvin whined and scratched. The girl from 
 the West peeked through a crack in the door, 
 gave a joyful squeak when she saw the dog, and 
 then looked about for its owner. Calvin stalked 
 in with a tired look and laid the dilapidated fur 
 cape down with a distinct air of apology. 
 
 Next day John Strong received a delicately- 
 scented note which ran as follows. The shock 
 it gave him was nothing less than galvanic. 
 
 MR. STRONG : 
 
 Dear Sir, I thank you for so promptly sending me the 
 cape. It came safely to hand and we kept the messenger to 
 tea. Very truly, ELVA SELFRICH.
 
 1 56 THE LEVEE. 
 
 What could John do ? He hardly dared to 
 show his face in the street. It was not long 
 before the joke was out. John's sensitiveness 
 was sorely tried. Like many a boy ignorant of 
 the ways of society, he made matters worse by 
 his excessive shyness. He could not summon 
 his courage to write a letter of apology and 
 explanation. 
 
 It might have been ten days after Calvin's 
 memorable visit to the Fern. Sem. that a great 
 event happened in Andover. This was the first 
 Levee of the season. The majority of the citi- 
 zens and aliens of this country may not know 
 what a Levee is. For the benefit of such un- 
 enlightened ignorance, we may say that a Levee 
 at Andover used to correspond to what the rest 
 of the world now calls a reception. This Levee 
 was held at the house of the Professor of 
 Depravity. 
 
 The Senior class of Abbott Academy were 
 invited, to the last girl. The theologues had 
 also their usual sweeping invitation. A few 
 Academy boys matching in number such
 
 THE LEVEE. 157 
 
 "Abbott girls" as were deemed worthy of the 
 honor, were selected and received a scrupulously 
 formal invitation. 
 
 This maddening occasion had arrived. Awk- 
 ward theologues were superciliously stared at 
 by brazen "cads," and ignorant "cads "were 
 easily overwhelmed by experienced theologues. 
 Many a stolen interview would to-night for the 
 first time culminate in open introduction. 
 
 The Fern. Sems. in the dressing-room cast a 
 last look at the long gilt mirror, gazed shyly at 
 the group on the first landing and fluttered 
 down two by two. The Academy boys, for the 
 most part, were in their social element, howbeit 
 here and there a flannel shirt testified to an 
 ignorance of conventionalities at which only 
 rude impulse would smile. 
 
 John Strong had received what the boys call 
 his "invite," and after long hesitancy had deci- 
 ded to spare half an hour for the Levee, in 
 hopes that an introduction to Miss Selfrich 
 might give him his eagerly-desired opportunity 
 for apology. He felt that this step was due to 
 her and to himself, to John Calvin, and to the
 
 158 THE LEVEE. 
 
 seal-skin cape. He grudged every moment 
 away from his lessons and his sick friend. 
 John liked a good time as well as any other 
 boy. This feeling that he must continually be 
 on the drive was not a priggish one. Doc. 
 had lost strength steadily since the last ex- 
 citement. John simply felt that his duty lay 
 there. He came of a stock that didn't think 
 a good time was the most important thing 
 in life. 
 
 Strong entered as a guest the house where 
 he had been refused occupation as a stable-boy. 
 He had never appeared handsomer or more dis- 
 tinguished than he did on that evening. He 
 had a white collar attached to a flannel shirt 
 and a blue necktie almost concealed the fact. 
 His coat was shiny and nearly worn out, but as 
 neat as a pin. His pale face and high forehead 
 shone with light reflected from rose-colored 
 lamp shades. 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Strong? No matter 
 about being late. We are so glad to have you 
 here. Now, let me see " The vivacious 
 young hostess raised her eyeglass with a criti-
 
 THE LEVEE. 1 59 
 
 cal glance toward the circle of promenaders that 
 revolved about the kerosene chandelier. 
 
 "Of course you must meet some of our young 
 ladies. Will you have a pretty or an intellectual 
 one ? Did you know that Dr. Strong, president 
 of Buncome College, a distinguished namesake 
 of yours, is present ? Ah ! there he is with 
 Miss Selfrich." 
 
 John raised his eyes and saw Miss Elva's face 
 shyly glancing at him from above a dazzling 
 mass of fluffy white. A tall, angular, chin- 
 whiskered man held her arm. John noticed 
 that many regarded her companion with amuse- 
 ment. The eminent President's dress coat 
 seemed to fit him awkwardly. Two by two, 
 full thirty couples kept walking with an intellec- 
 tual air about that winking chandelier. It was 
 a continuous procession. When Mr. Strong 
 obtained a full back view of Dr. Strong of Bun- 
 come College he saw that his dress coat tails 
 were carefully tucked each in its corresponding 
 trousers pocket. The reverend gentleman him- 
 self was utterly oblivious of the ludicrous effect 
 he produced. He was absent-minded in the
 
 I6O THE LEVEE. 
 
 grotesque sense that geniuses are. On coming 
 to the reception he had dreamily asked Roger 
 Mansfield, who accompanied him : 
 
 " What shall I do with my coat tails ? They 
 are always in my way. I never know what to 
 do with them when I am going anywhere. I con- 
 sider full-dress an invention of the Evil One." 
 
 " Why don't you put them in your pockets ? " 
 was Roger's witty response. 
 
 "That's a capital idea," answered the scholar 
 gravely. So in those trousers pockets the two 
 insulted coat tails did remain until a philan- 
 thropist took the abstracted man one side and 
 relieved the Levee of embarrassment. 
 
 "Ah ! Mr. Strong, I understand that you are 
 studying to be a professional nurse and are go- 
 ing on the nine ? " proceeded the hostess in her 
 chatty way. 
 
 John replied absently to this disjointed ques- 
 tion. He followed Miss Selfrich in her orbit 
 with great interest. 
 
 The hostess turned to the next new-comer, 
 and John was forgotten. The advancing guest 
 proved to be the Professor of Hebrew who had
 
 THE LEVEE. 163 
 
 only come in to pay his brief compliments. 
 Suddenly a shriek arose. 
 
 " Get out, you brute ! Down, sir ! Drive 
 him out!" 
 
 Alas ! who but John Calvin could be the cause 
 of this fatal interruption ? 
 
 Ths social dog had appeared on his own invi- 
 tation and was rubbing his wet fur diligently 
 from dress to dress seeking his beloved master. 
 
 " O, Professor ! " said the hostess despair- 
 ingly, turning to the learned gentleman, "do 
 take the beast out. You are so tender ! " 
 
 By this time, Calvin, in despair at not find- 
 ing his master, who was in another room, had 
 attached himself to Miss Selfrich, and proceeded 
 to put his paws lovingly upon her spotless robes. 
 The Professor, Dr. and Mr. Strong came valor- 
 ously together. The procession had stopped. 
 The chandelier seemed to blink. John took 
 Calvin by the collar while the Professor of 
 Hebrew gingerly grasped him by the tail. The 
 dog was at last landed in the hall, where his 
 master appeared to hasten Calvin's discomfited 
 departure.
 
 164 THE LEVEE. 
 
 Roger and John returned to the parlor. The 
 procession was again describing its exciting pa- 
 rabola, and Miss Elva stood apart, watching the 
 two returning. Roger gracefully advanced to 
 the young lady and with a wave of the hand 
 said : 
 
 " Let me present to you my cousin and your 
 preserver, Mr. Strong." 
 
 The boy bowed. At last, he and the young 
 lady were upon a sound footing of social 
 acquaintance. After a few jokes about the 
 ubiquity of the dog, John, after the manner of 
 the place, gravely offered his arm and they 
 joined the ring. For a few minutes both were 
 silent. Neither knew how to begin. 
 
 "It wasn't my fault," John blurted out finally. 
 
 " I know it," answered the girl gently. 
 
 " I didn't want him sent off, believe me." 
 
 Miss Elva blushed. She now saw that he 
 was speaking about her brother. She sighed 
 deeply. 
 
 " Yes, I do not blame you. It was his fault, 
 I know." 
 
 " And the cape. I was so careful of it. I
 
 THE LEVEE. 1 65 
 
 couldn't catch Calvin that day." The boy was 
 eager not to be misunderstood by this lovely 
 girl. 
 
 Miss Elva laughed merrily. 
 
 " Oh ! that's all right. What a joke on you, 
 and on me too," she added archly, looking 
 down. 
 
 At that moment a pale young face beckoned 
 John from the door. It belonged to the Prep, 
 who roomed across the Commons Hall. The 
 two walked quickly toward him. His excited 
 words tumbled into John Strong's ear. 
 
 " He's very sick. Lambkin sent me. Come 
 right away! " 
 
 " Poor fellow," exclaimed Elva. Then turn- 
 ing to John, " Go quickly do ! Don't stop to 
 say good-by." 
 
 With a heavy heart John hurried from warmth 
 and brightness into the black night whose dark- 
 ness was only intensified by a few consumptive 
 kerosene lamps that flickered against the cold, 
 gray snow.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 POOR DOC. ! 
 
 IT was not many steps around the corner to 
 his room. From the long line of the dor- 
 mitories, here and there a studious lamp cast a 
 sickly ray into the night. 
 
 John's heart fell within him as he stumbled 
 up the outside steps. Profound stillness was 
 within. A cold, bitter draught attacked him 
 as he carefully opened the outside door, trying 
 to prevent its usual creak. Sometimes on 
 windy, wintry nights that door would awake 
 every student in the house as it groaned and 
 slammed in impotent effort to wrench itself 
 away. Many a Prep, has buried his frightened 
 head under pillows that knew no down, when 
 windows and shingles and doors rattled their 
 uncanny accompaniment to the wind and storm. 
 As John entered the hall the door of his room 
 1 66
 
 POOR DOC. ! 167 
 
 was softly opened and Lambkin's hand caught 
 John's arm with nervous emphasis. 
 
 "Hush," whispered Lambkin. "Doc. is a 
 great deal worse. He's been out of his head 
 half of the time, and yelling for you. He's 
 quiet now for the first time." 
 
 " Have you sent for the doctor?" asked John 
 hurriedly. " Perhaps I had better go now." 
 
 "The Prep, went after he called you. I ex- 
 pect him any time." 
 
 John pushed open the door of his room. As 
 he did so, the hot, poisoned odor of an illy-ven- 
 tilated sick room struck him in the face. At 
 first he shrank back with a new sensitiveness. 
 His thoughts flashed to his mother's plain but 
 exquisite home that had so much neatness, 
 order and purity, and so little comfort. The 
 light had been thoughtfully placed within the 
 inner bedroom and turned indiscreetly down. 
 The faint smell of gassing kerosene almost nau- 
 seated John as he entered. Thus the light was 
 for the most part cut off from the main room, 
 which was entirely filled by the stove, the table, 
 two chairs and the sick boy's bed. Dark
 
 1 68 POOR DOC. ! 
 
 shadows hung over that bed ; the scene was 
 like one of the old Dutch paintings. A glow 
 from the open door of the stove lighted the pale 
 face of Doc. as he feebly turned it to greet his 
 friend. What a change in that face ! John 
 perceived it instantly, although he had only 
 been absent a few minutes. No one could have 
 recognized the irrepressible boy who had been 
 such a joker last term. His face had shrunken 
 over its bones, leaving eyes and nose in promi- 
 nent relief. Doc. at no time could see five 
 feet without his glasses, and now his protruding 
 orbs had that glassy, nervous and vacant look 
 which all very near-sighted people have when 
 they are ill. As John entered, the sick boy's 
 eyes rolled towards him. The grotesque act 
 became a gesture most pathetic. Doc. panted 
 as if he breathed with difficulty, and tried to 
 throw the blankets off. 
 
 " Lie still, Doc., I'm here. Don't you know 
 your friend Strong ? " As John spoke he took 
 Doc.'s dry hand gently and laid it in his own. 
 
 " I am so glad. I am safe now. You won't 
 leave me, old fellow, will you?" Doc. Shelby
 
 POOR DOC. ! 
 
 uttered these words with a shuddering moan. 
 John, as an effectual answer, sat down beside 
 him on the bed and held his hot hand tightly. 
 
 Yes, Doc. was desperately sick. That was 
 plain enough. His skin was parched. The 
 weak and irregular pulse beat the feverish gait 
 of a hundred and thirty-two. Upon the stove 
 was a dish of hot water. With his free hand 
 John reached for a handkerchief, soaked it and 
 placed the grateful warmth upon the sufferer's 
 temples. He had seen a member of the Sama- 
 ritan Society do this once while calling. Con- 
 sidering it the thing, he didn't know what else 
 to do. Any one or any two of those ladies 
 would have gladly come to his aid on that hard 
 night, but Doc. was unmanageable on the point 
 of his nursing. He would have nobody but 
 John. Besides, the boys were so inexperienced 
 that they did not realize the full force of the 
 situation. They sat one on each side of the bed 
 and watched Doc. intently in the light of the fire. 
 
 A heavy step was now heard without. John 
 nodded with relief at Lambkin who opened the 
 door softly and brought the doctor in.
 
 I/O POOR DOC. ! 
 
 "Ah !" began Dr. Pillbury in a professional, 
 whole-souled tone, which inspired the confidence 
 of sure recovery, " our young friend is a little 
 sick, is he ? We'll pull him through all right. 
 A little out of his head, did you say ? Umm ! 
 The fever will thrash itself out to-night. Pulse 
 is high. Skin hot and dry. Umm ! We'll al- 
 ternate with aconite and bry. Give him one 
 teaspoonful every hour. Begin with bryonia. 
 When he perspires he'll sleep. This is the last 
 of the fever. This disease always breaks up 
 this way. That's right ! keep the hot com- 
 presses on his head. If he doesn't sleep by 
 midnight give him thirty drops of this," con- 
 tinued the doctor, pouring out a dark red liquid 
 into a vial. " The sleeping portion will relieve 
 him." 
 
 The man stood with his back to the fire ; he 
 had on a huge bear's skin coat. After a min- 
 ute he felt Doc.'s pulse again ; bent his ear to 
 the stertorous breathing ; shook his head 
 gravely, then cheered up. 
 
 " Umm ! Yes, we'll pull him around all right. 
 He'll sleep pretty soon. I'll call in the morn-
 
 POOR DOC. ! I/I 
 
 ing early. Good-night." The physician took 
 his leave with the look of a man who did not 
 know what to do, and was in a hurry to get 
 where he would not be called upon to do it. 
 
 For some minutes the two boys looked at 
 each other silently and apprehensively across 
 the tossing and moaning sufferer. 
 
 " I say, old fellow," whispered John at length 
 to Lambkin, " you go to your room now. I'll 
 stay here. If I need you I'll send the Prep. 
 There's no use in two of us being here." 
 
 " Isn't there any thing I can do for you ? I 
 had just as lief stay." 
 
 " You might get me another hodful of coal 
 and a pail of water. That's all I need. Don't 
 stay," answered John, eager to spare his friend 
 a long and sleepless night. 
 
 " I'll get the coal and water and go and bone 
 on Greek, and look in on you before I turn into 
 bed," answered Lambkin, with a feeling of un- 
 willingness to leave John alone with Doc. 
 
 John still sat on the bed in the same position 
 which he had taken on coming in. Doc.'s left 
 hand was in his. The head of the bed was toward
 
 POOR DOC. ! 
 
 the door, and John sat toward the fire and near 
 the inner bedroom. He made a motion to put 
 coal on the fire, but as he moved, Doc. clutched 
 him tightly and moaned. 
 
 " Oh ! don't leave me. Don't go. Don't 
 go!" 
 
 Then John sank back, and with a sigh of re- 
 lief Doc. looked toward him with those piteous, 
 useless eyes ; then he turned his head toward 
 the curtained window. What did he see ? 
 What did he think he saw ? 
 
 For a few moments John wondered anxiously ; 
 then, with that little dullness of sensibility which 
 creeps over a person who is worn with nursing, 
 his thoughts reverted to his own affairs. John's 
 position was extremely hard, and it was grow- 
 ing harder every day This summons from the 
 Levee was one of ten thousand exacting and ex- 
 hausting demands upon his freedom and his 
 time. Poor Doc. could not realize what he was 
 doing, but the long and the short of the matter 
 was, that he was ruining John's career in Phil- 
 lips Academy. Little by little the new Senior 
 had fallen behind in his class work. At first it
 
 POOR DOC. ! 1/3 
 
 was hardly noticeable. John never made a 
 downright "flunk" ; he only seemed uncertain 
 of his ground. It often happened that he cut 
 a recitation entirely. More frequently he came 
 in late. Such irregularities tell fast upon a 
 teacher's record-book. Although the Faculty 
 had paid many visits of condolence to the sick 
 boy in John's room, yet they had no compre- 
 hension of the facts in the case. John did not 
 tell them ; he was too loyal and too proud. 
 Should he go to Uncle Jim and complain that 
 Doc. made him read Dickens aloud when he 
 should have been reading his Homer ; that the 
 sick boy fretted himself into a fever at a change 
 of nurses ; that John was daily attendant and 
 night watcher ; that Doc. was jealous of his 
 every moment, his every deed, his look, his 
 touch, his exercise, Uncle Jim's furnace, even 
 his studies ? How could he ? Uncle Jim's eye 
 was keen ; but he was a well man, and the cul- 
 ture of the sick room was not in his curriculum. 
 He did not understand. 
 
 How had the enfeebled boy borne this strain ? 
 Father Lambkin knew, though nobody else did,
 
 POOR DOC.! 
 
 unless it were Calvin. Lambkin it was who 
 had dragged John by sheer moral force to the 
 gymnasium a few minutes every day. Compul- 
 sory gymnastic exercise, such as is practiced in 
 Amherst College, is an excellent thing for just 
 such cases. If Andover Academy had military 
 drill, such as is found in some of our fitting 
 schools, it would be the better for her boys. 
 
 During these short minutes in the gymnasium 
 John forgot his troubles. He twirled the ball 
 with a nervous vim. With digital dexterity he 
 developed the drop, the rise, the in-shoot, the 
 out-shoot, and all the other shoots that puzzled 
 an opposing batsman. His " double-twisters " 
 soon became the admiration and talk of the 
 whole Academy. As he fell back in his les- 
 sons, his fame as a pitcher, such was the irony 
 of fate, began to increase. John took all the 
 accompanying prosperity with embarrassment. 
 He played to live. He did not live to play ; 
 and all this talk troubled him. One day in the 
 gymnasium, as he was surrounded by boys who 
 were applauding his swift curves, a hush fell 
 upon the crowd. John turned and saw Uncle
 
 POOR DOC. ! 175 
 
 Jim's eyes fixed sternly upon him. He flushed 
 furiously, and hung his head as if he had been 
 caught in a scrape. The Principal and the 
 teachers were sorry to attribute John's mediocre 
 recitations to a growing athletic passion which 
 has proved the eclipse of so many shining 
 scholars. 
 
 "John," groaned Doc., "John, can't you get 
 me a lump of ice ? " 
 
 John started from what seemed to him, when 
 he looked at his patient, as a selfish revery. 
 There was a great change in Doc. Even John's 
 inexperienced eyes saw this, but in the dim light 
 it was impossible for him to realize how signifi- 
 cant it was. 
 
 " I'll have to go out to get it," said John 
 hurriedly. 
 
 "No, no ; no, don't leave me. I'm so tired." 
 
 Doc.'s thin hand clutched him, and John sank 
 back on the edge of the bed. At that moment 
 the door opened. 
 
 " How is he ? " whispered Lambkin. 
 
 "I don't know," said John mournfully. "He 
 seems to me to look sorter queer."
 
 POOR DOC. ! 
 
 " I think I'd better stay," said Lambkin with 
 resolution. 
 
 "No, no; you'd better turn in," said John 
 bravely. " He must have me. There's no need 
 of two of us." 
 
 " Are you sure ? Dead sure ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Good-night, then. Mind you call me if any- 
 thing happens. Good-night." 
 
 John was left again alone oh ! how alone ! 
 with the shadows and the sick boy. Doc. had 
 forgotten ail about the ice now, and began to 
 mutter deliriously. Suddenly he flung the bed- 
 clothes off. 
 
 "Help!" he cried. "Don't let them touch 
 me!" 
 
 "No, they sha'n't ; I am here." John tried 
 to put the patient under the blankets. 
 
 " Oh ! but they will. I see them. All in 
 black. The water is so cold." 
 
 "No, no! you're all safe." John put his arm 
 around the trembling boy who stared about him. 
 " Come, old fellow, you're all right now ; lie 
 down. I'm here. Don't you know me ? "
 
 POOR DOC. ! 
 
 The shivering boy clung to John's neck and 
 seemed to sob, but no tears came. 
 
 " Just let me put a little coal on the fire ; I'll 
 be right back," said John gently, when Doc. 
 had become quieter and only shook with an oc- 
 casional sob. 
 
 "No, no, no. Don't leave me at all." He 
 clung with both hands to John's arm. John 
 managed to shut the upper door of the stove ; 
 that would keep the fire from going out. The 
 darkness was now deeper in the room. 
 
 John sat there, shaken by the scene. He felt 
 the pathos and the helplessness of his situation. 
 No one was to blame for it. It was one of the 
 accidental tragedies of sickness and inexperi- 
 ence. Such are possible anywhere, but rare 
 in Andover Academy. "I'll pray it off," said 
 John to himself. Then he bowed his head 
 so that his forehead touched Doc.'s feverish 
 hand, and whispered. 
 
 " Lord," said John, " I never took care of so 
 sick a person. I don't know what to do. Make 
 him better, and help me out. I'm so tired " 
 
 "What are you saying?" interrupted Doc.
 
 POOR DOC. 
 
 feebly. He seemed to have come to himself. 
 "It is very dark." 
 
 " I want you to get well soon," answered 
 John, with tears in his eyes. "I'll get the light 
 and turn it up." 
 
 " No, don't leave me. I guess I'm a goner ; " 
 the old, queer smile flashed over his gray face, 
 but John did not see it. He felt it in the voice. 
 
 "Not a bit of it," said John cheerily, though 
 his heart gave an unaccountable leap. 
 
 " Yes ; " the sick boy spoke slowly. " My 
 chest is awful. My head is worse than ever. 
 I am a goner." 
 
 The old chapel clock drearily struck one. 
 The Old South re-echoed the stroke. A third 
 peal from the valley beyond took up the sound 
 and solemnly smote the frosty air. John roused 
 himself and gave Doc. a dose of the sleeping 
 mixture. With Doc.'s hands still tightly clasped 
 in his, he lay down beside the sinking boy, and 
 drew his old gray shawl over them both. It 
 was very cold. Doc. turned his head restlessly. 
 Suddenly he whispered with a ghost of his 
 former laugh :
 
 POOR DOC. ! 179 
 
 " I guess Selfrich and his gang won't bother 
 me any more." 
 
 " They never shall, bless you ! " answered 
 John solemnly. He patted Doc. tenderly. 
 This seemed to comfort the poor fellow. 
 
 Unbroken stillness fell again upon Room 
 No. 2. 
 
 " One, two " pealed out the chapel bell. 
 " One, two " " One, two " fainter, fainter ; 
 and then the threefold stroke died away. 
 
 John shivered and started to get the light, 
 but Doc. held him more tightly in a convulsive 
 grasp and would not let him go. Just then the 
 lamp flickered in the next room and went out, 
 leaving a sickly odor and intense blackness 
 behind. John grew desperate. He flung a 
 curtain from the nearest window aside, and 
 looked out. He felt as if he must see some- 
 thing or shriek. Stars twinkled merrily at him, 
 and the black outline of the next dormitory 
 loomed up. 
 
 " Strong ! Strong ? " came from the bed. 
 " I am such a stupid ; do you suppose God has 
 'em like me up there ? "
 
 i8o POOR DOC. ! 
 
 " Yes, ten thousand ! " answered John, 
 fiercely brushing away the tears. 
 
 Doc. fell back again. He hugged the precious 
 hand he held. It was father, mother, brother, 
 all to him. 
 
 "One, two, three!" The bell tolled the 
 hour solemnly. John sprang at the sound. 
 Each peal went through him like a dull, inex- 
 plicable pain. 
 
 " I like the bells. They are so happy," mur- 
 mured Doc. more feebly. "Say Strong 
 tell me shall I always be a Middler there ? " 
 
 The boy seemed to listen for the last stroke 
 from the Old South Church. He gave a sigh 
 of content when its vibrations had ceased. 
 There was a sound in his throat that was new 
 to John. The hot head became cold and damp. 
 In terror, why, he knew not, John tried to 
 wrench his hand away ; but the grip held him 
 like a vise. Remembering a match he had in 
 his pocket, he struck it, and held the flickering 
 flame near Doc.'s face. At the sight he saw, 
 he gave a mighty cry. But boys sleep hard in 
 those wind-tossed dormitories, and nobody re-
 
 POOR DOC. ! l8l 
 
 sponded. For the first time in his life John sat 
 alone in the presence of death. The simple lad 
 had gone where stupidity is not laughed at, and 
 where too heavily-conditioned Middlers are not 
 hazed. 
 
 In those old days a thousand boys have been 
 "put through" a thousand times more roughly 
 than Doc. Shelby, and have taken it lightly, and 
 when their turn came, have done unto others as 
 was done unto themselves. But here was one 
 whose sensitiveness could not stand the rude 
 shock. Let the boy who thinks it sport to 
 " run " an under classmate in such rough ways, 
 stay his hand ! Perhaps your last victim is the 
 one who will bear the life-long marks of your 
 good-natured cruelty. 
 
 But these were old times long passed. An- 
 dover, with other schools and colleges, is leav- 
 ing the barbarous practice of hazing behind, 
 and every student ought to be as safe there as 
 in his father's house. 
 
 On the afternoon of the next day but one, 
 the Middle class with crape upon their arms
 
 1 82 POOR DOC. ! 
 
 walked in a long procession to a rear lot in the 
 Chapel Cemetery, reserved for just such friend- 
 less burials. No one of the dead boy's relatives 
 had answered Uncle Jim's telegrams. John 
 walked behind the bier, the " nearest " mourner. 
 The Principal stood beside him. For the mem- 
 ory of the dead lad's dead father, Uncle Jim's 
 stern face wore his best and tenderest look, as 
 he bared his head to the winter wind above the 
 open grave.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 "SCIRE EST REGERE." 
 
 EVERY great fitting school has its famous 
 debating society. The Philomathean So- 
 ciety of Phillips Andover is a historic feature 
 of that school. 
 
 The attendance at " Philo " had been unusu- 
 ally large that winter term of which we write. 
 John, who had "cut" the first meetings of the 
 term was now in his seat every Friday evening, 
 when Lambkin, the dignified president, with 
 the gravity of a Solon, would rap the wooden 
 gavel on the table, with these words : 
 
 " Gentlemen ! The meeting will now come 
 to order. The first exercise of the evening is 
 the reading of the minutes of the previous 
 meeting. Gentlemen ! " ( rap, rap ) " order, if 
 you please ! " 
 
 So far so good. But, from that time, to keep 
 183
 
 184 "SCIRE EST REGERE." 
 
 those turbulent boys in order would have taxed 
 a greater parliamentarian than generally sat in 
 the honored chair. The members of Philo only 
 waited to be lighted by any spark, to go off like 
 a cracker. 
 
 Philo was born in 1825. We do not think 
 that the Honorable Horatio B. Hackett, or the 
 venerable Ray Palmer, founders of the " Im- 
 mortal Philo," would have been ashamed of the 
 rousing debates which their successors held 
 that winter. John threw himself into these 
 weekly discussions with spirit. He began to 
 be considered quite a formidable speaker, and 
 " bids " were frequently made to him by leaders 
 in their turn, to debate on their side of the 
 seething question of the evening. These de- 
 bates were spirited and studious ; quite up to a 
 high standard in the polemic achievements of 
 boys. On the whole, the words of an early mem- 
 ber might have been said of Philo many years 
 ago, at the time of our story : " This society is 
 a noble institution. Talent is here brought 
 out, mind is here cultivated, and taste refined." 
 As much could easily be said to-day.
 
 " SCIRE EST REGERE." l85 
 
 But toward the end of this term the meetings 
 became charged with a feverish fluid. The de- 
 bates grew heated and bitter. Members hustled 
 each other rancorously as they entered or left 
 the hall. The president had all he could do to 
 keep order. He was evidently in sad need of 
 a sergeant-at-arms to force refractory members 
 into silence. The Critique at the end of each 
 meeting was generally marked by exuberant 
 praise or unstinted blame. It happened once 
 or twice that the boy who performed that un- 
 popular duty for the evening was soused in snow 
 by unknown hands before he reached his room. 
 The time-honored decorum of the meetings was 
 often defied by a derogatory epithet that started 
 from an obscure corner, was taken up and hurled 
 back with scorn, then supplemented by another, 
 until amid these mimic lightnings, the thunder 
 of the gavel descended, and for the moment 
 there was sullen peace. It was at this time 
 that the famous motion was put and carried to 
 exclude all members under fourteen years of 
 age. This unprecedented outrage convulsed 
 the school. A visitor at one of these meetings
 
 1 86 "SCIRE EST REGERE." 
 
 \ 
 
 might have supposed the academy to be the re- 
 ceptacle of a motley crowd of youth, each of 
 whom hated the other. But not at all ! These 
 were only the premonitory symptoms of the last 
 Philo election of the year. 
 
 At these periods the implacable feud between 
 the boys who roomed in Commons, and those 
 who roomed in town, broke out. It was the old 
 Radical and Tory party in different dress. 
 Here the Commons boy represented the sturdy 
 Radical, the " Townie " the aristocratic Tory, 
 and both fought it out again for the fiftieth 
 time, when election day came around. 
 
 Now all the victories and disappointments of 
 the year were concentrated in this last strug- 
 gle. The election was to be held at two o'clock 
 on the last Saturday of the winter term in the 
 lower chapel. Both parties expected confi- 
 dently to win. What made this fight the more 
 virulent, was the fact that almost the same 
 tickets were said to be in the field as those 
 offered at the last election. The Commons' 
 boys had put in Lambkin as the last president. 
 They had also carried the treasurer and the
 
 " SCIRE EST REGERE." iS/ 
 
 executive officers, but had been defeated on 
 vice-president and secretary. Sunshine, who 
 had been previously nominated against Lambkin 
 for president, was now leading his ticket again. 
 So high ran the feeling that a town boarder did 
 not even recognize a Commoner on the street. 
 
 John had watched the wire pulling, the fili- 
 bustering, the secret caucuses, the electioneer- 
 ing, the class politicians, with quiet interest. 
 Sunshine would have lost caste, had he spoken 
 to John at all, nowadays. The two opposite 
 ends of the political pole were content to wink 
 at each other good-naturedly as they passed. 
 Both knew that, election over, the flames of 
 discord would be extinguished, and the ashes 
 of coldness blown out of the window. 
 
 But Lambkin was a class politician of a good 
 order. He was not coarse, nor was he "up to" 
 questionable party tricks. He was as straight- 
 forward as a yard stick. He took popularity as 
 a gift. He did not court it. And there is the 
 secret of your popularity : never to seek it, nor 
 to recognize it too readily. The Commons' 
 boys rallied around Lambkin naturally. Who
 
 188 " SCIRE EST REGERE." 
 
 could better represent their cause ? The Father 
 of the Milktoast Club looked confident of vic- 
 tory as the decisive day approached. 
 
 One Friday evening, coming from a good 
 milktoast supper, Lambkin linked his arm in 
 John's with unusual affectionateness. 
 
 " Look here, Strong," said Father Lambkin, 
 "look here ! we are going to run you for vice- 
 president." 
 
 " Do you want to get left ? " asked John in 
 the utmost astonishment. 
 
 "That's just what we don't want. I've in- 
 vited two or three of the committee up to your 
 room to talk it over. You'll have to do just 
 what we tell you ! " 
 
 John made a gesture that seemed almost like 
 wincing, but this was not perceived. 
 
 " You see," continued Lambkin, when they 
 had reached John's room, and three fellows with 
 a mysterious air had slipped in, " we've got to 
 beat them this time. The boys put me up, and 
 it's my duty to Commons to run. Now you're 
 about tne strongest man we've got, only you 
 haven't been here long enough to run for presi-
 
 "SCIRE EST REGERE." 189 
 
 dent, so I have to take it. If your name goes on 
 the ticket, we're all agreed we're going to win." 
 
 "Are you sure?" asked John doubtfully. 
 To tell the truth he was quite moved at the 
 honor. 
 
 " You bet ! " said one of the committee, 
 " we've canvassed English and Latin Commons 
 and they have agreed to vote for you right 
 through." 
 
 " I don't think I'm exactly the man you 
 want. I haven't had much expe " 
 
 " Nonsense ! " interrupted one of the com- 
 mittee. " It doesn't require any. It's the easi- 
 est office of the lot. All you have to do is to 
 get up and take the chair when Lambkin wants 
 to spout." 
 
 John smiled. 
 
 " Now you can't go back on us, old fellow," 
 urged Lambkin. " The whole scheme will fall 
 through if you don't run." 
 
 " You'll have to run me. I'm no good run- 
 ning myself." 
 
 "You trust us for that! Is it agreed?" 
 Lambkin held out his hand.
 
 SCIRE EST REGERE. 
 
 " All right ! " said John. 
 
 Thereupon the four shook hands with him as 
 solemnly as if he had accepted the Temperance 
 nomination for the lieutenant-governorship of 
 Massachusetts. 
 
 " Now don't you let it out," whispered the 
 committee-man, " but here are the tickets with 
 your name down ; we had them printed yester- 
 day." 
 
 John read the slip in a dazed way. It was 
 headed by the Philomathean motto : 
 
 " Scire est Regere" 
 
 PRESIDENT, 
 ARTHUR J. LAMBKIN. 
 
 VICE-PRESIDENT, 
 JOHN STRONG. 
 
 SECRETARY, 
 SYD. L. DALSTAN. 
 
 He could read no more, for the throbbing of 
 his heart and blurring of his eyes, but he did
 
 " SCIRE EST REGERE." IQI 
 
 not suppose the other fellows would understand 
 why he was so moved by this small thing. Oh, 
 dear Andover ! The country boy now felt him- 
 self on the honor list of the old Academy. The 
 quiet student valued this fleeting distinction 
 the more because he expected it so little. John 
 was the only boy in Andover who was surprised 
 at this nomination, which the Radicals in Philo 
 confirmed that night. 
 
 But now the important Saturday had arrived. 
 Nods and winks and smiles and paper missiles 
 had been hotly exchanged between the respec- 
 tive leaders of each rival faction during the 
 morning recitations. Mystery and resolve 
 seemed to settle in the air. The old hacked 
 benches had the air of whispering confidences 
 and of suggesting sure ways of getting ahead. 
 They were experienced, not to say blast benches, 
 able to tell how much ? if they would ; anx- 
 ious perhaps to say, " Oh ! the generations of 
 young plotters that we have seen, just as eager, 
 just as feverish, just as sure that the world hung 
 upon their maneuvers and political astuteness." 
 
 Many a boy has developed at these hotly-con-
 
 IQ2 " SCIRE EST REGERE. 
 
 tested Philo elections a scarcely enviable repu- 
 tation as a strategist. Boys will forgive a fault 
 of almost any kind, but never the trickery of 
 the school politician. It follows him through 
 life. 
 
 Both parties had agreed that the polls should 
 be open from two till half-past two o'clock on 
 that eventful Saturday afternoon. This was 
 another new rule, passed in Philo by a hand- 
 some majority. The printed tickets had been 
 distributed that morning for the first time, the 
 ringleaders having kept them back for a greater 
 effect. John's name on the Commons ticket 
 was a severe blow to the opposing party. The 
 fight had become simply one between the poor 
 and the rich a fight as old as humanity itself. 
 
 " I was in hopes they wouldn't think of that 
 Strong," said one of Sunshine's party, twirling 
 a slight cane with one hand and burying his 
 other in his broad-checked suit. 
 
 " I don't see how that feller takes so," com- 
 plained his intimate friend. " He don't smoke. 
 He's poor as blazes. He soups on Uncle Jim. 
 He"
 
 " SCIRE EST REGERE. IQ3 
 
 "No, he doesn't. Give him his due. He's 
 square, he is, though I don't cotton to him. 
 But we'll fix the lot this time." This prophecy 
 was accompanied and followed by a deadly wink. 
 
 " Is it all arranged ? Sure ? " 
 
 "You just wait! Sh ! " The two with a 
 swagger passed into the hall where morning 
 prayers were held. 
 
 " Don't you say another word ! " said one of 
 the Commons Committee to Lambkin. "We've 
 got 'em this time. We'll beat 'em by six votes 
 sure. I've got it all down on paper. Every one 
 has been pledged. Here they come !. They've 
 got their tickets all ready. Keep cool, old fel- 
 low, keep cool ! " 
 
 The Committee mingled with a troop of ex- 
 cited boys who massed themselves on one side 
 of the hall glaring at their opponents on the 
 other. 
 
 " Now, boys," whispered the chairman of the 
 Committee to his group, "it will be two o'clock 
 in just five minutes. Get together, and vote 
 right off, to be sure. Don't let them fool you
 
 194 "SCIRE EST REGERE." 
 
 out of it ! We are sure of them this time." 
 Every new-comer was button-holed and treated 
 to the same exhortation. 
 
 When John arrived, at just three minutes 
 before two, he was greeted heartily. 
 
 "Have you your ticket ready?" asked the 
 chairman anxiously. " Here's one ! " 
 
 "Yes, but of course I sha'n't vote. You 
 don't expect a man to vote for himself ? " 
 
 " You've got to. If every one on the ticket 
 refused, we'd lose. It's too close. Bottle up 
 your nonsense, Strong, and put that ballot in!" 
 
 Instantly, John was the center of an excited 
 group that proceeded to impress upon him the 
 grave necessity of his voting for himself as well 
 as for the rest of his ticket. It seemed to John 
 a new ideal of personal delicacy ; yet he did 
 not want to be fussy and priggish. 
 
 "It's politics /" urged the chairman. "Don't 
 you know politics make everything um 
 different ? " 
 
 " I suppose so," admitted John. He silently 
 folded his ticket. 
 
 Two o'clock struck.
 
 " SCIRE EST REGERE. 
 
 " Now, boys, ready ! " The call rang from all 
 the leaders. The boys surged up to the ballot- 
 box, guarded by representatives of both factions. 
 But the Tories had gotten in ahead, and were 
 blocking up the way with exasperating coolness 
 and slowness. 
 
 " Now don't rush, fellows ! There is plenty 
 of time ! Take it easy ! " cried a Commons 
 leader. Then came the yells : 
 
 " Hurrah for Lambkin ! " 
 
 "Bully for Strong!" 
 
 " Whoop her up for Dalstan ! " 
 
 " Sunshine to the front ! " 
 
 There was not much doubt which was the 
 confident party. 
 
 But if a Commons observer had been close 
 enough, he would have seen sinister looks ex- 
 changed between the two fellows who occupied 
 the front seat on a certain Lawrence sleighride. 
 He would have seen them anxiously consulting 
 their watches, shoving the Commons boys back, 
 and looking forward to the door, as if waiting 
 for something to happen. 
 
 " It's all right," whispered one in the ear
 
 196 " SCIRE EST REGERE." 
 
 of the other, " I hear 'em at it. Don't you 
 worry" 
 
 "Fire! Fire!! FIRE!!! Latin Commons 
 on fire ! ' ' 
 
 The cry pealed through the campus and down 
 the street. 
 
 Cling clang clang ! rang out the school 
 bell with that peculiar and terrible vibration it 
 only takes to itself at the time of such a catas- 
 trophe. The boys in the hall stared at each 
 other. For an instant those excited voters 
 seemed as uncertain what to do as a setter 
 between a bone and a gunshot. 
 
 It might have been noticeable that a few of 
 the boys were not so astonished at this alarm 
 as they should have been. 
 
 " Man the engine ! " a cry rang from their 
 midst. It was the conspirator in the checked 
 suit who yelled. He had but just put his watch 
 in his pocket. 
 
 Lambkin, who was the captain of the suction 
 hose, lost no time in the general perplexity. 
 
 " What house is it ? " he called to the boy 
 who had opened the door and given the alarm.
 
 SCIRE EST REGERE. 
 
 "No. 6 on fire !" Somehow, to a careful ear 
 the tone would not have seemed genuine ; but 
 what Commons boy thought of that ? 
 
 " It's my room ! " cried one. 
 
 " It's mine ! " echoed another, in a phrensy. 
 
 " It's mine! " shouted the third wildly. They 
 stampeded the hall. 
 
 Duty was clear, and Lambkin followed it. 
 
 " Come with me, fellows, to the engine ! 
 Double quick ! " 
 
 With a rush, and a mad scamper, the 
 Commoners dashed out to the scene of the 
 conflagration. 
 
 "We might as well vote before we go, boys ! " 
 said the arch-Tory, stopping the flight of his 
 own party. " We'll get there in time. 'Tisn't 
 our funeral you stay there!" to the two 
 Commons boys who were one half of the com- 
 mittee at the polls, "and see that we vote 
 fair!" 
 
 With wonderful rapidity they threw in their 
 ballots, as their names were checked off, and 
 hurried out. The four boys with the precious 
 box were left alone.
 
 198 " SCIRE EST REGERE." 
 
 Cries of " Fire ! fire ! " were now heard from 
 all directions. 
 
 " Shall we go ? " asked a Tory of a Commoner. 
 
 " I don't think we ought," was the slow 
 reply. 
 
 " But what's the use of staying here alone ? " 
 
 " I suppose, according to the by-laws, the 
 polls must be open until the time is up." 
 
 " Oh ! bosh the time ! " 
 
 " I guess there are plenty there, we'll stay. 
 You can go." The sturdy Commoner rather 
 enjoyed the other's impatience, even at the ex- 
 pense of his own. So these four officers of the 
 occasion waited eagerly until the clock tolled 
 the half-hour, then they rushed madly from the 
 chapel with their box, and the last Philo elec- 
 tion was legally over. 
 
 As the boys who roomed in Commons dashed 
 out, following Lambkin, an ominous cloud of 
 black smoke greeted their eyes. The wind blew 
 from the Milktoast Club in direct line down 
 the row of gray dormitories. If No. 6 went 
 they were all doomed. The danger seemed
 
 " SCIRE EST REGERE." 199 
 
 imminent. It is true nobody would have been 
 very sorry ; but property was property even 
 the Latin Commons. And fires do not stop 
 where they are told to, and a general blaze on 
 the Hill would have been no joke. 
 
 " 'Rah, for the engine ! " yelled Lambkin, 
 making for the engine-house opposite the old 
 pump. 
 
 The Principal, aroused by the cries and bells, 
 appeared upon the scene. He was, ex officio, 
 the head of the engine company. His scholars 
 were as proud to be under his guidance in trun- 
 dling " Old Phillips " out and spouting water 
 up to some third-story window on training after- 
 noon, as to follow his guidance in the mazes of 
 an abstruse demonstration. Lambkin will al- 
 ways count it one of the chief honors of his 
 school life, that he was captain of the spout 
 under Uncle Jim. 
 
 " Where is the fire ? Get her right out, 
 boys ! " 
 
 " No. 6, Latin Commons, sir," answered 
 Lambkin, breathing heavily, and pointing to the 
 smoke.
 
 2OO " SCIRE EST REGERE. 
 
 With fifty boys at the ropes the engine rolled 
 out as quickly and as easily as a baby-carriage. 
 The boys bent to their business, and they were 
 at the fire in no time. 
 
 " This is a false alarm, gentlemen," cried the 
 Principal, who was not to be trifled with at a 
 fire any more than in recitation. " Why was I 
 called out to see a fence burn ? Who set this 
 afire ? " Uncle Jim's majestic form swelled at 
 the affront. As every boy's heart beat the 
 faster when he crossed the threshold of the 
 Senior classroom door that bore the mystic 
 " No. 9," so every heart beat the slower when 
 that commanding eye swept from the boys to 
 the bonfire, and back again to the boys. 
 
 Some one had evidently emptied a half a bar- 
 rel of kerosene on a pile of shavings at the foot 
 of the fence by the last building in Latin Com- 
 mons. A blaze had flared up with black smoke. 
 Some of the fellows had exaggerated the alarm 
 was it merely for fun ? The bells rung, the 
 Fire Department aroused, Uncle Jim summoned 
 from his empty study 
 
 "The truth! I demand the truth!" exclaimed
 
 " SCIRE EST REGERE." 2OI 
 
 the Principal to the school. The fire was for- 
 gotten, the bells were silent. The situation was 
 strained. 
 
 " Look up there !" cried a voice, breaking in. 
 " Look ! " 
 
 It was John Strong who spoke. He pointed 
 with his stick at a bright flame perched upon 
 the roof of No. 6. 
 
 " Man the brakes ! " roared the Principal. 
 The school rushed to the engine and to the 
 Shawsheen cistern. Here was a case of real 
 fire. Only a few shavings soaked with oil, and 
 only blown by the wind upon the old, dry roof, 
 but what mischief might have come of it ! The 
 quick eye of the quiet boy had averted a serious 
 conflagration. 
 
 But before the pump was got to work, a well- 
 known head emerged from the scuttle on the 
 roof, and a figure glided to the menacing flame. 
 A quick jerk, and it was thrown down. 
 
 " Dalstan ! " cried the crowd, " Dalstan ! " 
 
 Dalstan roomed in No. 6, and had evidently 
 been up there before, for his agility was remark- 
 able, and when the danger was over, the school
 
 2O2 " SCIRE EST REGERE. 
 
 roared at his timely appearance. The boys 
 remembered too well that the spring before 
 John entered school, Dalstan used to climb up 
 on the roof of No. 6 midnight after midnight, 
 and sit astride the ridgepole, making night 
 hideous with a cracked violin. Missiles could 
 not dislodge him. He perched immovable, 
 while the indignation of Latin Commons, and 
 indeed of the whole neighborhood ran high. 
 Finally, a deputation of citizens waited upon 
 Uncle Jim for relief. 
 
 " Sir ! " said Uncle Jim to Dalstan in his 
 sternest tones, "sir, you may deliver to me 
 your musical instrument ! " 
 
 "Which?" asked the nonplussed boy, "I 
 have thirteen, sir ! " 
 
 When the engine was put away, Lambkin 
 bethought him for the first time of the Philo 
 election. The Commons made for the hall to 
 vote. It was empty. The clock struck three. 
 
 " I am so sorry," said Sunshine, when they 
 had found him. " It's too bad. I suppose 
 we've got to go in ! "
 
 " SCIRE EST REGERE. 2O3 
 
 " Go in ? " cried the Commons in amazement. 
 
 " Yes ! " interrupted the complacent Tory ; 
 " haven't you fellers heard ? I understand that 
 the committee has just formally counted the 
 ballots cast by the end of the allotted time. 
 We got thirty-two votes, and you only cast 
 three. You see we elected our ticket straight ! " 
 
 Thus fell the blow of this political coup cCttat 
 upon the Commons and their candidates. The 
 wrangling began hotly. Nightfall only finished 
 it. Two teachers acting as arbitrators decided 
 that technically the Commons had defeated 
 themselves. 
 
 But when the fire was finally laid at the door 
 of the new vice-president of Philo, its embers 
 proved too hot for him, and he resigned his 
 office. Uncle Jim never knew who burnt that 
 fence. Sometimes a school does its own pun- 
 ishing, and it is well that it should be so. 
 
 John Strong had not noticed the unusually 
 kind look that Uncle Jim had given him when 
 he observed the flame on the roof. He was too 
 much absorbed in his discovery. In the hot 
 political discussions of that day, he did not take
 
 2O4 " SCIRE EST REGERE." 
 
 much part. He was disappointed, but not over- 
 come by his defeat. To be trusted by the boys 
 and nominated, seemed a great experience. 
 
 That night, when he went into his dark room 
 after taking care of his furnace, the match that 
 he struck flared upon an envelope laid against 
 the match-safe and addressed to himself. A 
 sum of money fell from the envelope small, 
 but large to him. Who sent it ? Whence did 
 it come? What did it mean? John did not 
 know what waves of kindness could sweep over 
 the heart of an unapproachable man yet was 
 he not the man whom every boy that walked 
 the streets of Andover dared to call "Uncle?" 
 
 Long afterwards, John suspected the truth. 
 These fluctuations in Uncle Jim's feeling toward 
 the boy whom he did not understand, were 
 among the mysteries of his strong character.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 
 
 AT last the long step between winter and 
 spring was over. These six weeks of 
 snow, of slush, of mud, of raw winds, of flurry, 
 of little sunshine, of hope long delayed, of prom- 
 ise never performed, of colds and rubber boots, 
 of impatience and of endurance, were a little 
 more hated in Andover than in any other part 
 of New England. To read of greenness and 
 blossoms in New Jersey, and to be unable at 
 the time to detect with a microscope the first 
 symptoms of them in Massachusetts is aggra- 
 vating for Phillips boys. It is much more 
 aggravating for Abbott academy girls. The 
 Fern. Sems. look forward to no part of their 
 thorough course of study more eagerly than to 
 Gray's Botany. 
 
 But now the warm sun had burst upon An- 
 205
 
 2O6 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 
 
 dover hills and valleys to stay. Its lingering 
 coquetry was over. It dried up the walks ; it 
 coaxed pussy-willows from their hiding-places ; 
 it commanded the chestnuts to unfold broad 
 leaves and prepare their white plumes ; it whis- 
 pered to the birds who opened their throats and 
 sang mad carols to please their new mates ; it 
 smiled upon the dark pines and upon the soft 
 meadows by the Shawsheen River. Then the 
 glorious old sun, satisfied with its work, took 
 John Strong by the hand and led him down 
 through the oaks, back of English Commons, 
 down the road, over the river, under the railroad 
 bridge, until he rested at the foot of Indian 
 Ridge, panting and thanking God that he could 
 walk so far. 
 
 John was intoxicated with this his first spring 
 walk. He sat down near the road and looked 
 into the river and the woods. There glittered 
 one or two white points beyond the little valley. 
 These were the monuments in the Old South 
 Cemetery, now bathed in light. At John's feet 
 ferns were trying their best to uncurl. The 
 boy looked from the cemetery to the struggling
 
 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 2O/ 
 
 fronds, and gravely wondered how it was possi- 
 ble that anything could die. Then he remem- 
 bered that on the winter night of Doc.'s death 
 he had wondered that anything could live. 
 
 What a thing of life is sunshine ! Hot rays 
 shot down this Saturday afternoon. It was the 
 last day of April, and John, who had been 
 brought up in a cold New Hampshire village, 
 thought it the warmest April afternoon he had 
 ever seen. His feet were in the sun, but he sat 
 in the shade. He was alone. He had never 
 walked so far in all his life. As he sat there, 
 his lameness, his hardships were forgotten ; 
 only the beautiful of life remained. John was 
 in a state of exhilaration. It was as if he had 
 breathed nitrous oxide. Was this ecstasy purely 
 physical, or was it like that of a disembodied 
 spirit ? John was a delicate boy, and he some- 
 times asked himself such questions. 
 
 Now, while he sat there in the sun, his soul 
 floating away in a pleasant revery, a chattering 
 and laughing and screaming awakened him. 
 Instinctively he drew back. He did not wish 
 to be seen or to see. Such solitude was too
 
 2O8 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 
 
 rare to be thrown away. John plunged like a 
 frightened animal as fast as his feet could carry 
 him, up the gravelly side of the hill, into a little 
 glade, and up again, until he stood trembling 
 in the path on the top of Indian Ridge. He 
 listened intently. He looked along the path in 
 both directions ; as far as he could see no one 
 was visible. He heaved a short sigh of content. 
 The most beautiful spot in Andover was still 
 his. 
 
 He began to walk slowly here and there, 
 searching for a dry resting place. Deeper in 
 the woods he found a well-trodden path which 
 he followed with the expectant longing that 
 woodland explorers feel. It led up into a hollow 
 basin. From the south and west there was an 
 opening through the pines. Spring had sought 
 out this place and had clothed it with grass and 
 warmth and moss. A thick bush of elderberry 
 caught John's eye. He sauntered up and looked 
 behind it. Ah, there was the cosiest place in 
 all the world! He crept in gently. The ground 
 was covered with pine needles, dry and warm. 
 John threw himself down contentedly. He
 
 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 2(X) 
 
 could see the open space, but could not himself 
 be seen. His eyes wandered here and there 
 delightedly. What freedom was this ! 
 
 Suddenly he caught sight of a single white 
 anemone growing within reach of his hand. It 
 was at the sunny edge of the bush, and under 
 it. The delicate petals were tinged with pink. 
 There was but one flower on the stem. John 
 stretched out his hand as if to pick it. Then 
 he drew back. He would let it grow until he 
 went home. It would not wither then. A 
 gentle wind came, and the lovely anemone 
 swayed its head as if it thanked the boy for 
 leaving it a little longer. John gazed upon it 
 rapturously. It was the first anemone of the 
 spring for him. Perhaps it was the first in all 
 that country round. Of course there must be 
 a first somewhere. John studied it, blew upon 
 it, that it might bow before him again. Then 
 he loved it. 
 
 He now lay upon his back, peering into the 
 blue of the sky between the branches of the 
 bush and of the trees. He faintly heard some 
 catbirds scolding each other. He looked at the
 
 2IO THE FIRST ANEMONE. 
 
 anemone again. It seemed to nod to him. He 
 nodded back as if it had been a live thing. 
 Then a resinous drowsiness overtook him, and 
 he fell asleep. 
 
 He could not have slept long, when he was 
 awakened by the sound of footsteps. He opened 
 his eyes dreamily and lazily. He did not stir. 
 At first he thought that the interruption was a 
 dream-sound, for he saw nothing ; the steps 
 had stopped. He was closing his eyes once 
 more, when he distinctly heard the cracking of 
 twigs. Pretty soon a gray figure grew into 
 sight. It strolled with averted head looking 
 for something on the ground. It was the slight 
 figure of a young girl. John Strong hardly 
 moved a muscle as the girl walked straight 
 toward him into the sunny, open space. But 
 still she held her face bent down. She was 
 looking for wild flowers. John gave a start. 
 It was Miss Elva Selfrich, the girl of whom he 
 had hardly dared to think. 
 
 He had not spoken to her since the night of 
 the Levee. He had only passed her now and 
 then on the street, and had given her his best
 
 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 211 
 
 bow. Beyond this John was too honorable to 
 intrude himself upon her, even in his thoughts. 
 But now as he recognized her, a fear swept 
 over him. He really wished that she might not 
 see him, that he could not see her. A blush of 
 embarrassment flushed his face, that, unknown 
 to her, he should watch her. He felt it a dis- 
 courtesy that he could not help. He hoped she 
 would turn and go away. And still he looked. 
 
 The young lady sauntered leisurely. She en- 
 joyed the quiet spot and the solitude. She 
 made a motion to sit down, but the thought 
 that the other girls would troop up and spoil 
 her peace deterred her. Then the teacher's 
 whistle might sound at any moment, to call the 
 gentle flock together. Besides, this was the 
 first botanizing trip, and Miss Marks, their 
 teacher, had offered a prize for the first anem- 
 one brought to her. The girls had dispersed in 
 an exciting hunt. Elva slowly and carefully 
 sought out the places where the anemone ought 
 to grow. She followed the little opening around, 
 and was now coming surely to the bush behind 
 which John was hidden. John was in a quan-
 
 212 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 
 
 dary. He didn't know whether to arise and 
 bow and flee, or to trust to luck that she would 
 pass him by. He decided on the latter course 
 and waited breathlessly. Miss Elva drew nearer. 
 As she walked slowly with her eyes glued to 
 the ground, she gave a little cry. She had 
 espied at a short distance the single anemone 
 that John had left, nodding in the bright air. 
 With an exclamation she rushed upon it. 
 
 " Oh ! you little beauty. Oh ! you dear little 
 beauty." Then she started back. She did not 
 scream, she was too frightened. She groaned 
 " O/i-/i/" She had seen the outline of a man 
 behind the bush. She could not stir. She was 
 fastened to the ground with terror. 
 
 " O, please, Miss, don't ! Don't be fright- 
 ened. Oh ! I arn so sorry it is I. Don't you 
 know me ? " John had jumped to his feet. 
 He looked very handsome as he stood before 
 her. The young lady paled and flushed and 
 paled again. 
 
 " Oh ! how could you ? " she said thoughtlessly. 
 
 "And, if you'll excuse me, Miss Selfrich, I 
 didn't."
 
 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 213 
 
 John spoke manfully enough, but in fact the 
 sensitive boy was keenly hurt. Elva Selfrich 
 was quick enough to perceive this. 
 
 " Of course," she said gently ; " how could 
 you know I was coming ? " 
 
 " I thought that I was out of the way here. 
 I didn't suppose that I should bother anybody. 
 I came to er think," said John, wondering 
 what he did come for. 
 
 "Did you? I didn't ; I came to botanize." 
 The anemone at their feet shrunk at this 
 reply. 
 
 " It is a long time since I have talked to 
 you " The boy plunged boldly in, and then 
 stopped short with discomfiture. What did slie 
 care if he never talked to her again ? " That 
 is, since the Levee I mean " 
 
 " Yes. That was a hard night for you." Then, 
 with a slight flush, " I am glad it wasn't any 
 other Academy boy under that bush. I shall 
 never forget or forgive you the fright you gave 
 me, sir ! " 
 
 John did not understand this girlish nonsense. 
 He was about to apologize again, when Elva
 
 214 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 
 
 gave him a smile, so sweet and so reassuring 
 that it bewildered him. John was not used to 
 talking to girls. He had no sisters, and with 
 this young lady whom he liked so much, he felt 
 himself at a loss, such as forward, over-experi- 
 enced young men will not understand. 
 
 "I I hope you're quite well." 
 
 As John ventured this original remark, he 
 wiped the dew of agony from his brow. Elva 
 was a kind-hearted girl, and now comprehending 
 at last that the poor boy suffered from the awk- 
 wardness of the situation, she hastened to say 
 easily : 
 
 " Yes, thank you, I'm very well. I always 
 am; and I'm very glad to see you, although 
 I suppose it is against the rules." 
 
 "I will go," John hastened to say chivalrously. 
 
 An amused expression flitted across the eyes 
 of the pretty girl, though her lips remained 
 grave. She was not used to precisely this ideal 
 of honor between Academy boys and Fern. 
 Sems. There were no traditions extant to such 
 effect. She made a graceful motion with her 
 hand.
 
 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 21 5 
 
 "Perhaps it wouldn't be wrong if I staid a 
 minute? " 
 
 "A minute?" said Elva. "No, I don't think 
 it would. I'll go back to Miss Marks presently. 
 I must get my anemone first. Besides, it isn't 
 my fault that I found you." 
 
 And now John found it easy enough to talk. 
 He wondered how he ever could have felt em- 
 barrassed before her. Her well-bred sympathy 
 put him immediately at his ease. It seemed to 
 him that she had a peculiar power in under- 
 standing him, and in drawing him out. 
 
 "And so you take many long walks now, Mr. 
 Strong ? " 
 
 " O, yes!" answered the boy, with a toss of 
 his brown head ; " I am so much better. I 
 never walked before. This is the longest walk 
 I ever took. It is glorious to be like other boys. 
 Perhaps " 
 
 " Perhaps you will get well ? " interrupted 
 Elva, " I am sure you will." 
 
 " God knows," said John solemnly. 
 
 " I am sure," said Elva simply, " He'll do it 
 if He can."
 
 2l6 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 
 
 People speak of religious matters instinctively 
 in Andover. It is natural to the place. Many 
 a young student thinks that to achieve a posi- 
 tion piety must be flaunted about. Many a girl 
 discovers that a sacred topic will please her 
 teacher. But with this boy and girl it was dif- 
 ferent. They were both too genuine and as 
 for John, he was too retiring to touch on 
 religious matters too easily or too often. With 
 instinctive reserve they silenced the deep chord 
 to which both hearts had, for that one moment, 
 vibrated. 
 
 " I understand from Mr. Mansfield," contin- 
 ued Elva, after a little pause, and with a slight 
 blush, " that you are quite a ball-player." 
 
 " O, no ! It does me good to pitch. I think 
 the exercise has helped me. I pitch to get well 
 if I can." 
 
 " Will you play on the nine ? " 
 
 " I haven't the time," answered John quietly. 
 " You see, it's different with me ; I have to 
 study and live, too." 
 
 " Live ? " asked the girl vaguely. 
 
 " Support myself," explained John, coloring.
 
 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 2I/ 
 
 "Do you support yourself ? " asked Elva, after 
 a moment's hesitating silence. 
 
 " Why, yes ; I have to, of course. I always 
 have." John said this so modestly, making 
 neither a disgrace nor a parade of his poverty, 
 that Elva's bright, light heart was touched. 
 Elva had always had all the money she needed 
 pretty clothes, pretty things ; she had never 
 known in all her life what it meant to desire 
 some one of the common comforts of life des- 
 perately, or need it bitterly, and have to say, " I 
 can't have it ; I must do without." She looked 
 at John with gentle perplexity. Her eye caught 
 the poor quality of his clothes, their awkward 
 rural fit ; perhaps she had never noticed this 
 before. She could not understand what poverty 
 meant ; what biting, scraping, suffering poverty 
 like John Strong's must mean. But she had 
 the womanly instinct and tender imagination 
 that go far to supply the place of experience, 
 and she looked at John, and her sweet young 
 face quivered a little. 
 
 "Too bad ! " she said, under her breath, "I 
 am so sorry."
 
 2l8 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 
 
 " I don't need anybody to be sorry for me," 
 said John proudly. 
 
 {'Then," said the girl quickly, "let me respect 
 you. May I ? I do ; indeed I do, with all my 
 heart ! " 
 
 John lifted his head. He looked at her grate- 
 fully. What was that in her soft eyes ? A 
 tear? for him? John could not speak, but 
 he could have bowed his head before her and 
 blessed her. 
 
 " Squee-ee ! skwieck ! ee sk sk squee-ek. \ " 
 
 A very feminine attempt to blow a masculine 
 tin whistle quavered along the ridge. The 
 sound might have been a quarter of a mile off, 
 or only a hundred feet. 
 
 " Oh ! I must go ; it is too bad. It is Miss 
 Marks. When we have to go back she blows 
 the whistle. At least, Mr. Strong," said Elva, 
 with a pretty look, " at least, sir, you will pick 
 me my anemone ? " 
 
 John stooped. If he had only foreseen that 
 this drooping pink bell was to be hers, how 
 much more would he have loved it ! He bent 
 upon one knee and picked the fresh flower,
 
 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 221 
 
 which did not seem to shrink now, but bowed 
 toward him gladly. John could have touched 
 the flower to his lips on its journey from the 
 grass to Miss Elva's hand. This sentimental 
 thought was but a foolish flash. Of course he 
 
 A 
 
 did nothing of the kind. But he did offer the 
 single anemone to Miss Selfrich after a right 
 knightly fashion, on one knee, and she did 
 receive it with such a sweet smile that 
 
 " Miss Selfrich ! I am surprised. Sir, are 
 you a member of Phillips Academy ? You shall 
 be reported to Dr. Tyler. You may retire, 
 sir ! Miss Elva, you may come with me ! " 
 
 Discovered in this unconventional attitude, 
 John jumped up with flushed face, while Elya 
 started back, still holding to her precious flower. 
 Miss Marks advanced upon the guilty couple. 
 Her bonnet shook, but she controlled herself 
 admirably. Her voice vibrated with displeasure. 
 Two or three girls now appeared, and to judge 
 by their suppressed giggling, were not so much 
 shocked at the discovery of the young man as 
 a member of the Fern. Sem. is taught to be. 
 
 " Is this interview preconcerted ? " The
 
 222 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 
 
 teacher's gloved forefinger pointed austerely 
 at John, while her severe voice was projected 
 toward Elva. 
 
 " No, ma'am ; I was alone. I had gone to 
 sleep here. I didn't know it. It was a great 
 surprise, I assure you." John turned to ex- 
 plain. This mollified matters. Elva gave him 
 a grateful glance. 
 
 " Your name, sir ? You may go, and see 
 that it does not occur again." 
 
 " See," said Elva, rushing up to her botanical 
 instructress. "I found it the first anemone ! 
 Will you please tell us its botanical name ? I'll 
 analyze it to-night." 
 
 The other girls crowded around the surprised 
 flower with cries of ecstasy. The good teacher 
 had met her hobby, and John was saved. 
 
 "Yes, young ladies," she continued, with a 
 change of tone, " it is the nemorosa, of the fam- 
 ily ranunculacece. It is also called the wind- 
 flower. You will notice that it has but one 
 flower, which has six petals, or sepals, rather. 
 This is a very purply-pink specimen. The 
 nemorosa has an involucre of"
 
 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 223 
 
 But John heard no more. He had passed 
 beyond the lecture. 
 
 He was walking down the eastern slope of 
 Indian Ridge, making his way through the 
 woods, over the gravelly slide toward the street, 
 when a sudden sound stopped him. It seemed 
 like a cry of distress, nay, like cries of distress. 
 John listened. The cries redoubled ; they be- 
 came shrieks. They were pitched in a high, 
 piercing key ; they could only come from 
 women. They could only come from the ladies 
 he had just left. John dashed back up the slope 
 with all his speed. He dug his stick into the 
 ground to help him along. The cries increased 
 as he drew nearer. Parting the branches, he 
 plunged panting into the open glade. Had In- 
 dian Ridge evolved an Indian ? or, what was 
 more probable, a tramp ? John stopped and 
 looked around. The ladies were there, in an 
 excited, shrieking group. The tramp he did 
 not see. 
 
 " Where is he ? " cried John. " Where is he ? 
 Which way did he go ? How was he dressed ? 
 How tall ? I'll catch him. I'll thrash him ! "
 
 224 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 
 
 John flourished his stick bravely, looking around 
 vainly for the foe. At his appearance, Miss 
 Marks swallowed a shriek with a desperate 
 gulp, and tried to speak. By far the coolest of 
 the group was Elva, and catching John's eye, 
 she pointed unsteadily to the ground, and 
 managed to ejaculate : 
 
 " There he is, oh ! Do kill him ! " 
 
 John's eyes followed the young lady's gesture. 
 Prone upon the ground, he lay, nearly six feet 
 long a black and writhing object. 
 
 " It's a snake ! A horrid snake ! " cried the 
 girls in chorus. 
 
 "It is a very disagreeable serpent," said Miss 
 Marks, recovering her dignity. As John ap- 
 proached with caution, grasping his stick with 
 a firm hand, the snake curled itself into a coil, 
 raised its head, and regarded the young man 
 mildly. It did not breathe flames, or shoot out 
 forked tongues, or hiss, or spring with venomous 
 leap as snakes generally do in novels. This 
 was an Andover snake, and as harmless as an 
 exploded doctrine. It looked at John slug- 
 gishly, but with a gentlemanly expression as if
 
 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 22$ 
 
 it were trying to shake hands. The sunshine 
 had warmed it into benevolence. Undoubtedly, 
 hearing the ladies' flute-like voices, it had crept 
 out from its hiding-place with the very best of 
 intentions. Snakes are proverbially fond of 
 music. How could John kill such an innocent 
 and confiding creature ? 
 
 " He's perfectly harmless, ladies ! " 
 
 "Oh, no, no! Kill him ! kill" - 
 
 " But why don't you leave him here ? " sug- 
 gested John. " It's easier to walk away than 
 to kill him." 
 
 " I can't walk! " cried one of the girls. "I'm 
 rooted to the spot ! " There was nothing else to 
 do, and with a few blows of his stick, John dis- 
 patched the wondering and inoffensive monster. 
 The girls covered their eyes and turned their 
 backs while the execution was in progress. 
 Their shrieks gradually subsided to a few 
 gasps. 
 
 " Is it really dead, young man ? " ventured 
 Miss Marks. "We're under great obligation to 
 you, sir." John bowed modestly. "It was a 
 brave deed," continued Miss Marks.
 
 226 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 
 
 " It was heroic," sobbed a feeble blonde. 
 
 " St. George and the Dragon ! " whispered 
 another. 
 
 "It was very manly and a convenient," 
 said Elva sensibly. 
 
 The teacher, who had now fully recovered 
 herself, gathered the scattering girls about her, 
 and, mindful of the rare opportunity, pointed to 
 the corpse : 
 
 "This, young ladies, is a common black snake, 
 a large specimen of extraordinary development. 
 It is known to scientists as the coluber constric- 
 tor. You may hereafter speak of it by this name. 
 It is fond of basking in the sun. It feeds on 
 mice, toads, frogs, moles, lizards, and eggs. 
 This constrictor was evidently about to prey on 
 a rabbit or a chicken. It destroys its prey by 
 the constriction of its folds. Hence its name. 
 Young ladies, its bite is perfectly harmless." 
 
 John took in this zoological discourse with 
 perfect gravity. When he saw Miss Elva's eyes 
 twinkle at the last sentence, his own responded 
 merrily. But he had too much tact to give 
 utterance to the words that sprang to his lips :
 
 THE FIRST ANEMONE. 22/ 
 
 " If you knew it was harmless, why call me to 
 kill it ? " 
 
 At this junction, Elva formally introduced 
 John to her teacher and her friends. Miss 
 Marks received him with condescension and the 
 girls with effusion. And before he knew how it 
 happened, John found himself in the unusual 
 position of escorting a Fern. Sem. party down 
 the side of Indian Ridge, up the street, toward 
 home. 
 
 Miss Marks was very gracious. She per- 
 mitted Miss Elva to walk on one side of him 
 while she herself occupied the other. 
 
 "It seems as if one Columbine Conflictor" 
 
 "Coluber Constrictor, Miss Selfrich," inter- 
 rupted Miss Marks. " At any rate," resumed 
 Elva, " we might have given him a funeral ; he 
 and his name were long enough." 
 
 Under the reproving look which this levity 
 provoked, she and John exchanged joyous 
 glances. John felt indefinably happy. What 
 was the matter with him ? Even a black snake 
 could not destroy the delicate romance of this 
 afternoon on Indian Ridge.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 
 
 , l8 
 
 MY DEAR MOTHER : 
 The Draper Speaking came off last night. I didn't 
 tell you about it before, so as not to worry you. 
 Nine of us spoke. I spoke " The Last Day of Pompeii.' I 
 did my best. I haven't quite recovered from the strain of last 
 term. After all, I miss poor Doc. A fellow whom they call 
 " Sunshine," a good friend of mine and a great base-ball chap, 
 took first prize, and they gave me second. The prize is twelve 
 dollars, and the money will help me very much to get through. 
 I don't feel so badly about not getting first. All the boys say 
 I deserved it. To comfort you, I quote from to-day's 
 Phillipian : 
 
 " The audience as usual were disappointed in the award. The committee 
 seemed to have been ' cracked ' on technicalities. These are very good things ; 
 but when a speaker who forgets half of his piece, clips his words and mur- 
 ders his English takes first prize over one whose least defects are to speak 
 clearly and understandingly and who does not rant around the stage as a pro- 
 fessional mountebank, it seems as if it were time to make a change." 
 
 " Base-ball occupies the most exciting part of our time. They 
 say Exeter has a rattling team. Our final examinations come 
 on soon. Then hurrah for home and you, sweet mother. 
 Ever your affectionate son, 
 
 JOHN. 
 
 P. S. The two-dollar bill I inclose will help you out on 
 something. J. 
 
 228
 
 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 22Q 
 
 School, after all, is life. There is the same 
 rush. And when work is faithfully done, it be- 
 comes, in the phraseology of the Phillips boys, 
 a " cold rush." Perhaps John Strong breasted 
 his work with as much rushing enthusiasm as 
 any of them. Nevertheless, he had the sicken- 
 ing suspicion that he could never retrieve the 
 loss of last term. Uncle Jim's manner to him, 
 if nothing else, told him that the high rank he 
 had worked for had slipped through his fingers. 
 
 John had never been stronger in his life. 
 His lessons were as perfect as diligence could 
 make them. The care that nearly broke him 
 down was gone. The June air and there is 
 none in New England more invigorating than 
 that on Andover Hill began to bring the glow 
 back to a face paled and pinched by suffering, 
 watching and poverty. The cane that Selfrich 
 had reason to remember, was seldom used. 
 Strong could walk down to the post-office and 
 back with exhilaration, and yet he flatly refused 
 to play on the great Academy nine, much to 
 the disgust of the school and to the amazement 
 of the Faculty.
 
 23O PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 
 
 " Look here," said Lambkin to John a few 
 days after the Draper, and only a week before 
 the game, " you can't do that, you know. You 
 must play. Of course you will." 
 
 " I can't," answered John simply. 
 
 "Why not? Out with it now. You needn't 
 try to bat. If you do happen to hit the ball, 
 you just walk down to first base as slow as you 
 please. Some one else will run for you there." 
 
 " It isn't that." 
 
 "Well, what is it, then ? Tell a fellow ! You 
 haven't got a better friend. I'll understand. I 
 guess I can help you." 
 
 Father Lambkin looked at John with great 
 pride and affection as he stood before him. He 
 thought there wasn't another such a fellow as 
 John in the world, and took his friend's misfor- 
 tunes very much to heart. 
 
 "The truth is," answered John quietly, "the 
 Faculty are down on me enough for pitching 
 last term in the Gym. and keeping it up this 
 term on the campus. They think I neglect 
 work for base-ball. I know Uncle Jim thinks 
 that I shirked last term for Gym. practice."
 
 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 23! 
 
 "But how can he?" answered Lambkin, with 
 astonishment. " He knows, everybody knows, 
 you slaved yourself to death for Shelby, and if 
 it hadn't been for that little pitching you'd have 
 followed him, sure as fate." 
 
 " Yes, yes." John spoke wearily, as if he 
 were tired of the argument. "I know; but 
 Uncle Jim doesn't see it that way. He never 
 understood how Doc. held me down. He 
 thought I could study just as well with him 
 sick the whole term in my room as I could 
 alone. Nobody really understood the case but 
 you, Lambkin. You see, if I pitched in that 
 game, and I haven't pitched at all except to 
 practice the nine, Uncle Jim will think I'm sort 
 of a hypocrite. Don't you see ? He's been 
 good to me. He's really supported me. I 
 don't want him to be deceived in me. Base- 
 ball is small compared with his good opinion." 
 
 "But the honor of Old Phillips! " exclaimed 
 Lambkin in despair. 
 
 "I guess the nine will take care of itself." 
 
 John spoke cheerfully. His pitching had 
 really become wonderful. Phillips had nothing
 
 232 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 
 
 to compare with it, and naturally tried to get 
 him to play on its nine. The base-ball manage- 
 ment had offered every inducement, but to no 
 purpose. It didn't matter so much in all the 
 preliminary matches. They were but rehearsals 
 for the game of the year, the match between 
 Phillips and Exeter rival academies for fifty 
 years and more. Nowhere was this competi- 
 tion keener than in the field of athletics. These 
 two schools meet like gladiators twice a year, 
 and measure skilled strength at foot-ball and at 
 base-ball. Exeter had won the foot-ball cham- 
 pionship on her own grounds the previous fall 
 to the sorrow of all Andover. Now was the 
 time to recover prestige and glory. 
 
 The placards announcing the great game 
 were posted on all the fences of the town. 
 The Saturday afternoon was drawing near. 
 Telegrams were continually exchanged between 
 the rival fitting schools. It was the Friday 
 night before the match. The excitement of an- 
 ticipation was. almost too great to be borne. 
 Rumors that two hundred and fifty Exeter boys
 
 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 233 
 
 were coming to "fight the game through," shook 
 the Academy with apprehension. John Strong 
 had consented some time previously to eat with 
 the " nine " at the training table, in order to be 
 able "to pitch practice balls for the team," the 
 manager said. 
 
 " Won't you play at all ? " asked Lambkin 
 that night after a prolonged consultation with 
 the manager and captain. " The whole school 
 wants and needs you." 
 
 " I'm awfully cut up about it, but I don't see 
 how I can." John spoke sadly. 
 
 "Then the manager wants you to sit with the 
 boys at the game and help coach them on the 
 quiet ; you can encourage them a lot, you know." 
 Lambkin played his last card for the sake of 
 Phillips. 
 
 "Oh! I just as lief sit with them, or keep 
 score, or anything of that kind. The nine has 
 got to win. If yelling will do it I'll put up my 
 share." 
 
 " You'll be sure to be there, won't you ? " 
 
 Lambkin put a hand on John's biceps. 
 " You've got fine muscle," he added musingly.
 
 234 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 
 
 " I hope we'll win. The boys will play for all 
 they're worth." 
 
 " Of course they will. I'll be there. What 
 Phillips boy won't ? " 
 
 " If that's all I can get out of you I guess I'll 
 go." Lambkin, dissatisfied with the success of 
 his mission, left the room. 
 
 " Are you ready ? Play ! " 
 
 The clear voice of the Harvard umpire rang 
 out like a cornet upon the tumultuous air. The 
 last " Rah ! " died away from both sides and left 
 the unnatural stillness of mutual expectation 
 ready to be hilariously broken by the side that 
 scored the first advantage. 
 
 By an oversight on the part of the weather 
 bureau, unexampled in the history of Andover, 
 it did not rain on the day of this great match. 
 The day was perfect. It was warm, and truant 
 clouds veiled the glaring sun from the eyes of the 
 players. Ladies were gaily perched on benches 
 behind the high board fence that separated the 
 grounds of the Principal's house from the 
 campus. In front of these was the old stage
 
 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 235 
 
 coach, transformed beyond the most astute 
 powers of recognition. It was festooned in 
 blue and white, Andover's modest colors, and 
 on its top flags waved arid horns tooted tremen- 
 dously. Pete was in his element. 
 
 " I wa'n't a-goin' to drive any them Exeter 
 fellers ; Andover boys are good enough for me." 
 And in recognition of this superlative patriotic 
 sentiment, considering that he had refused a 
 large bonus from the Exeter contingency, Pete 
 was feasted with ginger pop and ice-cream from 
 Dal Minton's inexhaustible stock, to his com- 
 plete and inward satisfaction. 
 
 Directly before this bannered stage the An- 
 dover boys were massed. There were three hun- 
 dred and twenty of them trained to encourage 
 their nine by all the yells known to school inven- 
 tion. Diagonally opposite them on the right 
 were the Exeter boys. They were all there. 
 Their marshals, with batons decorated with crim- 
 son and white, kept them in order. They had 
 secured two barges, one of which held a band 
 that they had brought with them to celebrate 
 their confident victory.
 
 236 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 
 
 The blue and crimson streamers waved defi- 
 ance at each other. But now fell the first quiet 
 now the game had begun. A thousand un- 
 blinking eyes were fixed upon the players. Ex- 
 eter had won the toss, and Andover was at the 
 bat. 
 
 " Sunshine to the bat, and Lambkin on 
 deck ! " cried the official scorer for the Andover 
 side. 
 
 With a look of determination the captain of 
 the nine, the winner of the Draper prize, and 
 since that winter night one of the most popular 
 boys in school, stepped up. Fierce excitement 
 was in his face. 
 
 "Now," cried the marshal of the Andover 
 crowd, waving his stick decorated with blue and 
 white, " now, boys, give him three times three 
 and a tiger ! " 
 
 How the fellows yelled. But Exeter was not 
 outdone. If anything, they could howl the 
 louder. Amid these shrieks that were as im- 
 portant a part of the game as the ball itself, 
 the umpire cried : 
 
 "Strike one!"
 
 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 237 
 
 " Hi-yi-yi-hoop-Bang-Ra-ra ! " responded the 
 Exeter gang with glee. 
 
 "Ball one"- 
 
 " Foul Out!" 
 
 Flags of crimson waved tumultuously in the 
 deafened air. The drums from Exeter's barge 
 beat with defiance of victory. 
 
 " Ugh S s s " groaned Andover. 
 The sound expressed derision for the opponents 
 and hope for themselves. 
 
 " Lambkin to the bat ! " 
 
 The scorer spoke a trifle nervously and reached 
 to the pail for a tin cup of water. The rest of 
 the Andover nine sat stolidly upon the bench 
 awaiting their turn. 
 
 " Ball, one ! " haughtily spoke the Harvard 
 umpire, glancing disdainfully over the hooting 
 rivals. 
 
 " Ah-h ! Hurrah ! Bully for you ! run her 
 down a beauty ! " 
 
 The Andover boys went beside themselves 
 as Lambkin let fly right over second, a sure 
 base hit. 
 
 " Now three times three for Lambkin ! "
 
 238 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 
 
 shrieked the marshal, hopping up and down 
 like a madman before the line of boys behind 
 the tight-strung rope. 
 
 " Runner out ! " quietly the umpire decided. 
 It was fearfully close. 
 
 " Boom ! " went a great torpedo behind Exe- 
 ter's ranks in joyful derision. 
 
 " A nice umpire ! S s s down with 
 the umpire ! " yelled the Andover crowd, 
 thoroughly disgusted. 
 
 " Shut up, boys ! We'll be gentlemen," an- 
 swered John Strong at that moment. " We'll 
 teach them, boys ! Let's give them more than 
 fair play ! " 
 
 The traditions of Andover are all opposed to 
 the discourtesy of hissing opponents on the 
 athletic field. Once in a while her boys break 
 away from this unwritten law in the excitement 
 of close rivalry. But such spasms of ungentle- 
 manliness are invariably frowned upon, and 
 always will be, by those to whom the honor of 
 " Old Phillips " is dear. 
 
 The game went on. We cannot chronicle 
 each hit and every error. Andover went
 
 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 239 
 
 out in the first inning double-quick without 
 scoring. 
 
 When Exeter came to the bat, the first man 
 led off with a base hit. Number two got his 
 base on balls. Number three was given his 
 base by being hit by a pitched ball. The next 
 man went out on a foul. So did the next. 
 Number six made a three-bagger and let in the 
 three on the bases. He then got put out on an 
 attempted steal to home plate. 
 
 " Score 3 to o in favor of Exeter." 
 
 By this time Dal Minton's team was emptied 
 by the Exeter crowd of all his ginger pop and 
 creams, and he retired satisfied with his score 
 on that day. 
 
 In the first of the second inning only one 
 Andover man got to third, and that on a passed 
 ball. Exeter then came in and added one more 
 run to her score. 
 
 Third inning. Andover hit safely and freely 
 for bases, but were forced out. They might 
 have had three runs, but luck was against them. 
 By this time Andover had begun to despair, and 
 three hundred faces were as blue as their ribbons.
 
 24O PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 
 
 Exeter came in again and hit Andover's 
 pitcher with ease for five base hits, but good 
 fielding and sharp playing held them down to 
 one run. Score, Exeter 5, Andover o. 
 
 The fourth and fifth innings were more even. 
 Exeter hit the pitcher, but could not score. An- 
 dover neither hit nor made a run. At the last 
 of the fifth inning Andover's third baseman 
 was hit full in the chest by a terrific drive. He 
 had presence of mind to hold the ball amid en- 
 thusiastic cheers. Then he dropped. The um- 
 pire called time. It looked as if Andover were 
 now completely demoralized. Their pitcher had 
 evidently given out. He was almost knocked 
 out of the box, and the manager and the captain 
 consulted while the wounded man was moved 
 off the field. 
 
 John Strong had felt the disgrace of defeat 
 so keenly that tears of mortification blinded 
 him. Growls of disappointment were freely 
 heard along the Andover line. The boys had 
 lost the art of cheering. They were dis- 
 heartened, and wished the game were done and 
 the misery of the moment over.
 
 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 24! 
 
 Now the Andover manager stepped before 
 that line of gloomy lads. He made a sign with 
 his cane and then dug it into the ground to 
 steady himself for his last and only move. He 
 raised his voice so that it rang over the field : 
 
 " The third baseman is forced to retire, and 
 Strong will substitute and pitch. Lambkin will 
 catch. Now, boys, give the Phillips yell ! " 
 
 Like wildfire the announcement inflamed the 
 school: " P-H-I-L-L-I-P-S ! Ra ! ra ! ra ! " 
 Dignified professors and delicate ladies joined 
 in this time-honored cry. It was repeated 
 three times. New enthusiasm caught the nine 
 as it did the school. 
 
 " Now three times three for Strong ! " 
 
 " Ra-ra-ra ! Ra-ra-ra ! Ra-ra-ra Strong ! ' ' 
 answered the line madly. 
 
 John was thus artfully committed before the 
 whole school. 
 
 "But how can I I'm not a substitute?" 
 said Strong to the manager, with trembling 
 lips. He was amazed beyond measure at the 
 manager's audacity. 
 
 " O yes, you are ! Your name's down !
 
 242 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 
 
 Never mind the uniform. Pitch in your shirt 
 sleeves. Pitch anyhow. You've got to do it 
 to save the day." 
 
 John instinctively glanced at the seats where 
 the Fern. Sems. sat, a conspicuous row of loyally 
 bedecked girls in summer dresses. Miss Elva 
 Selfrich sat among them, sweet and fair. One 
 look from her gentle eyes seemed to encourage 
 him, and John made up his mind at once. 
 
 The Exeter crowd, not knowing what this 
 change and new enthusiasm meant, answered, 
 nothing daunted : 
 
 " Hoo ! Ra ! Ray ! 
 
 " Hoo ! Ra ! Ray ! 
 
 " Exeter Exeter 
 
 "P. E. A-a-af" 
 
 "Time! Are you ready? Play !" sang out 
 the umpire. 
 
 Sunshine led again. He swung the bat vi- 
 ciously and struck the ball. 
 
 " Ah ! Eh ! Boom-ta-ra ! " yelled the line. 
 
 " Now, boys ! " shouted the maniac of an 
 Andover marshal, wild at this unexpected turn 
 of affairs.
 
 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 243 
 
 " What has he done? What has he done?" 
 
 " He lined it out for base number one ! " 
 
 What a cry that was ! Three hundred throats 
 repeated it until exhausted. Power struck the 
 batsmen and they pounded the ball. At the 
 end of the first half of the sixth inning the 
 score stood 5 to 3 in favor of Exeter. Andover 
 had recovered her pluck. 
 
 At last John Strong faced the school, the 
 Exeter batsman, and held the ball. The excite- 
 ment was intense. Cheer after cheer followed 
 from hoarse throats. 
 
 " Boom-tah-rah-Boom-tah-rah-Boom - tah - 
 rah Strong ! " The shriek died away. 
 
 " High ball," indicated the umpire. 
 
 " Strike ! " 
 
 No one had time to think ; hardly to see. 
 
 " Strike, two ! " 
 
 It is useless to attempt to describe the scene. 
 While the catcher was putting on his mask and 
 the Exeter batsman was moistening his hands 
 and shaking his bat in bewilderment, the An- 
 dover lads were enthusiastically repeating in 
 unison at the top of their lungs :
 
 244 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 
 
 " Now let him be ; now let him be" 
 " He'll put him out on strike mimber three ! " 
 John stood with shaking legs, the central fig- 
 ure of the school. He thought that he should 
 fall. He thought his spine would collapse at 
 this supreme moment. But he pulled himself 
 together when he caught Lambkin's encourag- 
 ing look and a secret sign indicating the char- 
 acter of the next ball to be pitched. 
 
 The sphere sped from Strong's hands. It 
 went in direct line for the batsman who jumped 
 back like a cat. 
 
 " Strike, three and out ! " rang from the um- 
 pire. 
 
 The ball when only five feet from the base, 
 described a wonderful out-curve, the reason of 
 which utterly baffles scientific theorists, and 
 passed over to the edge of the home plate. It 
 was now Exeter's turn to be discouraged. Their 
 school shouts were not diminished, but they 
 were executed in a perfunctory way simply to 
 drown Andover out. The Harvard umpire 
 gave John a keen glance as the boy walked 
 with a perceptible limp to the bench.
 
 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 245 
 
 In the seventh inning Andover made two 
 more runs such is the impetus of enthusiasm 
 and Exeter was tied. In the second half of 
 the inning John held Exeter down to one hit 
 and no score. The eighth inning passed, each 
 side getting only a "goose egg." John held to 
 it pluckily, but was evidently reserving his 
 strength for the final inning. 
 
 Matters were as serious as they can be in a 
 ball-game when Andover went to bat at-the first 
 of the ninth inning. The two schools were ex- 
 hausted, and contented themselves with local 
 cries along the line. They settled for the con- 
 test. Strong was the last batter on the score, 
 and now stepped to bat for the first time. He 
 was not used to this. The school knew it as 
 well as he, and fully expected him to strike out. 
 But the pitcher, not knowing but that Strong 
 batted as he pitched, threw the ball warily. 
 
 "One strike. Five balls !" called the umpire. 
 
 "Take it easy, John. Don't strike. He won't 
 pitch over the plate. He can't," whispered 
 Lambkin. 
 
 But the Exeter pitcher, seeing that he had but
 
 246 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 
 
 one more "called ball," sent an easy one right 
 over the base. John saw it coming and swung 
 the bat as never before. To the surprise of 
 everybody the ball flew over the third baseman's 
 head and rolled far beyond. For any one else 
 it would have been a " clean two-bagger." 
 
 " Run her easy, John," shrieked the "coach." 
 " They can't get you. There you are ! " 
 
 " Safe on first ! " cried the umpire, as John 
 landed on the bag about two seconds before the 
 ball was fielded in. 
 
 " Dalstan, take his place and run him," 
 ordered the captain ; and John retired with all 
 the added honor of an unexpected hit. 
 
 Sunshine came to bat. Dalstan, who had 
 taken John's place, now stole second. None 
 out, one on second. The chances were strongly 
 in favor of a score. 
 
 " Strike two ! " cried the umpire above the 
 din, after Sunshine had made two ineffectual 
 attempts. Batsmen often make the mistake of 
 trying to strike the ball too hard. Sunshine 
 fell into that common error in the excitement 
 of responsibility.
 
 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 
 
 " Whew ! Ra-ra-ra Sunshine ! " What a 
 clear hit that was ! Dalstan came shooting in 
 over the home plate like a locomotive. 
 
 Led by the marshal, Andover shrieked from 
 its raw throat : 
 
 " What did he do f What did he do?" 
 
 " He lined it out for base number two! " 
 
 Only he who has been present at one of those 
 match games, the memory of which still sends 
 the blood surging through the veins after years 
 of absence from school, can understand the tri- 
 umph of such a unanimous cry. 
 
 In the confusion Lambkin stepped up and 
 " flied out " to right field. Sunshine stole third. 
 The next man fouled out, and Number four was 
 thrown out at first. 
 
 Score at the end of the first of the ninth in- 
 ning 6 to 5 in favor of Andover. 
 
 But the game was not yet won. Exeter had 
 still her turn at the bat. She might tie or win. 
 With roars, cat-calls, whistles, the beating of 
 drums and tooting of horns, Exeter encouraged 
 her nine to meet the crisis. Andover was not 
 behind in her vociferations. Each Academy
 
 248 PHILLIPS VS. EXETER. 
 
 shouted its school yell in opposition to the 
 other. The crimson strode to the bat. John 
 Strong in the pitcher's box, faced his opponent 
 at this crisis. His face was a deadly pallor. 
 
 " Low ball ! Play ! " shouted the umpire, try- 
 ing to keep up the show of superior coolness 
 in this final struggle.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE VICTORY. 
 
 ROGER MANSFIELD, by virtue of his 
 being a member of Phillips Academy 
 (for the Board of Trustees being the same, 
 theologues in the technical sense are only 
 Academy boys in a later and therefore more 
 highly developed state), and also by reason of 
 his ability to catch " flies," was a member of 
 the nine, and played center field. 
 
 As he took his position in the field well back 
 of second base, he was not far from the fence 
 that bounded that side of the old campus. John 
 Calvin was no uninterested spectator and barked 
 approbation with unwavering and undiminishing 
 enthusiasm, whenever his master's side made 
 a fine play. 
 
 When this contest began, Calvin was ordered 
 on top of the fence, not far behind Roger, where 
 249
 
 25O THE VICTORY. 
 
 he could inspect the game, squatting on his 
 haunches with rapt intelligence. 
 
 At the moment 'when the umpire shouted his 
 decisive "Play ! " an instantaneous photograph 
 might have been taken of the nine as they con- 
 centrated their energy in a strained and motion- 
 less rigidity. Thirty feet behind the bat was 
 Lambkin, standing stiffly bent at the knees 
 ready for the ball. Every muscle was in ex- 
 cited repose. John Strong faced him, the 
 blood now surging back to his ears and temples. 
 He was bent forward and both hands held the 
 impatient ball at his right hip. Sunshine, the 
 captain, guarded first base and intently eyed the 
 batsman. Behind him Exeter yells endeavored 
 to disconcert his play, but he did not hear them. 
 He watched his men and the ball. Dalstan, the 
 base runner, played short stop, and with legs 
 astride and hands at his mouth he waited for 
 his chance. Far behind was Mansfield, whose 
 height and tremendous reach seemed to the boys 
 sufficient to wrench a meteorite from the heavens. 
 
 " Strike one ! " The sound of the umpire's 
 decision smote Exeter ominously.
 
 THE VICTORY. 25! 
 
 "Don't yell, boys, yet," cried the Andover 
 marshal. " Don't break him up ! " 
 
 "Ball, one!" 
 
 Neither side uttered a sound. Each fixed his 
 eyes on its representative and hardly breathed. 
 
 " Strike, two ! " The umpire marked the 
 ground with his cane. 
 
 " Now, boys, all together. Rata to thrat ! " 
 shrieked the Andover marshal. And the en- 
 thusiasm that had been pent up for fully five 
 minutes thundered in the air. 
 
 " Rata to thrat to thrat to thrat ! 
 
 Tara to lix to lix to lix ! 
 
 Kick-a bah bah ! Kick-a bah bah ! 
 
 Andover, Andover, Rah-rah-rah ! Stro-ong! " 
 
 " Exeter Exeter Ra-ra-ra ! " repeated 
 the opposing faction in antiphony. 
 
 "Ball, two!" 
 
 " Striker out ! " 
 
 Who can describe how many times the "long 
 Phillips " was given ? The Exeter batsman threw 
 his stick away in disgust and strode with a black 
 face to his bench. One out. The next player 
 at the bat; and the umpire called "high ball."
 
 252 THE VICTORY. 
 
 The sphere left Strong's hands like a musket 
 shot. It sped straight for the plate. There 
 was no curve in it. Exeter struck. He hit. 
 See the ball rise ! How he runs for his base in 
 the first mad applause from Exeter ! The ball 
 flew a hundred feet in the air, over second. 
 Every one watched it breathlessly in its flight. 
 Roger turned about and ran back with all his 
 might. Which would get there first, the. ball or 
 the theologue ? Like an arrow it hissed through 
 the air straight for the fence. 
 
 John Calvin eyed the approaching missile. 
 He had been taught to play ball, too, and was 
 accustomed to catch in his large jaws. The 
 dog measured the distance like a general with 
 his eye and rose to his fore legs. 
 
 " Out of the way, you brute ! " shrieked 
 Roger. 
 
 The theologue jumped. So did the dog. 
 One stretched out a hand ; the other opened 
 his mouth agape. The disputed ball descended, 
 and all three fell to the ground. 
 
 Out from the mltte a hand appeared 
 " mystic, wonderful," holding the ball ; but this
 
 THE VICTORY. 255 
 
 was hidden from the spectators by the jaws of 
 John Calvin which had closed about the fist 
 instead of the ball itself. 
 
 "The dog's got it ! " shrieked Exeter's coach. 
 " Run her down to third." 
 
 " Hoo-ray, hoo-ray ! " roared the Exeter 
 crowd. 
 
 " I caught it he's out ! " thundered Roger 
 from his uncomfortable position. He did not 
 move a muscle. 
 
 The umpire hurried to the scene. It was 
 almost an impossibility for Roger to hold the 
 ball ; but there it was. John Calvin had in 
 the meanwhile relaxed his grip of his master's 
 fist and now licked it tenderly, and wagged his 
 tail pleasantly as the umpire approached. 
 
 " I got the ball first. The dog closed on the 
 hand by mistake. See his teeth along the 
 knuckles. The ball never touched his mouth or 
 the ground." 
 
 Roger showed the marks of teeth. His hand 
 bled freely. The evidence was complete. 
 
 " Striker out," cried the umpire with decision. 
 
 Then Roger arose, tossed the ball to second,
 
 256 THE VICTORY. 
 
 and resumed his position amid all the whoopings, 
 bawlings and bellowings which were left on the 
 Andover side, in recognition of his wonderful 
 catch. 
 
 " I protest," the captain of the Exeter nine 
 faced the umpire with quivering lip, "unless the 
 dog is a member of the nine in good and regu- 
 lar standing." 
 
 " Play ball," said the umpire, motioning to 
 the next batter to take his position. 
 
 "But I protest!" said the Exeter captain in 
 white heat. " He took the ball from the dog's 
 mouth." 
 
 The umpire, the Harvard Junior, the captain 
 of the Harvard 'Varsity, who with difficulty had 
 left his own nine to umpire this game, turned 
 sharply to the threatening lad. 
 
 " Look here, you go to your place and order 
 your players up and don't waste time. I decide 
 as well as I know how. He caught the ball and 
 the player was out. The dog didn't get there 
 quite soon enough. He meant to, but didn't 
 have the practice. Now play ball." 
 
 " Two men out. None on bases ; watch
 
 THE VICTORY. 
 
 sharp ! " said the Andover captain cheerily. 
 Then John recovered himself for the final throws. 
 These were wonderful exhibitions of trained 
 accuracy and skill. 
 
 " Strike, one." 
 
 Lambkin smiled knowingly and rubbed his 
 hands together in a peculiar way. 
 
 "S s s " hissed Exeter in vain at- 
 tempts to break John up. 
 
 " Strike, two ! " 
 
 Not a sound came from Andover. One more 
 pitch might decide the game. Hats were slowly 
 taken off to hurl in the air. The boys crowded 
 closer together. The electric excitement thrilled 
 them. Many shivered ; some cried ; but none 
 spoke a word. 
 
 John Strong was deliberate. He stooped and 
 rolled the ball in the dirt and patted it. His 
 lips moved and his eyes were cast down. His 
 emotion was great. Uncle Jim regarded him 
 from a distance, vainly trying to hide his in- 
 terest. Another pair of eyes followed the 
 pitcher's motions. These peered out from 
 under a blue sunshade tied with blue ribbons.
 
 258 THE VICTORY. 
 
 " O, Elva ! Will he do it ? " 
 
 " Hush ! of course he will." 
 
 " Strike, three, and OUT ! " 
 
 The umpire's work was done. The pent-up 
 roar broke forth, and like a torrent hundreds 
 hurled themselves across the line and rushed to 
 the victorious players. 
 
 " Andover, Andover, Rah-rah-nz/z / " 
 
 " Three times three for Exeter ! " cried Sun- 
 shine to his nine. 
 
 It is useless to say that the school joined in 
 the courteous 'rahs with a proud vim. 
 
 "Up with them!" shouted all the boys. 
 " Take the horses out and we'll pull them through 
 the town ! " Excited groups each grabbed a 
 player. 
 
 " Easy with Strong there ! " yelled Lambkin. 
 " Remember he's lame." 
 
 So Andover won the great game, and Strong 
 won the day. 
 
 " Give you ten dollars for your band," shouted 
 a half-dozen exultant students to the Exeter del- 
 egates, whose drums and trumpets were sullenly 
 silent. These defeated boys had huddled to-
 
 THE VICTORY. 259 
 
 gether and seemed disposed for a rush. Full 
 fifty Andover fellows grasped the rope and 
 pulled the old barge from the campus, and John 
 Strong, who on his first appearance in Andover 
 had been denied entrance to this time-honored 
 vehicle, now sat on the top seat, the most pop- 
 ular, the most honored boy in the Academy. 
 
 After all this, the supper, and then the bon- 
 fire and the procession, the speeches from the 
 delighted Faculty. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Uncle Jim when his turn 
 had come, " I am proud of your bones and your 
 muscles. You've trained these well ; but it is 
 only a half of life; now give your brains a 
 chance." And John Strong thought that the 
 disciplinarian looked at him, and he was sad. 
 
 "Now, boys, one for Uncle Jim !" shouted a 
 voice from the center of the crowd, and then 
 started the familiar strain which was caught up 
 by the mass and repeated in stentorious unison : 
 
 "All flesh is grass, some people say, 
 Then Uncle Jim's a load of hay." 
 
 The great Principal bowed his acknowledg-
 
 26O THE VICTORY. 
 
 ment to the obvious compliment, and the boys, 
 delighted at the urbanity of their dreaded mas- 
 ter, broke into another anthem, that referred to 
 a famous and unpunished escapade some years 
 old: 
 
 " If Uncle could catch 'em, 
 Wouldn't he whale 'em, 
 Those fellows that stole 
 The guide-post to Salem." 
 
 Again Uncle Jim bowed, and the young men, 
 having paid their proper respects, with their 
 torches, horns and drums, passed on to the next 
 house to call out a congratulatory Professor and 
 another speech. 
 
 That evening late, when John sat in his bare 
 room, now so dear to him because he was to 
 leave it soon, he heard people speaking outside, 
 asking for him. Raising the front windows he 
 looked out. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Strong, I was looking for you," said 
 a voice which he easily recognized as belonging 
 to the umpire of the day. The Harvard athlete
 
 THE VICTORY. 26l 
 
 refused to come in, and lighting a cigarette 
 leaned thoughtfully on the window-sill. 
 
 " Are you going to college, Mr. Strong ? " 
 
 "I don't know; I hope so," replied John 
 sadly. 
 
 " Harvard is a good place for you," suggested 
 the Cambridge man lightly. 
 
 " I should like to go to Harvard above all 
 places." 
 
 " If you are poor I know how you can sup- 
 port yourself easily at Harvard," continued the 
 Junior. 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 " The fellows never let a man starve who can 
 pitch like you. Come and try for the nine. 
 You're safe for it. There are very few who can 
 pitch as cleverly as you do, and it is a great 
 thing for a Freshman to get on the 'Varsity. 
 You'd better come. I'm captain and will see 
 you through. You'll be able to get support ; 
 never fear. Will you promise?" 
 
 " No ! " answered John, after a moment's bit- 
 ter thought. " I want to go to Harvard ; but I 
 go there to study, not to play ball. It takes
 
 262 THE VICTORY. 
 
 too much time ; I can't afford it. I didn't train 
 to pitch to-day. It's my only exercise. I didn't 
 mean to. They made me. I thank you, sir ; 
 you are kind. But I can't support myself by 
 ball!" 
 
 The good-natured Junior strolled away and 
 told several fellows laughingly what a jack that 
 phenomenal pitcher of theirs was to refuse such 
 a chance at Harvard. But the idea haunted John 
 Strong during those last few and precious days 
 of school life. 
 
 At last the coveted honors had been distrib- 
 uted, and John Strong, who had taken no exer- 
 cise of any sort since the momentous game, 
 looked haggard enough to excite pity after the 
 announcement. His share had only been a 
 tenth oration, " a very respectable position in- 
 deed for one who went into athletics and that 
 sort of thing," said the under-classmen looking 
 admiringly at him. The unusual combination 
 of scholar and ball-player in one seemed to them 
 heroic, one might say Homeric ; but his class- 
 mates and especially Lambkin began to suspect
 
 THE VICTORY. 263 
 
 that their new Senior deserved a much higher 
 position. 
 
 No one was now prompter and more accurate 
 in the exhausting and final reviews than Strong. 
 The confinement due to this last vindicating spurt 
 told upon the boy and the sympathies of the class. 
 The teachers of Latin and Greek, and even Un- 
 cle Jim himself had been seen to look upon John 
 compassionately ; at least, so the more observant 
 students thought. But John was unconscious 
 of all this and worked with a heavy heart, strug- 
 gling bravely to hide the bitterest disappoint- 
 ment he had ever had. John suffered during 
 these days. The poor fellow forgot that the 
 moral grandeur of self-sacrifice and the salvation 
 of health were compensation enough for nominal 
 rank. He felt sore, and hurt, and misunderstood. 
 
 "Come in ! " The big voice echoed through- 
 out the brick building known as the Principal's 
 house. 
 
 John Strong walked slowly in and stood be- 
 fore the desk. Uncle Jim had merely glanced 
 up and now bent to his work for a moment. John
 
 264 THE VICTORY. 
 
 waited. At last the leonine head shook itself 
 and turned upward toward the Senior's face. 
 
 " I have finished raking the garden, sir, and 
 the bulbs are all planted out. What shall I go 
 at now ? " John still did promiscuous work for 
 Uncle Jim at three dollars per week and had 
 amply earned the sum that paid his board. 
 
 "Your health is better than when you came," 
 said the Principal, taking him in critically from 
 top to toe. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Base-ball did you good, sir!" 
 
 "Yes, sir," firmly. 
 
 " Your rank in school is creditable. Your 
 work this term has been satisfactory." 
 
 "I hope so, sir." John wondered what was 
 coming. 
 
 " You have done well, but you might have 
 stood better in the class. I have nothing to say. 
 My work has been conscientiously attended to." 
 
 "I am glad, sir." 
 
 " You will need all your time from now on, 
 and you are excused from work with me from 
 to-day."
 
 THE VICTORY. 265 
 
 " I am willing I want to go on," gasped 
 John. 
 
 "Certainly, sir, I understand, but your pay 
 will continue just the same. I employ you to 
 work for yourself." 
 
 "Thank you you are too kind, but I'd 
 rather " 
 
 "Tut, tut, tut ! is there anything more? " 
 
 John plucked up courage. 
 
 " I wanted to ask you about the scholarship 
 at Harvard you promised to look up for me. I 
 must have something to depend on. I haven't 
 a cent." 
 
 The boy bit his lips to control his emotion. 
 His whole future seemed to hang upon the Prin- 
 cipal's help. John knew little about " pulling 
 wires " to help himself. He had no influential 
 friends. He didn't know how to get the college 
 assistance which he must have to start him along. 
 If Uncle Jim failed him, hope was gone. The 
 beads of perspiration stood out upon his broad 
 forehead. The Principal eyed him keenly, but 
 his heart hardened within him. He still dis- 
 trusted a boy who pitched like the wind. The
 
 266 THE VICTORY. 
 
 lad before him should have given up ball and 
 stood at least second in his class. He had the 
 ability, and therefore ought to have done it. 
 
 " I am sorry, Mr. Strong, that I am not able 
 at present to help you in this. There are so 
 many applications for the limited number of 
 scholarships that " 
 
 The great doctor blinked and started from 
 his chair. Without a word, the boy before him, 
 tortured almost beyond the power of conceal- 
 ment, turned, leaving the Principal in the midst 
 of his explanations, and rushed out of the house.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 GOOD-BY. 
 
 CONACOOT, N. H., June 18 
 
 MY DEAR SON: 
 How can I write it? Do you think it is wise to 
 make preparations to be away from me next year ? 
 I cannot tell you now all of the pain it gives me to say that 
 your mother needs you. Her strength is almost exhausted 
 with the lonely struggle. You know I would bear all I could 
 to help you through, but I do not, I cannot earn enough to 
 buy my food and I am becoming feebler every day. A loving 
 welcome awaits my brave boy when he comes. 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 John Strong read this letter as he walked 
 from the post-office through Main Street, up the 
 hill, past the huge brick Academy building to 
 his room. Never before had Andover Hill 
 seemed so steep or so long. He panted past 
 the big, white boarding-house on the corner of 
 Main and Phillips Streets, kept at that time by 
 the most kind-hearted landlady Andover ever 
 267
 
 268 GOOD-BY. 
 
 knew. None mothered the homeless Commons 
 boys as she did. Now that hospitable building 
 is gone to make room for the house of the genial 
 Professor of elocution. John stopped at the 
 pump beyond, for a drink to moisten his fever- 
 ish lips. He hurried to his house, scuttled into 
 his room, locked the door, and pulled down the 
 cambric curtains. 
 
 John mechanically put his elbows on his knees 
 and the palms of his hands on his forehead and 
 bent to the blow. He could not believe it. It 
 was too much. It was too cruel. He had 
 thoughts of managing and hopes of getting to 
 college somehow. But his mother! "Poor, 
 poor mother ! " he said this to himself over and 
 over again. He had never dreamed but that 
 she would go on just the same as ever. What 
 a thoughtless boy he had been ! Poor, poor 
 mother ! Her poverty, her loneliness, her suf- 
 fering pricked him to the heart. And this was 
 the end of the whole story. 
 
 However deeply a disappointment cuts, a live 
 boy rarely needs hospital treatment and liga- 
 tures to heal the wound. John turned immedi-
 
 GOOD-BY. 269 
 
 ately to his oration which was to be delivered 
 in a very few days. He was comforted that his 
 theme happened to be "The dynamic force of 
 duty." Here was a chance for him to become 
 a working example of his fine theories and to 
 resolve himself into a silent power. John 
 accepted this opportunity with more than usual 
 self-control. Most people love to talk about 
 their misfortunes. John craved sympathy with 
 his whole nature, but he shrank from burdening 
 others with a story that, as he thought, would 
 prove uninteresting and even tedious. 
 
 So when, during the last days of school, he 
 was asked what college he intended to elect, 
 he invariably answered that he had made up 
 his mind to spend the next year at home. He 
 added no reasons. Lambkin alone understood 
 the situation and guarded his friend's confidence, 
 feeling as he did so, savagely impotent before 
 a desperately hard and insoluble problem. 
 
 It was under that superb Gothic arch of over- 
 hanging elms that John Strong for the last time 
 in his Senior career met Elva Selfrich ; this 
 was a day or two after he had received his
 
 2/O GOOD-BY. 
 
 mother's letter. The two had not seen each 
 other since the ball game. Involuntarily both 
 stopped and shook hands. John felt almost as 
 if she were an old friend. They walked for a 
 few yards under the whispering aisle looking 
 down toward the white spires of Lawrence that' 
 formed the. vista between the pillared elms far 
 beyond. 
 
 " And what college will you go to this fall ? " 
 asked his companion with a grave smile. 
 
 " None," answered John simply. 
 
 "Why not ? You ought to go," said the girl 
 impulsively. 
 
 " Yes," the boy spoke slowly, " I am sorry, 
 but it can't be helped. My mother needs me. 
 I am afraid she has suffered this year. We are 
 too poor for college. I must take care of her 
 first." 
 
 John looked tenderly up at those magnificent 
 boughs as if to impress their beauty upon his 
 memory for the last time. The two. stopped at 
 the cross path that leads one way to the Semi- 
 nary buildings, the other towards Latin Com- 
 mons. But the girl was breaking rules. She
 
 GOOD-BY. 271 
 
 must not walk with an Academy boy in the 
 street, and she lingered at the turn of the path, 
 prettily intimating that they must part. 
 
 " Have you told Mr. Mansfield about it?" in- 
 quired Miss Elva anxiously. 
 
 " O no ! he can't help. He mustn't be 
 bothered with my affairs ; he's done enough 
 already." 
 
 John reluctantly turned to go. 
 
 " Mr. Strong, I don't know when I may see 
 you again," said Elva Selfrich a little sadly. 
 " I can't stay till the end of the term, but I am 
 coming back to finish next year. My father 
 has had me excused to go home. We are go- 
 ing to take a little trip out West with my 
 brother, father and I, and leave him there, if 
 father can find a good business. Dick is trying 
 to do well, and father says we must encourage 
 him all we can. He says his whole life may 
 depend on it. I think," added Elva hesitat- 
 ingly, "Dick is sorry for what he did to you." 
 The girl started to go, and turned impetuously. 
 "You are a noble fellow and I know you will 
 succeed splendidly somehow."
 
 2/2 GOOD-BY. 
 
 Elva Selfrich without another look turned 
 and walked hurriedly away, seeming half- 
 ashamed of herself as if she had said a forward, 
 unmaidenly thing. But John's heart took great 
 courage because this beautiful and modest girl 
 believed so thoroughly in him. 
 
 To a Phillips Senior the last days of the last 
 term trip like a bustling dream. The excite- 
 ment spreads beyond the Academy walls into 
 the sleepy old town and wakes it with an ac- 
 ceptable vengeance. The Principal, with his 
 corps of teachers and tutors, rush the final ex- 
 aminations, to the terror of the whole school, 
 and engineer the commencement ceremonies, 
 both indispensable adjuncts to the close of a 
 dignified and renowned fitting Academy. At 
 this time Preps, aspire to the responsibility of 
 the Junior Middle year ; Junior Middlers begin 
 to acquire the dignity of upper class men ; Mid- 
 dlers strut with all the airs that the privileges 
 of approaching seniority cast upon them ; while 
 the Seniors, with the exception of the inevitable 
 unlucky shirk or dunce who is dropped at the
 
 GOOD-BY. 2/3 
 
 eleventh hour, consider themselves as actual 
 rather than potential P. A. Alumni, and already 
 behave like college Freshmen. Only to John 
 Strong, the broader life seemed unwilling to 
 open. He felt like a marionette that had been 
 taken from its box and allowed one brief action 
 upon the eager stage, and then shut up again 
 and the lid fastened down, who knows for how 
 long a season ? 
 
 John passed these last days as a conscious 
 somnambulist might have done. He had little 
 feeling, but much automatic motion. His ab- 
 straction was remarked upon by his classmates 
 who also noticed that his lameness increased ; 
 they attributed it to the heavy strain of the 
 great Exeter game. Lambkin looked at him 
 and wondered whether this last blow would put 
 him out at the home plate or not. This devoted 
 friend never left John except when he had to. 
 They walked arm in arm to the Milktoast Club, 
 where the food began to "brace up " in propor- 
 tion as the days of the term grew few ; they 
 sauntered to recitation together and sat in each 
 other's rooms, and the elder boy heard the
 
 274 GOOD-BY. 
 
 other's oration and gave his few valuable criti- 
 cisms as a last friendly office. John Strong was 
 grateful for these attentions, but puzzled old 
 Lambkin considerably by maintaining a cheer- 
 ful, uncommunicative silence about his future 
 affairs. . 
 
 The fact is, John was at his wit's ends. He 
 was terribly short of money. There were a few 
 term debts, such as laundry, clothing and books, 
 that must be paid, and after he had given his 
 weekly earnings for his board he was literally 
 bankrupt. He hadn't even a new coat to speak 
 in on the commencement stage ; of course not. 
 How could he afford it ? So he mended and 
 inked his old black one up and laid it away 
 carefully for the final exhibition. He had but 
 two coats, two vests and one pair of trousers. 
 
 " Mr. Locks," he said the day before the ex- 
 hibition, " I want you to buy back everything I 
 got of you last year. What will you give me 
 for the lot ? " 
 
 Mr. Locks knew everything about the Com- 
 mons boys and all the school gossip. Every 
 well-regulated janitor has at least those accom-
 
 GOOD-BY. 275 
 
 plishments due to almost miraculous ubiquity. 
 He was really troubled about John's poverty 
 and his pathetic struggle. The keeper of Com- 
 mons laughed in an off-hand way, swinging his 
 bunch of keys with a pleasant jingle. 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Mr. Strong, I'll give you 
 ten dollars for the lot and you hand me the keys 
 to your room when you go. We'll be sorry to 
 lose you ; I'll miss you, Mr. Strong." 
 
 " But I didn't pay much more than that," in- 
 sisted John, thinking the astute dealer had made 
 a mistake. 
 
 Mr. Locks, who was likely to make all that 
 was good for him out of the graduating class, 
 replied : 
 
 " I guess you hadn't better say anything 
 more ; a bargain's a bargain. You take this ten 
 dollar bill there ! You ain't hurt these things 
 a mite. You sing out when you go an' I'll help 
 you if I have the time." 
 
 The janitor, who in his own way was fond of 
 John and hated to see him leave, swung his 
 portly form out of the door and hurried to the 
 next house.
 
 2/6 GOOD-BY. 
 
 John now hastened to pay what to many boys 
 whose fathers back them up would seem a ridic- 
 ulously small number of bills ; but these few 
 took within a half-dollar of all of his money. 
 At any rate, his debts were paid, and many an 
 Andover tradesman would bless the day when 
 every graduate should have as fine a sense of 
 honor. Duns could not flaunt themselves in his 
 face ; and the lad whose poverty and pride were 
 intimate friends was comparatively happy. 
 
 Now the last events chase each other with 
 the rapidity of a hundred yard dash. 
 
 " Philo," that time-honored debating society, 
 closed its season after a heated and enthusiastic 
 discussion as to "whether the Faculty has any 
 moral right to compel students to attend an 
 afternoon Sunday service." This was gravely 
 decided by the honored President in the nega- 
 tive on the " merits of the question," rather 
 than of the debate. 
 
 Who can forget the Senior party, where " un- 
 theologued " and unrestrained Seniors of the 
 Academy and the Fern. Sem. met with strict 
 rules cast to the willing winds ? If the calen-
 
 GOOD-BY. 2/7 
 
 dar and the hostess agreed, this festivity was 
 held at the full of the moon. With what delight 
 the emancipated Seniors promenaded the moon- 
 lit paths ! Some few couples have been known 
 to lose themselves for as much as an hour be* 
 tween the library and the mansion of their in- 
 dulgent hostess. They tripped good-naturedly 
 over many a snare laid by envious Middlers. 
 Life was supremely blest at those moments, we 
 old boys think. But John did not go to the 
 Senior party. He felt too shabby and too sad. 
 
 With what airs the boys escorted their part- 
 ners to old Abbott Academy, the longest way 
 round ! How they lingered to say good-night, 
 and how at last, perforce, the sweet Fem. Sems. 
 hurried from the glamour of this first liberty to 
 their rooms, not to sleep quite yet O no! 
 but to wait. 
 
 "Toot toot loot!" just as some tired 
 head which had been dressed for its last Senior 
 party many years ago thanks her stars that 
 those wild boys have done at last, the welkin 
 rings with horrid clang. Tin-horning has be- 
 gun. The sound re-echoes from venerable brick
 
 278 GOOD-BY. 
 
 piles to modest wooden houses (for instance, 
 the eleven Commons buildings ; they are 
 modest enough. Could any one accuse them 
 of being otherwise ? ), and fresh visitors at the 
 Mansion House arouse with thoughts of wide- 
 spread conflagration. Fine clothes have been 
 hastily exchanged for Gym. shirts, and the fun 
 begins. The motto of the departing class is 
 virtuously stenciled on pavement, fence and 
 building. The last two numerals of the grad- 
 uating year are burnt upon grass, painted upon, 
 boards, and pressed with pebbles into asphalt 
 walks. Here and there Seniors and Middlers 
 get up a final friendly scrimmage, and many an 
 unsuspecting Senior discovers that his room is 
 "stacked " in the most unaccountable manner. 
 
 And now flare the torches that were used at 
 the last presidential campaign ; the Middlers' bon- 
 fire flashes on the campus ; now spout the last 
 speeches over the barrel of cider, unsampled even 
 by a " tootor." Strong took his part in all these 
 ceremonies so necessary to a Phillips diploma. 
 
 " I think that you boys had better go home 
 now ; you've had it out."
 
 GOOD-BY. 279 
 
 Uncle Jim's parental voice broke in amid a 
 lull in the frolic. The tar barrels have burned 
 low, and the cider has been dispatched to where 
 good cider must fain make its pilgrimage. 
 
 " One more long Phillips, boys ! " cried trie 
 class president. The Ra ! Ra ! Ra's ! died 
 away, and twinkling lights from staring windows 
 told that the Seniors had turned in from their 
 last midnight jollification. 
 
 No, not all. A dark band of ten or more 
 steal towards the Fem. Sem. The cuckoos and 
 the nightingales of the Academy are the last to 
 seek their boarding-houses. John Strong had 
 followed them mechanically, and for the sake of 
 his heavy bass was gladly included among the 
 warblers. 
 
 And now the soft serenade bursts forth, and 
 electrifies every girl in Abbott Academy who 
 boasts an acquaintance on the grass below. 
 
 "There ! there ! there ! " It was the flicker- 
 ing glow of a match shining unsteadily at a dark 
 window that caused this rapture. 
 
 The dainty white outline of an arm cast a 
 blue-ribboned bouquet of violets amid a violent
 
 28O GOOD-BY. 
 
 scramble for this delicate recognition. Others 
 followed rapidly, until each Orpheus has snatched 
 a favor from his Eurydice. 
 
 " Good-night, ladies ; 
 
 Sweet dreams, ladies, 
 
 We're going to leave you now. 1 " 
 
 The plaintive air died away with the elated 
 tramp of a dozen pair of heels, and Abbott 
 Academy sighed like a bird, and turned to sleep 
 amid a confusion of fluttering recollections. 
 Such delicate gallantries go to make the rela- 
 tion between young people a beautiful fact and 
 a beautiful memory. 
 
 This year, and on the following Sunday, the 
 Baccalaureate sermon was delivered by Presi- 
 dent Strong of Buncome College, and John was 
 fain to deny a dozen times at least, any possible 
 relationship to this eminent man. 
 
 The Seniors marched to the Chapel with pre- 
 ternatural sobriety and erectness, each with a 
 cane in his hand, and all marshaled by Sun- 
 shine. For once, these boys were allowed to 
 come in late without a mark, and the crowded
 
 THE CHAPEL.
 
 GOOD-BY. 283 
 
 Chapel turned as if to see them walk to their 
 doom. 
 
 But this proved Dr. Strong's Waterloo ; for 
 the boys, in the face of friend and foe and fu- 
 ture liberty, clicked their watches with a vim, 
 to the astonishment of the orator, who had 
 reached the thirty-minute limit without halting 
 for nepenthe or for breath. 
 
 If any divine cares to make a lasting impres- 
 sion on the Phillips boys, let him cease, though 
 it be a violent wrench of self-renunciation, when 
 he has talked half an hour; after that, watch 
 out! It is the boys' well-forfeited turn, and 
 they take it. 
 
 There is an unwritten tradition that a mis- 
 sionary gave his geographical experiences for 
 more than ninety minutes, despite the warn- 
 ing of a hundred watch lids as they clicked ac- 
 companiment to the monotonous drone. Since 
 that time foreign missionary stock among those 
 youthful bears has had a tumble. 
 
 " Heigh-ho ! " yawned the Senior class that 
 bright June morning. Hurry up to breakfast,
 
 284 GOOD-BY. 
 
 my boy, the last day of school ! But to John 
 the light brought a sense of suffocation. He 
 was as cheerful as a Roman in the last hours of 
 Pompeii. 
 
 At last the great hall in the Academy build- 
 ing was crammed to suffocation. The Salem 
 Cadet band held a position of prominence, and 
 their music mingled with the flutter in a minor 
 key. Uncle Jim and a dignified corps of black- 
 stoled teachers and trustees filled the platform. 
 The Senior English and Senior Latin mottoes 
 hung on banners decorating the rear of the 
 stage and superciliously criticised each other. 
 
 The Senior speakers sat in the ante-room in 
 uncomfortable chairs, in more uncomfortable 
 clothes, in most uncomfortable attitudes. The 
 rustle of the dresses, the odor of the flowers, 
 and the solemnity of those old portraits of the 
 pious founders, as they blinked down upon the 
 same familiar performance that they had wit- 
 nessed year after year, would have disconcerted 
 Cicero himself. 
 
 John Strong spoke in his turn eloquently and 
 with force ; and by virtue of his modest manner,
 
 GOOD-BY. 285 
 
 his earnest thought, and the little reputation he 
 had acquired, created perhaps as favorable an 
 impression as any. It is doubtful whether any 
 one noticed the quality of his clothes; certainly 
 his matter was not loose and patched. He re- 
 ceived one handsome bouquet with no card at- 
 tached. The writer is the first to let him know 
 that Lambkin sent it in order that his friend 
 might not be the only unflowered orator. For 
 Strong was the one graduate who was not 
 blessed with a mother or a cousin or even a 
 friend who had come to town to see him per- 
 form. Boys who have felt this kind of loneli- 
 ness on Exhibition day do not need to be told 
 how this unnamed bouquet comforted the lad. 
 When his name was called, John walked up 
 amid the generous applause, so warmly given to 
 each graduate in that crowning moment, and 
 received his sheepskin, tied with broad, baby- 
 blue ribbon ; bowed and retired. He did not 
 look at Uncle Jim. 
 
 " An alumnus of Phillips Academy ! Dear 
 old Phillips ! " he said, looking over his diploma 
 as soon as he had returned to his room and was
 
 286 GOOD-BY. 
 
 alone. " It's about as much honor as I'll ever 
 get, I'm afraid. Who knows but that I'll have 
 to cobble shoes or teach a district school the 
 rest of my life ? " 
 
 Then that prosaic lad who had stood disap- 
 pointment so bravely, broke down and actually 
 kissed the girlish-looking roll, and then tucked 
 it carefully in his old bag. 
 
 While his classmates joyously showed their 
 lady friends the sights and lions of the town, 
 John picked his room up preparatory to an early 
 start the following morning. He burnt the 
 ragged things that he couldn't wear. He made 
 his books in an express parcel to be left with 
 Mr. Locks, addressed, and ready to be sent on 
 demand. He packed in his old bag the few 
 things he owned and needed to take. The 
 trunk was useless, as there was not enough to 
 fill it. He made up his mind to donate it to 
 the institution. It was his father's, but he was 
 too poor to carry it. Finally he swept his room 
 clean and then escaped to Pomp's pond in order 
 to be alone. 
 
 " If I only could see Calvin ! " he thought ;
 
 GOOD-BY. 287 
 
 but the Seminary had closed a week ago and 
 Mansfield had somehow with natural careless- 
 ness slipped away, sending his only good-bys to 
 his cousin by postal card written at the rate of 
 fifty miles an hour. 
 
 " You're early this morning, Mr. Strong. 
 Here, you, Kitty, set the milk down there next 
 to his plate." 
 
 It was John's last breakfast at the Milktoast 
 Club and he was the first one at the table. The 
 tall landlady peered at him as he sat alone. She 
 looked as if she wanted to say some kindly thing 
 and didn't know how. 
 
 There was less white, nicked crockery on 
 the tables. Dishes always are short -at the 
 end of the year. The barrel of unreplaced 
 broken wares was ready to be rolled to the 
 back of the garden for future use as an eco- 
 nomical fertilizer. 
 
 " You're going away to-day ? " 
 
 Mrs. Grooge knew it as well as he, but it was 
 a part of her politeness to speak as if he were a 
 guest, not a boarder.
 
 288 GOOD-BY. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," said John slowly as he 
 crumbled bread into his bowl of milk. 
 
 "Well, I'm sorry, I am. You've been prompt 
 to pay and you ain't got none too much, I know. 
 There ain't every one does that. Now there's 
 Landor. He's as promising as some of those 
 cabbage heads out there, that don't top out," 
 indicating with a jerk of her thumb over her 
 shoulder, the Milktoast garden. " And Dal- 
 stan but I won't tell you no tales." 
 
 The hard and deeply wrinkled. face looked at 
 John tenderly and Kitty glanced shyly that way 
 too. When John had found a hair-pin in his 
 apple pie one day, he didn't tell of it and yell 
 like the rest of the boys. Kitty had recovered 
 her missing property after dinner, carefully wiped 
 and tucked under his plate, and she respected 
 him. 
 
 " Are you going home to-day ? Your mother 
 will be glad to see you. Do you go by cars ? " 
 
 Mrs. Grooge smoothed her immaculate hair 
 across her forehead. 
 
 "The train runs to Conacoot," said John 
 evasively, laying down his napkin and rising.
 
 GOOD-BY. 289 
 
 " You have been very punctual, Mr. Strong ; 
 can't I help you before you go ? " There was 
 real meaning in those words. They touched 
 the boy. 
 
 " Thank you, Mrs. Grooge. You have been 
 very good to me. I start as soon as I get to my 
 room. There the boys come ! Good-by, Kitty ; 
 good-by." 
 
 He rung the hard, bony hand that his land- 
 lady held out ; he had a " look like as if he was 
 a-going to jump into the Shawsheen River at 
 the next crossing," as Mrs. Grooge expressed it 
 to Lambkin later. 
 
 John hastened to his room, abstractedly salut- 
 ing the few boys he passed. With hurried des- 
 peration he resolutely grasped his bag, took his 
 stout cane from the corner, shot one more look 
 into the bareness, then closed and locked the 
 door and entrusted the key to the Prep, opposite 
 with strict orders to give it to Mr. Locks. 
 
 Then John couldn't resist the impulse, and 
 peered into Latin Commons 2, Room 2, through 
 the window panes. Pictures of his year's ex- 
 perience flashed in that moment across his brain.
 
 2QO GOOD-BY. 
 
 He thought of Doc. Shelby and his long illness. 
 "I'm glad I did it, any way," he ejaculated. 
 The sound of his own voice awoke him from his 
 brief reverie. He looked up and cast a long, 
 tender glance upon the row of surly sentinel 
 boxes, and felt that he had been on stainless 
 duty during that bitter, successful and disap- 
 pointing year. He turned, and his year's home 
 was behind him. Somehow he couldn't say 
 good-by to Uncle Jim, and he didn't. He 
 passed on the other side. Then John Strong 
 started bravely down Main Street to walk to 
 Conacoot.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 
 
 WHOA Shsst Want a ride, you?" 
 Pete looked down upon our pedes- 
 trian from the height of his ancient coach, 
 whose motto seemed sadly in need of repair. 
 That old landmark has disappeared from An- 
 dover along with the Mansion House and many 
 other undisputed historic connections of George 
 Washington and the " Founders." 
 
 " Walking to the train ? I'll take you down. 
 Get up here, can't you ? " 
 
 "I'll try." 
 
 John unconsciously made the same reply he 
 did when he first rolled in at the station and the 
 stage was full. Pete seemed to remember this 
 coincidence, for he shifted his quid of tobacco 
 and said : 
 
 " There you are ! You can walk fine now. 
 291
 
 2Q2 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 
 
 You us'n't to when you fust came, now did 
 you ? " triumphantly he added. " Andover air 
 agrees with you. It does with 'em all. I 
 guess you're sorry to go home. How you whol- 
 lopped those Exeter fellers ! This ride sha'n't 
 cost you nothin'. I'm goin' down to the train 
 anyhow." 
 
 " But I'm not going there," said John, as 
 merrily as he could. 
 
 "You hain't?" Pete gave an incredulous 
 whistle that made the jaded horses start ahead 
 with a feeble jerk. " Ain't you a-goin' home 
 with yer verlise ? " 
 
 " Yes, Pete. Let me down here, please." 
 
 The stage had just swung around the corner 
 from the post-office. 
 
 "Whoa whoa there, shsst ! " Pete reined 
 the steeds up with a disappointed air. 
 
 " Thank you, Pete. I'm going to take a walk. 
 Here are ten cents. I wish I had more to give 
 you. Take it." 
 
 " I'll be danged if I will. Here's your ver- 
 lise. Where are you a-goin' ? " Pete looked as 
 if John had lost his wits.
 
 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 2Q3 
 
 " I'm going to take a walk. Good-by. Thank 
 you." 
 
 Pete watched the boy trudge slowly down the 
 Lawrence turnpike. 
 
 " Danged if he hain't a-goin' to foot it ! I'll 
 be gee-hawed if he hain't !" 
 
 Pete drove down his hill to the train, shaking 
 his head and growling at his tired horses. 
 
 But John walked on steadily down around the 
 curve towards home, and never turned to look 
 behind. 
 
 " I suppose, my love, you will see Strong 
 when he comes to take his leave to-day," said 
 Uncle Jim that morning at the breakfast 
 table. 
 
 " Oh ! dear, yes," answered his wife wearily, 
 " he's been a very good boy, one of the best we 
 have ever had." 
 
 " Is that the one whom I have heard pitched 
 such a famous game against Exeter ? " asked a 
 Reverend visitor with momentary interest. 
 
 " Yes, the same," replied his host curtly ; and 
 conversation passed easily on to the rumor that
 
 2Q4 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 
 
 a new President would soon be appointed to 
 Buncome College. 
 
 The distinguished disciplinarian and Principal 
 sat in his study chair after that breakfast and 
 breathed a sigh of relief. He felt the pleasing 
 glow of a successful school year passing over 
 him. He yielded to the agreeable sensation 
 and recalled numerous flattering compliments. 
 Never had the school been so prosperous. 
 Never had his authority been more unques- 
 tioned or his system better sustained. He was 
 not pleased to be disturbed in these congrat- 
 ulatory reflections by a decided knock at the 
 door. Recollecting himself that it might be 
 a parent or a Trustee, his decided voice rolled out 
 a softened " Come in." Before the last inflec- 
 tion of his tones had died away, Lambkin walked 
 in with a resolute stride. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Lambkin. Take a seat, sir. Com- 
 ing to say good-by ? That's right. I have 
 watched you during your four years' course. 
 It's a long time " 
 
 " No, sir," broke in the new alumnus intrep- 
 idly. Whether his emancipation from recent
 
 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 2Q5 
 
 and stringent authority had turned his head, or 
 whether he had been drinking, Uncle Jim 
 couldn't say. He stared at the interrupter and 
 was about to speak again when Lambkin burst 
 forth. 
 
 "No, sir, I didn't come to say good-by. I'm 
 looking for Strong, John Strong, the best fellow 
 in the class. His room is locked and he's gone, 
 and he hasn't money enough in his pocket to 
 get home. Do you know where Strong is ? " 
 
 " I, sir ? " gasped the great man as if he had 
 been struck between the ribs. " I, sir ? This 
 is very extraordinary, sir, for you to come to 
 me in this tone. Of course I am ignorant of 
 Strong's whereabouts." 
 
 Uncle Jim raised himself in his chair and 
 glowered at Lambkin who stood unflinchingly 
 before him. Lambkin was safe, and both knew 
 it. He couldn't be expelled whatever happened, 
 but the old instinct of obedience was upon him, 
 and he retrieved himself. "Excuse me, sir, I'm 
 troubled about Strong. I'm the best friend he's 
 got, and he's given up his room and left without 
 a word to me or to any one else. I don't know
 
 2Q6 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 
 
 where he is. Nobody knows where he is. I 
 thought you would. I don't believe he's got 
 fifty cents in his pocket." 
 
 " If he had only come to me and told me 
 his troubles I would have lent him what he 
 needed." Uncle Jim interrupted hastily. 
 
 " He couldn't," Lambkin broke in, " he's too 
 proud. He felt that you misunderstood him 
 and I don't know but he's right." 
 
 "What do you mean, sir?" blazed the 
 Principal. 
 
 " You thought he shirked his lessons. He 
 didn't." Lambkin involuntarily clinched his 
 fist in his coat sleeve, and if we may say so, 
 respectfully blazed in return. " He was a 
 trump to Doc. Shelby. Of course you knew 
 he nursed him, but you didn't know how that 
 sick fellow clutched him every minute, day and 
 night all that night-watching no sleep 
 wouldn't have any one else how could he 
 study ? He didn't have a chance. I'd I'd 
 I'd I'd stump the Trustees and the whole 
 Andover Faculty to do any better than he 
 did ! " exploded Lambkin.
 
 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 
 
 This outburst of courage turned him very red 
 in the face. Uncle Jim had begun to redden 
 too. In his embarrassment he wiped his glasses 
 and wished devoutly for a Trustee to come in 
 and relieve the .situation. He evidently was 
 trying to think what he could say. 
 
 "He Strong didn't tell me," said Dr. Tyler 
 nervously, with a faint suspicion that " some 
 one had blundered." 
 
 " Of course he didn't. Strong's too proud. 
 He'd eat his heart out first," went on Lambkin, 
 the thermometer of his pluck marking 120 de- 
 grees pressure. " You didn't like his pitching 
 and thought he cut work to play ball. Not he. 
 I did that. If he hadn't gone to the Gym. to 
 practice a half an hour a day to get away from 
 that stuffy sick room he would have gone clean 
 under. He pitched for life, not for rep.* He 
 wanted strength, not popularity. I made him 
 go in and win the Exeter game. He didn't 
 even know he was a substitute. He refused to 
 play a dozen times. He couldn't take time 
 from study to practice. You ought to be proud 
 
 * " Rep." is P. A. abbreviation for reputation.
 
 298 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 
 
 that he beat Exeter with such odds against him ! * 
 Excuse me, sir I don't mean to be disrespect- 
 ful, but I can't stand it. The fellow has been 
 misunderstood too long." 
 
 "That's so ! " piped a shrill voice. 
 
 It was Mrs. Grooge, the landlady of the Milk- 
 toast Club. Mrs. Grooge advanced on Uncle 
 Jim. Her wrinkled face wore a stern expres- 
 sion. She looked resolved. Mrs. Grooge had 
 come from the country, even beyond Wilming- 
 ton Junction. She was not a minister's widow, 
 and she lacked the advantages of education and 
 correct and elaborate speech that the present 
 Andover landladies possess. Mrs. Grooge was 
 not a member of a reading club or even of a 
 Browning Society, and her grammar became 
 confused in proportion as her earnestness 
 increased. 
 
 " I'm glad you're here, Mr. Lambkin. You 
 kin back me up." Lambkin looked a little 
 alarmed and involuntarily backed up to the 
 wall. 
 
 "He's paid up, Mr. Tyler. I ain't got -no 
 complaint ag'in him. The sperrit was on me.
 
 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 3OI 
 
 I bed to come. That young man is clean wore 
 out with discouragement. I hear the boys talk. 
 He's too poor for college, and them's a-goin' 
 who don't hold a candle to him. He never 
 complained about his vittles, not he. He could 
 have gone. Didn't that Harvard chap offer to 
 pay all expenses if he'd play for 'em ? I heerd it 
 all from my boys. There ain't nothin' goin' 
 on I don't know." 
 
 The worthy lady stopped for breath. 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 The Principal put in this interrogation at 
 the most favorable moment, but his heart sank 
 within him. 
 
 "Who? Who do yer think I'm a-talkin' 
 about? Who but Strong John Strong the 
 lame boy the sick miss the boy that pays 
 his debts and larns his lessons is impoged 
 upon and never lets on who but the Saint 
 Ebenezer of Phillips Academy ! " 
 
 At the sound of Strong's name the Principal 
 had collapsed entirely, but recovered himself at 
 the mention of the last candidate for canoniza- 
 tion enough to suggest dryly :
 
 3O2 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 
 
 " Perhaps, Mrs. Grooge, you intended to sub- 
 stitute the name of St. John ! " 
 
 " It's all true," said Lambkin disconsolately. 
 " He had a chance to play on the team at Har- 
 vard and get through college that way ; but he 
 said he meant to go to study, and he wouldn't 
 doit. He's as poor as as He's the poor- 
 est boy in Phillips Academy." 
 
 " He's as poor as Job's Christmas turkey," 
 said Mrs. Grooge ; and to many a student 
 who had spent that holiday at the Milktoast 
 Club, the argument would have clinched the 
 matter. 
 
 Dr. Tyler made no reply, but threw his head 
 back with the grand motion that a gladiator 
 might have made when he had received his first 
 staggering blow in the face. The Principal who 
 prided himself upon his accurate insight into 
 character was humbled, but was great enough 
 not to be ashamed to own it. The tide of his 
 disfavor had turned, and he felt an eager over- 
 flow of sympathy toward his wronged pupil. 
 
 A rap at the door distracted his thoughts. 
 The newcomer proved to be Pete, the coachman.
 
 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 303 
 
 " I saw the flag out, sir. Are any one going 
 down ? " 
 
 " No, Pete," answered the Principal. " I 
 want you to mail these letters for me, now that 
 my boy has gone. By the way, have you seen 
 anything of Strong this morning ? " 
 
 All three looked at Pete, who stood with the 
 red flag in his hand, rolling it up. 
 
 " Seed him ? " Here Pete lifted his hat and 
 twirled it on the flag staff. " Well, I guess I 
 have. I took him an' his old verlise down not 
 more than a half an hour ago. I'll be danged " 
 
 " Pete ! " said the Doctor impressively. 
 
 " Beg parding, Doctor ; but it riled me to 
 glory to see that weak critter with no legs and 
 all arms footin' it with that bag to Frye Village. 
 I'll be danged " 
 
 " Pete ! ! " Uncle Jim's voice expressed grief 
 and surprise at the free use of this heretical 
 epithet. 
 
 " 'Scuse me. But I'll bet he's too poor to 
 ride an' is a-walkin' hum." 
 
 " Oh ! " groaned Lambkin. 
 
 " Lord-a-massy ! " ejaculated Mrs. Grooge ;
 
 3O4 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 
 
 while Uncle Jim turned his face as if searching 
 for the letters, and hastily brushed a truant tear 
 from his cheek into the waste paper basket. 
 
 Pete's hand was now on the latch and he 
 was putting the letters into his pocket when a 
 scratching sound startled the mourners. 
 
 The door was flung open, and in dashed John 
 Calvin, prancing like a panther and emitting 
 barks of joy. But when the high-spirited ani- 
 mal saw those four dejected countenances, his 
 exuberance fell and he regarded the inmates 
 critically. When his eyes at last encountered 
 the stern gaze of the great boy-tamer, the dog's 
 courage oozed out of his tail like electricity out 
 of an uninsulated wire. His caudal end dropped 
 between his legs. With unnatural humility he 
 backed away until he reached the wall. He sat 
 down upon his haunches and uttered a deep 
 sigh. Then Calvin opened his jaws, pointed his 
 nose at the ceiling and howled lugubriously. 
 
 "Calvin, you scamp, come out of that !" 
 
 His master's voice recalled Calvin to the 
 proper perspective of life, and the too fashion- 
 able theologue bowed himself into this solemn
 
 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 305 
 
 atmosphere as if he had come to an evening party. 
 " Ah ! Dr. Tyler, I am delighted to see you. I 
 hope I don't interrupt. Down, sir or go 
 right out. Do you hear ? But can you tell 
 me," he continued politely, " where I can find 
 my cousin, John Strong ? " 
 
 There was something in this cheerful urbanity 
 that struck the others as both ridiculous and 
 pathetic, and the four exchanged significant 
 glances. Roger proceeded with unusual em- 
 barrassment. " I've just run up from New York. 
 I must find him. His room is empty. A friend 
 of mine a a young lady wrote me some facts 
 about my cousin which I didn't know. I ought 
 to have. I've come out to do something. 
 Where is he ? " 
 
 " Oh ! " groaned Uncle Jim. " Another ! " 
 
 " He's gone ! " wailed Mrs. Grooge. 
 
 " Gone ? " echoed Roger, turning as pale as 
 birch bark. " When did he die ? " 
 
 " He ain't dead," said Pete, waving the red 
 flag. "It's wuss ; he's gone to Lawrence." 
 
 " He's walking to Conacoot, that's all," said 
 Lambkin laconically. " He's so poor as that."
 
 3O6 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 
 
 " I had some good news for him," said Roger. 
 " My father is going to take care of Mrs. 
 Strong. She is his first cousin. He sent me 
 on to say so. I've got a two-hundred dollar 
 check in my pocket for 'em. Now the thing is 
 to get John to college. His mother needn't 
 keep him. He's got to go." 
 
 The theologue triumphantly raised his pocket- 
 book, which John Calvin immediately grabbed, 
 under the impression that a base-ball match was 
 going on between his master and Dr. James Tyler. 
 
 " Confound my luck, I'm too late," said 
 Mansfield. 
 
 Uncle Jim broke the perplexed silence that 
 followed with these manly words. 
 
 " I have made a sad mistake. I misinter- 
 preted the lad. I acknowledge it frankly. He's 
 a noble fellow and we must get him back." 
 
 " South Lawrence ain't Mexico," interposed 
 Pete dryly, "nor yet Pattygony. I guess my 
 bosses could match him." 
 
 Uncle Jim sprang to the proposition. 
 
 " Mr. Peter," he said impressively, " I will 
 charter your vehicle."
 
 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 3O/ 
 
 " Wall," assented Pete, patting the flag ten- 
 derly. " I guess I can skip a trip. It's vaca- 
 tion. There ain't many folks take the 11.09." 
 
 In no time at all, Roger Mansfield and John 
 Calvin took the coach Roger on the box with 
 Pete, and Calvin spurting ahead. Uncle Jim 
 started for his hat to represent the passengers, 
 but Roger respectfully suggested that he stay 
 at home and keep cool, as it was ninety in the 
 shade. There was an early dinner at the 
 Milktoast Club that day, and Mrs. Grooge, 
 having done her duty, disappeared from the 
 scene. Lambkin wrung her hand warmly on 
 the threshold. "Three cheers for the Milktoast 
 Club ! " he cried. " Three more for our land- 
 lady, with a kind heart! Besides," he mut- 
 tered, " she gave as good as she was paid for." 
 
 Then Lambkin heroically staid to comfort the 
 dejected Principal. 
 
 If any summer boarder had been stunned by 
 the furious pace of the venerable coach as it 
 thundered down Main Street on its mission of 
 consolation, he would also have observed a natty
 
 3O8 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 
 
 young man beside the driver trying to write on 
 a fly-leaf of his note-book in spite of bumps and 
 jerks. The case stood as follows : 
 
 John Calvin was one of the best trained dogs 
 in New England. The duties of an errand boy 
 were performed by this intelligent dog with 
 skill and alacrity. It had long been his daily 
 task to bring the morning paper from the office 
 a mile away to Roger Mansfield's boarding 
 house at breakfast time. He had even been 
 known to evade the authorities and deliver notes 
 at the Fern. Sem. successfully. Now, as Roger 
 Mansfield scribbled on his shaking knee, he 
 whistled peremptorily to the dog who was 
 bounding gaily ahead. Calvin stopped, stood to 
 one side like a soldier ready to be reviewed, and 
 waited for the stage. 
 
 " Fall back, sir ! Behind there. I may need 
 you any minute ! " The master spoke with a 
 gesture of authority, and the dog, wondering 
 what rule he had now disobeyed, took up his 
 dusty position in the wake of the creaking 
 coach. 
 
 Pete chose the left-hand road to Lawrence,
 
 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 309 
 
 for, as Pete said, " If he's a-goin' to foot it to 
 Conacoot, he'll strike the North Lawrence 
 track." 
 
 Never had this conservative coach left the 
 village before. When had the 'horses been put 
 to such a speed ? Down the old turnpike, 
 across the track, dashed the pursuing horses, 
 coach and dog. Mill-wives stopped frying 
 bacon for their husbands and stared at this un- 
 heard-of sight. Frye Village, the blacksmith's 
 shop, the old small-pox hospital, the oak woods, 
 were soon left behind. Now the historic mills 
 of Lawrence loom up. Another half-mile, and 
 the eyes of the two scan the winding road, 
 searching for the runaway lad. John Calvin 
 is as eager in the chase as anybody, and under- 
 stands it quite as well. 
 
 "There! Ain't that him ?" 
 
 Pete reined up the panting horses to get a 
 better look. A figure far ahead, carrying some- 
 thing on his shoulders, stood against the sky for 
 a moment like a silhouette, and then dropped 
 out of sight. Mansfield hastily jumped down 
 and called his dog.
 
 3IO JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 
 
 " Here, Calvin, now ! Take this ! So ! Don't 
 you drop it for your life. Run ahead now. 
 Hurry up. Give it to him. Find him ! Hurry 
 up, sir ! " 
 
 The dog gave one look at his master and one 
 down the road to Lawrence. 
 
 " Yes, he's there. Hurry up and take it to 
 him!" 
 
 Realizing then his part of the programme, 
 Calvin darted ahead like a startled deer ; and 
 soon only the faint cloud of falling dust in the 
 distance betrayed that the messenger had passed. 
 
 Patter, patter, patter ! pant, pant, pant ! 
 what was the noise behind? Poor John 
 Strong did not look around. He did not care. 
 Body and soul, he was tired out. His back 
 ached. His leg ached. His hands and shoulders 
 ached under the leathern bag, and his heart 
 ached. Was it his fate to toil through life, a 
 dusty tramp like this ? His eyes filled. Trees 
 and road were blurred before him as he thought 
 of the congenial and intellectual world which he 
 had left behind forever.
 
 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 3! I 
 
 To the reader who is choked with highly 
 spiced plots palpitating with danger and hair- 
 breadth escapes, this story of John's struggle 
 may seem singularly simple. But to John 
 Strong these events were of terrific moment. 
 Boys and girls are not apt to cast a calm look 
 beyond, and the failure of an immediate hope 
 seems to their young vision the failure of a life. 
 Disappointment always brings its corresponding 
 misery. The ratio is the same whether it over- 
 takes one in youth or in maturity. 
 
 Patter, patter, patter! pant, pant! yap! 
 yap ! yap ! 
 
 " It sounds like John Calvin," said John 
 Strong drearily ; but of course that could not 
 be. Calvin was in New York. John set his 
 eyes on the Pacific Mills and pushed ahead. 
 Still he did not look behind him. 
 
 " Ow ! What's that ? " 
 
 It was a pair of dusty paws. It was a cold, 
 damp nose. It was John Calvin who had taken 
 the boy in his arms like a grizzly bear. John 
 Strong dropped his bag and hugged the dog with 
 all his might in return. To tell the whole truth,
 
 312 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 
 
 he put his head on John Calvin's shoulder and 
 cried. This was too much for Calvin. He 
 couldn't stand it. He bent his great head and 
 kissed those rare tears away. This he did, and 
 dropped the note. Now the miserable lad could 
 not help seeing the piece of paper, which he 
 snatched and read. 
 
 Wait for me where you are. I'm coming to take you back. 
 Cheer up, old fellow. All right. 
 
 ROGER MANSFIELD. 
 
 They bundled him in indeed, and took him 
 back. It was a glorious rescue, and John Cal- 
 vin, in honor of his prominent part in the ex- 
 ploit, rode inside the coach, and spent his time 
 in tumbling off the seat and alternately kissing 
 with unprecedented moisture the happy cousins. 
 Pete stuck the red flag up straight in the box- 
 seat, and at intervals waved it triumphantly. 
 Back through the oak-trees, through Frye Vil- 
 lage, past the blacksmith's shop, past the cross- 
 ing, the post-office, and up Andover hill the 
 vehicle thundered. The idle postmaster, the 
 sober tailor, the pleasant newspaper man and
 
 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 313 
 
 two straggling Professors stared and wondered. 
 With the flourish of the season the coach rolled 
 up to Uncle Jim's door. Dazed and weak with 
 emotion, John followed his cousin into the house. 
 There Lambkin stood and gripped him with both 
 hands. 
 
 " Hooray ! " yelled Pete, " we've fetched 
 him." 
 
 " Come in," said Lambkin at the threshold, 
 "he expects you." 
 
 Roger pushed the study door open, and the 
 three young men walked in. Uncle Jim was 
 standing. He came straight up to John Strong 
 and held out his hand. 
 
 " Mr. Strong, sir ; my dear boy ! I wronged 
 you. I mistook you, and I apologize, sir ; do 
 you hear ? Report yourself at Harvard next 
 fall." 
 
 " How can I ? " stammered John. 
 
 " I'll answer for a dozen scholarships. Leave 
 that to me." John tried to answer, but choked 
 and couldn't. 
 
 " Gentlemen, you will all stay to dinner." 
 Uncle Jim changed the subject by giving this
 
 314 JOHN CALVIN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 
 
 invitation in the same tone he used after prayers 
 when he said, " The following gentlemen are 
 requested to remain." This time the boys re- 
 mained without a murmur. 
 
 "But my dog ? " said Mansfield in despair. 
 
 Then did the Principal of Phillips Academy 
 clap the climax of his generosity by inviting John 
 Calvin to dine in the kitchen. But John Calvin 
 with an aristocratic sniff declined. What was 
 good enough for his master was about par for 
 him. So he sat in the vestibule and tried to 
 dispose of a plate of scalding tomato soup which 
 Dr. Tyler, with the ignorance of a dogless man, 
 sent out to his particular guest. Calvin re- 
 garded this smarting kindness with perplexity. 
 The dog was not the only member of the Insti- 
 tution who had asked himself the question 
 whether Uncle Jim were so formidable, after all.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 DEAR OLD ANDOVER ! 
 
 IT seemed incredible to John Strong that he 
 was a member of Harvard College and 
 so comfortable a member too. His entrance 
 examinations had been passed with brilliancy. 
 We should own that there was one exception. 
 He had been conditioned in geography ; he who 
 had taught the science of the earth's surface to 
 scholars twice his age under the hills near Cona- 
 coot. When asked the name and dimensions 
 of the island at the mouth of the Amazon, and 
 the direction of the current through the Straits 
 of Magellan, John had failed to answer. But 
 these important questions, testing his intel- 
 lectual fitness to enter Harvard University, were 
 quickly mastered, and the heavy condition was 
 passed off with the first week. 
 
 Now he was in the full swing of a college 
 315
 
 316 DEAR OLD ANDOVER! 
 
 career. Homer and Livy and " Trig," the three 
 ponies asinorum of the Freshman class, had suc- 
 ceeded to Virgil, Zenophon and Algebra. John 
 Strong studied to know, and he did such intelli- 
 gent work that the mathematical tutor, just 
 graduated, trembled before every recitation, and 
 shivered under many of John's thoughtful ques- 
 tions. But John did not know that, and was 
 the last in the class to suspect it. This was just 
 as well. 
 
 If you had seen our hero in those days, walk- 
 ing briskly, almost like any other fellow, from 
 his room to recitation and back, you would have 
 seen entirely a different boy from the one who 
 had shouldered his bag and drearily started to 
 walk from Andover to Conacoot. He entered 
 college without a hindrance, unless poverty is 
 to be considered one. 
 
 And now John's memory of Phillips Academy 
 was not marred by a feeling that he was dis- 
 trusted. Uncle Jim, with the generosity of a 
 great nature, had more than atoned for his mis- 
 take, by a tender interest in John's new life, 
 which touched the poor boy beyond words.
 
 DEAR OLD ANDOVER! 317 
 
 Was it not the magic of the Principal's pen 
 that brought the scholarship ? And when 
 applications for tutoring poured in, so that the 
 lame Freshman could fully support himself, his 
 gratitude to his Andover master took the form 
 of a deep and real affection. The fact was, 
 that John, for the first time in his life, was 
 thoroughly happy. For one thing, he was 
 no longer harried and worried about his mother. 
 Roger Mansfield's father was thoroughly tak- 
 ing care of his long-neglected relative, and 
 meant to do so, until such time as her son 
 should leave college. But John afo/miss Lamb- 
 kin, who had gone to Yale. That was his one 
 sadness. 
 
 John, as we say, was working. His distinc- 
 tion as a magnificent pitcher had attracted some 
 attention to him, at first, among Harvard ath- 
 letes ; but that went only as far as such things 
 go. The position that comes with scholarship 
 is more important and more lasting. John, at 
 the beginning of the winter's term, was already 
 pointed out, as a sure winner of the Freshman 
 mathematical prize.
 
 318 DEAR OLD ANDOVER ! 
 
 But now he had been away from Andover 
 nearly six months. What old Phillips student 
 does not look forward feverishly to his first 
 return ? Especially if he has done something 
 for his Academy to be proud of. Uncle Jim, 
 the terrible disciplinarian, had no longer a place 
 in John's heart. Uncle Jim, the friend, had 
 usurped it. John turned to this once dreadful 
 man for advice as a son turns to a father. He 
 had tasted of the gentleness of that inexorable 
 character, and henceforth nothing could unde- 
 ceive him about its real quality. Uncle Jim 
 was like so many disciplinarians, who, when 
 their boys leave them, show for the first time, 
 the other side of an imperious nature. Then 
 see ! how quickly boyish distrust and fear can 
 swing over into reverence and love. 
 
 And oh ! dear old Phillips ! Oh, for the 
 Commons, the Milkt9ast Club, the gleaming 
 autumn, the spring, whose colors will never fade 
 from John's memory ! Oh, for the campus, and 
 Lambkin, and the cobwebbed Gym. ! It was 
 thus one Friday morning that John mourned. 
 And it happened that on that very day, a
 
 DEAR OLD ANDOVER ! 319 
 
 letter came in Roger Mansfield's nonchalant 
 hand : 
 
 Come up, old fellow, on the first train to-morrow and spend 
 Sunday. We all want to see you. Calvin pines for you. The 
 fellow opposite goes to New Hampshire and doughnuts, to 
 supply, and I'll put you up in his room. 
 
 In haste for Park's lecture, 
 
 ROGER. 
 
 The temptation was too much, and next morn- 
 ing, with an excuse from the Dean of the col- 
 lege, John Strong found himself swallowing the 
 familiar blasts of the Andover depot by the 
 mouthful. This trip was a great event for 
 John. He was the only Freshman who had 
 been tacitly allowed by the Sophomores to 
 carry a cane ; but to-day in his pride, that cane 
 was left behind. Andover was to see the new 
 John, not the old. 
 
 " I'll be gee-hawed if it hain't Strong ! I'm 
 glad to see yer back. I'll be goll-whizzed if I 
 hain't ! " 
 
 Who could mistake Pete's original greeting ? 
 
 " Bow ! yelp ! yow ! How are you ? Down, 
 sir ! "
 
 32O DEAR OLD AXDOVER ! 
 
 But Calvin, being in a Shakespearean mood, 
 would not down, and it was a question for cas- 
 uistry which got to John first, the dog or the 
 master. 
 
 " Bless you, old fellow ! Here, Pete ! Down, 
 you brute ! Put him in the back seat ! Charge, 
 sir ! Give him the biggest buffalo ! Obey, 
 when I speak, sir ! Up to Bartlett Hall ! Get 
 behind there, sir ! Be a little more dignified, 
 you rascal ! " 
 
 John Calvin and Pete did their best to disen- 
 tangle their appropriate orders, and obey them. 
 
 It was a cold Saturday in February. The air 
 was penetrating, and the snow lay sullenly on 
 the ground. Here and there Pete's sleigh cut 
 through to the bare earth and the old horses 
 shook their heads disconsolately. Andover was 
 not in her best clothes to-day. 
 
 Pete drove up the back way, past the old 
 South Church and the Fern. Sem. Calvin, who 
 had been prancing ahead, stood attention at the 
 gate leading to a well-remembered door. 
 
 " At his old tricks ! " said John, laughing. 
 Roger blushed.
 
 DEAR OLD ANDOVER ! $21 
 
 " Yes. Our friend is there yet. She often 
 asks about you. She will be glad to see you." 
 
 It was John's turn to flush, and the sleigh 
 crunched on. 
 
 It was well after dinner when John found 
 himself in Uncle Jim's study. Roger and Cal- 
 vin took him there ; but this time the dog, 
 doubtless civilized by the memory of his tomato 
 soup, behaved himself discreetly. Roger had 
 no need to present his cousin this time with 
 protecting affability, for Uncle Jim rose from 
 his chair and greeted the Freshman- with a 
 hearty welcome. 
 
 " My dear boy!" said the Principal, "I am 
 glad to see you, sir." 
 
 John Strong stood before Uncle Jim with 
 trembling lips. What could he say ? Words 
 choked within him. Perhaps Roger saw his 
 cousin's emotion, and that was why he slipped 
 so quietly away. 
 
 John was deeply moved, more so than at any 
 other time in his life, except the night when 
 Doc. died, or perhaps we might add, the hour of 
 his reconciliation with Uncle Jim, when John
 
 322 DEAR OLD ANDOVER ! 
 
 Calvin, Pete, the old coach and Roger brought 
 him back. Perhaps the teacher thought of that 
 last scene between his pupil and himself, but 
 his manner betrayed no unusual feeling. After 
 all, John was only one of hundreds to him, but 
 our hero had the advantage of being the last in 
 the sequence. Then, the circumstances attend- 
 ing John's departure had given a peculiar cast 
 to the Principal's attitude toward the boy. He 
 trusted the lad thoroughly now. John felt this 
 in Uncle Jim's first look that afternoon, and he 
 could have laid down his life for him. Oh, the 
 loyalty that is born in a boy's heart for the 
 school of his youth, for the teacher of his first 
 manhood ! John may live to be a very old man, 
 long past the time of boyish feelings, but he 
 will never be too old to love Andover, or to 
 adore her great Principal. 
 
 " Well, Strong," Uncle Jim's piercing eyes 
 dwelt softly upon the Harvard Freshman, " I 
 am glad, sir, that you have not forgotten the 
 old place." 
 
 "How could I, sir?" 
 
 " Tut, tut, sir. That is what they all say.
 
 DEAR OLD ANDOVER ! 323 
 
 But you are not like the rest." John flushed 
 and looked down. He was about to reply, when 
 Uncle Jim, putting the forefinger of his right 
 hand up to the bridge of his spectacles, and 
 giving John a pleasant look, went on : 
 
 " Sir, my boy, I have watched your career in 
 Harvard and I am pleased with you." This 
 was a great deal for Dr. Tyler to say. John 
 was satisfied. 
 
 " I wanted to come up and tell you " he fal- 
 tered. His eyes spoke the rest. Uncle Jim 
 laid his hand on the lad's shoulder with a 
 fatherly and affectionate touch. He was as 
 tender as a woman, but it was a part of his 
 theory of discipline not to let any one suspect 
 it if he could help it. Such a slight demonstra- 
 tion as this was rare, even for a returned pu- 
 pil to experience. John arose. His eyes filled 
 with tears. The teacher coughed and bustled a 
 little ; he spoke abruptly : 
 
 " I am busy now, John ; and you will want to 
 see the old boys and the old place. You stay 
 till Monday ? Then I hope to see you at my 
 Biblical to-morrow morning, as usual, sir."
 
 324 DEAR OLD ANDOVER! 
 
 He gave the boy a hearty hand-shake and 
 waved him away. The Principal stood straight 
 by his desk looking as vigorous and as uncom- 
 promising and as severe as ever. But John 
 knew now what Uncle Jim was. 
 
 That evening, as the theologue and the 
 Freshman were walking slowly up from their 
 theological supper, with John Calvin half a mile 
 ahead yelping after a yellow cat, Roger asked 
 his cousin in the most casual manner : 
 
 " What do you say ? How would you like to 
 run down for a few minutes and call on er 
 Miss Marks ? She said she would be happy to 
 see you when you came. She will never forget 
 your gallantry in the woods one might almost 
 call it gall-errantry." Roger laughed at his 
 atrocious pun, and John had nothing to do but 
 to join in merrily at his own expense. John had 
 been thinking a little about the Fern. Sem., but 
 his thoughts had not embraced Miss Marks. 
 In the meanwhile John Calvin, whether through 
 some subtle process of mind-reading not ex- 
 pected of canine psychology, or from a pious 
 Saturday evening habit, had given up the cat,
 
 DEAR OLD ANDOVER ! 325 
 
 and had started down the road to Abbott Acad- 
 emy. It was not hard for either young man to 
 "right about face" and follow the dog's intelli- 
 gent lead. 
 
 Of course John had thought much of Miss 
 Elva. How could he help it ? But call upon 
 her ? He would as soon thought of sending up 
 his card to the mistress of the White House. 
 Really, this simple courtesy never occurred to 
 him as possible to him. That modest school- 
 girl seemed as far out of his way as any queen 
 of society in the great world. 
 
 Miss Marks appeared without delay, and wel- 
 comed John with unusual warmth of manner. 
 She herself suggested that she should call in 
 Miss Selfrich, who would be pleased to see him 
 in Andover. Then Elva glided in, charming in 
 a white woollen house dress. She stood smiling 
 at John and glancing with just the least embar- 
 rassment at Roger and Miss Marks. It is to 
 be feared that Elva was the only one in Ando- 
 ver who was thoroughly surprised at John's 
 visit. But she took it very kindly. How bright 
 she looked ! How white ! She seemed to shine
 
 326 DEAR OLD ANDOVER ! 
 
 like an altar candle before the perplexed boy. 
 But Elva herself was not wholly at her ease. 
 
 " Oh ! how you have improved, Mr. Strong. 
 Hasn't he ? " she said hurriedly, turning to 
 Roger. Calvin yapped to help on the conver- 
 sation, and licked her white hand. And then, 
 feeling that she had said just the wrong thing 
 for what boy after a certain age likes to be 
 told that he has grown, or that he has a mus- 
 tache, or that he is improved? she apologized, 
 and said he hadn't, which made matters con- 
 siderably worse. She then supported her origi- 
 nal statement, and Miss Marks, seeing her 
 well-bred pupil confused for the first time in 
 her life, came to her relief, and asked John if he 
 had killed any more constrictors in Cambridge. 
 They laughed, and chatted, and laughed again. 
 John was the hero of the evening. They drew 
 him out, and made him talk about himself, until 
 the shy boy felt ashamed of his compulsory 
 egoism. 
 
 "And I am sure you will come and see us 
 the next time you come to Andover. We ex- 
 pect great things of you," said Miss Marks.
 
 DEAR OLD ANDOVER ! 327 
 
 Miss Marks had never been so gracious to any 
 Academy boy within the memory of that race 
 of Fem. Sems. John bowed in dazed delight. 
 And now for the first time in their acquaintance, 
 Elva, in bidding him good-by, gave him her hand. 
 He fancied that hers lingered for a brief second 
 in his, perhaps as a sister's might. 
 
 " I'm a better fellow for knowing her," thought 
 John, as he followed his gayer cousin silently 
 out into the winter night. " I wonder why ? " 
 
 Sunday morning dawned clear as a clarion, 
 but very cold. The sun did his best, but noth- 
 ing melted. The ice turned a gray cheek to 
 the sky. The trees had a slight glaze ; their 
 coat of icicles was thin, and would not outlast 
 noon, but it was burning bright. The snow 
 was crusted and blazed. The broad Seminary 
 grounds looked like the Sea of Glass. 
 
 John Strong, with the imagination of a reli- 
 giously educated boy, thought of this on his 
 way to the Academy at nine o'clock. He had 
 accepted Dr. Tyler's invitation to the "Bibli- 
 cal," and went happily enough now that he did
 
 328 DEAR OLD ANDOVER ! 
 
 not have to go. This was quite another matter. 
 He wondered that he ever found it such a drag. 
 But this Bible lesson was considered by the 
 boys the least bore of all the compulsory Sun- 
 day services. John ascended the two flights of 
 stairs in the great brick building to the chapel. 
 The whole school, being obliged to attend, 
 climbed with him. Here the timid " Prep." 
 who used to room opposite to John, shook 
 hands quite boldly, for he was now a Junior 
 Middler. And here the Seniors to a man 
 greeted the returned P. A. boy. John had been 
 very popular with them when they were Mid- 
 dlers, for the sake of Doc., and everybody was 
 glad to see him. And here and there a new 
 "Prep." nudged an upper-class-man and inquired 
 who that strange fellow was. 
 
 "Why, that's Strong, the famous pitcher. 
 Won the Exeter game. Great dig, too ! Bones 
 for rank ! At Harvard now. Look at him 
 plucky chap born lame." 
 
 John entered the large hall with quickly beat- 
 ing heart, and took a back seat. The sun glit- 
 tered through the white glass windows and
 
 DEAR OLD ANDOVER ! 329 
 
 seemed to him to lift those three hundred rest- 
 less students out of the real into a quiet dream. 
 
 Then there came a sudden hush. It meant a 
 mark to be found chatting when Uncle Jim 
 mounted the platform. The Principal's eyes 
 swept the assembly. They did not seem to the 
 Seniors on the front seat as inexorable as usual. 
 They quickly singled John out, and a gentle but 
 authoritative gesture bade him come up on to 
 the platform. This was quite an ordeal for 
 John. The two teachers, flanking the Princi- 
 pal, arose, shook hands, and offered him a red- 
 covered chair. This invitation to the platform 
 is a courteous honor that Andover still pays to 
 its returning graduates. The school now broke 
 into a low ripple of applause, which was speedily 
 checked by the well-known motion of the Prin- 
 cipal's hand. John's welcome to Andover was 
 an ovation on a small scale, but as sincere as, 
 and more spontaneous than, many a public 
 demonstration offered to some showy political 
 candidate. 
 
 Uncle Jim was always absorbed in his Sunday 
 morning "Biblical." He believed in it enthusi-
 
 33O DEAR OLD ANDOVER ! 
 
 astically as an educational power. Sitting in his 
 chair before the whole school, with one hand 
 upon the open Bible, and with the other empha- 
 sizing his talks with terse gestures, he became to 
 hundreds of boys during his long Principalship 
 an inspiring force, a stimulus, a Moses to lead 
 them to the land of achievement and of promise. 
 
 John Strong was not the only one that morn- 
 ing who was deeply touched. The boys felt 
 that the exercise was somehow different from 
 the usual lesson. They could not have explained 
 how or why. It was remembered long afterward 
 that they were especially moved by his manner 
 and by his tone. The students looked with awe, 
 and many with deep affection, upon the Arnold 
 of America. They felt that day a peculiar sym- 
 pathy with the great heart, which at the time 
 they could not comprehend. 
 
 John listened to his master with the kind of 
 docility which only great gratitude lends to a 
 boy's mind. Perhaps he had grown to idealize 
 his teacher a little. He thought not ; but if he 
 did, it was better than to underrate him, as 
 some have done. The relation between these
 
 DEAR OLD ANDOVER ! 33! 
 
 two had now reached its best and highest level, 
 and to the fatherless boy his old teacher was 
 the noblest man he knew. 
 
 The Sermon on the Mount was Dr. Tyler's 
 subject that winter's morning. It was remem- 
 bered that he dwelt long on the verse, "Blessed 
 are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." 
 The boys listened to that lesson ; some of them 
 made high resolves a few kept them. Uncle 
 Jim was firm and exacting, but, give him a 
 chance, he made men of his boys ; and, after 
 all, that is the test of a great teacher. 
 
 What was the matter with Uncle Jim's last 
 prayer that morning? The boys could not help 
 hearing it if they would. They were startled 
 by its intensity. John was greatly awed. His 
 face fell into his hands. The Principal departed 
 from his usual forms, and prayed for the needs 
 of his students as those august Academy walls 
 had never heard him pray before. He prayed 
 for the boys in their temptations ; for strength 
 in their struggles ; that they might have pure 
 hearts, and lead simple, manly lives. "And,
 
 332 DEAR OLD ANDOVER ! 
 
 Father, sanctify these my boys in the truth, 
 that the love wherewith Thou loved'st Jesus 
 may be in them and they in Thee. Amen." 
 
 The " Biblical " was over. With puzzled and 
 gentle looks the boys moved apart, and feet that 
 stamped upstairs, crept softly down. 
 
 The master beckoned to John Strong, who 
 obeyed the signal with glad respect. The Prin- 
 cipal seemed to be in a hurry to get away. The 
 two walked quickly through the ante-room, and 
 met the stream of boys at the head of the stairs. 
 John walked close beside Uncle Jim ; and as they 
 emerged from the door the students parted with 
 more than usual deference. The bitter winter 
 air rushed up. It smote the Principal in the 
 face, and he seemed to recoil from it. 
 
 "Your arm, John ! " he said quickly. 
 
 John tenderly gave the strong right arm that 
 had been trained in the Gym. 
 
 The Principal walked down the first flight of 
 stairs unsteadily. At the foot, opposite the 
 threshold of his own class-room, surrounded by 
 his boys, and leaning on John, he fell, like a 
 soldier shot.
 
 DEAR OLD ANDOVER ! 333 
 
 " He's tripped ! " 
 
 " Stand back ! " 
 
 " Give him air ! " 
 
 " Hold him up ! " 
 
 " Send for the doctor ! " 
 
 "He's hurt himself!" 
 
 " He's faint ! " 
 
 But John had laid his ear, trained at the side 
 of poor Doc., upon the heart of the prostrate 
 man. He lifted a face almost as gray as that 
 other, and tried to speak firmly, but faltered, 
 and broke down before them all. 
 
 "No, boys, no! he is not faint he's dead!" 
 
 When it was all over, and they had laid him 
 to rest in the snow-clad chapel cemetery, John, 
 with crape on his arm, returned to Harvard. 
 It took the boy time to recover from the smit- 
 ing stroke. But even the shocks of life have 
 their own solemn place, which nothing else 
 can fill ; and through the gates of that youthful 
 sorrow, John passed into the useful and happy 
 manhood which his old master would have been 
 proud to see.
 
 IIIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIMI ''" 
 
 A 000118520 6