For the Honor of the School: A Story of School Life and Interscholastic Sport

by Ralph Henry Barbour

  CHAPTER III

  IN 15 BRADLEY

  It was getting dark in the study of No. 15 Bradley Hall, and Wayne laidhis book down on the window seat and fell to looking idly out of thewindow. The broad expanse of the Hudson River was visible for severalmiles, and its quiet surface reflected all the tones of gold andcrimson with which the western sky was aglow. Far to the left a littledark spot marked the location of the railway station, and the steelrails, stretching to the southward, caught the sunset glint here andthere and looked like shafts of fire. The meadow and the campus werestill green, and the station road was blotched with the purple shadowsof hedge and tree. To the left a tiny steamer was creeping from sightbeyond the island and the far-stretching marsh across the water wasbrightly yellow with autumn grass.

  Inside the room the shadows were beginning to gather wherever the glowfrom the two windows failed to reach. They had already hidden thebookcase near the hall door and Don’s armchair was only a formless hulkin the gloom. The door to the bedroom was ajar and through it theshadows were silently creeping, for that room was on the back of thebuilding and its one window gave but scant light at sunset time. Thestudy was a comfortable-looking den. There was a big green-topped tablein the center, flanked by easy-chairs, and holding a student lamp, anornamental inkstand, a number of books, and a miscellaneous litter ofpaper, pens, golf balls, gloves, and caps. A lounge, rather humpy fromlong and hard usage, disputed a corner of the apartment with a lowbookcase whose top afforded a repository for photographs and a coupleof hideous vases which for years past had “gone with the room.” Therewas a fireplace on one side which to-day held no fire. The mantel wasdecorated with more photographs and three pewter mugs, Wayne’s trophiesof the cinder track. Some tennis racquets, three broken and repairedgolf sticks, and a riding whip were crossed in a bewildering fashionabove a picture of an English rowing regatta, and on either side hungframed “shingles” of the Senior Debating Society and the HilltonAcademy Golf Club. Other pictures adorned the walls here and there; twobusinesslike straight-backed chairs were placed where they could notfail to be fallen over in the dark; and a bright-colored but somewhatthreadbare carpet was on the floor. There were two windows, for No.15 was a corner study, and in each was a comfortable seat generouslyfurnished with pillows. At this moment both seats were occupied. Inone lounged Wayne; in the other Don was still trying to study by thefading light. His left foot was perched carefully on a cushion, forthe injured ankle was not yet fully strong, although nearly a week hadelapsed since the cross-country run and his accident. Finally Don, too,laid aside his book.

  “Want to light up, Wayne?”

  “No, let’s be lazy; it’s so jolly in the twilight. I like to watchsunsets, don’t you? They’re sort of mysterious and--and sad.”

  “Hello!” laughed Don. “You must be a bit homesick.”

  “No, not exactly, though the sunset did look a bit like some we havedown home. I wish you could see a Virginia sunset, Don.”

  “Aren’t they a good deal like any other sunset?”

  “No, I don’t think so. From our house at home the sun always setsacross a little valley and back of a hill with a lot of dark trees onit. And there’s always a heap of blue wood smoke in the air and thewoods are kind of hazy, you know. Wish I was there,” he added, with atinge of melancholy in his voice.

  “Cheer up,” said Don. “You’ll feel better after supper. You’rehomesick. I used to be, my first year. Used to think I’d give mostanything for a sight of the Charles River and the marshes, as theylook from the library window at home. But I got over it. When I beganto feel sad and virtuous I’d go out and swat a football or jump overthings. That’s the best way to get rid of homesickness, Wayne; go infor athletics and get your blood running right. You don’t have muchchance to think about home when you’re leaping hurdles or trying tobust your own record for the hundred yards.”

  “I should think not,” laughed Wayne. “I know I wasn’t homesick theother day when I was chasing around country and jumping over thosesilly hedges; but I reckon I’d rather be a bit homesick than have mylegs ache and my lungs burst.”

  “They won’t when you’re in training,” answered Don. “But you did greatwork that day; we were awfully proud of you.”

  “So you say, and I suppose it’s all right, only I keep telling youthat I wasn’t trying to win the team race; I was just trying to beatthat blamed St. Eustace chump who laughed at me when I was sittingcomfortably on the ground there. Just as though any fellow mightn’tfall over those old hedges, hang him!”

  “Well, don’t you mind,” answered Don soothingly. “He isn’t laughingnow, you can bet; that laugh cost his school the race.”

  Wayne made no reply. He had gathered the pillows in a heap under hishead and was lying on his back nursing his knees. It was almost darkoutdoors and in the room the shadows held full sway. Across from Don’swindow the lights in Masters Hall were coming out and throwing dimshafts upon the broad gravel path.

  “Wayne, I wish you’d go into training for the track team,” continuedDon. “All you need is some good hard practice to make you a dandyrunner. Why don’t you?”

  “What’s the good?” asked Wayne carelessly. “I have hard enough work asit is trying to learn my lessons without losing a lot of time runningaround a track. Besides, it’s so tiresome.”

  “Don’t talk nonsense,” answered Don. “You have hard work with yourlessons because you won’t study, and you know it. You could do a lot oftraining in the time you spend now in loafing. And, look here, Wayne,if you go in for athletics you can study a lot better; really. I know;I’ve tried both ways. And besides, you won’t have to run around a trackmuch until long after winter term begins; hard work doesn’t start untilFebruary. Of course, if you’ve made up your mind to be a duffer, Iwon’t say anything more about it. But I’m captain of the track team,and I know you would make a bully runner and I want you to help me outif you will. We’re going to have a hard time next spring to find goodmen for the mile and half-mile events, and if we don’t win one of themI’m afraid St. Eustace or Collegiate is sure of first place. I wish oldHillton might come out on top next year. Think of it, Wayne, this is mysecond year as captain, and my last, for I shan’t take it again, and ifwe are beaten next spring it will be a nice record to leave behind,won’t it? Two defeats and no victories! Hang it, we’ve got to win,Wayne!”

  Wayne laughed lazily.

  “What’s so funny?” demanded Don rather crossly.

  “You--you’re so serious. The idea of caring so much about whether weget beaten or not next spring. Why, it’s months away yet. If you’ve gotto worry about it, why not wait awhile?”

  Don was too vexed to reply and Wayne went on in his careless,good-natured tones.

  “You fellows up North here are so crazy about athletics. Of course,they’re good enough in their way, I reckon, but seems to me that youdon’t think about much else. I don’t mean that you don’t study--you’reall awful grinds--but you never have any time for--for----”

  “What--loafing?” asked Don sarcastically.

  “No, not exactly that, but--but--oh, hunting and riding and beingsociable generally. Do you shoot?”

  “Not much; I’ve potted beach birds and plovers once or twice.”

  “Well, that’s the kind of sport I like. Down home we shoot quail, youknow; it’s right good fun. And next month the fox hunting begins.”

  “I think I should like that,” exclaimed Don eagerly, forgetting his illhumor. “I’ve never ridden to hounds. Isn’t it hard jumping fences andthings?”

  “Hard--on a horse? Shucks! Compared to leaping over hedges on your feetit’s about the easiest thing in the world. All you have to do is to sitstill.”

  “Well, it sounds easy,” answered Don dubiously, “but I should thinksitting still on a horse that was plunging over a rail fence would berather difficult; seems to me that the easiest thing would be to falloff. Did you ever fall?”

  “Twice. Once I hurt my shoulder a little.
Of course we boys don’t doany hard riding; dad won’t let me go out very often, and when he doeshe always goes along. You see, once I went fox hunting instead of goingto school, and he found out about it.”

  “What kind of a school was it you went to?”

  “Oh, a little private school kept by an old codger who used to be aprofessor at the University. We fellows had a pretty easy time of it;when we didn’t want to study we didn’t, which was mighty often.”

  “Well, you won’t find it so easy here,” said Don.

  “Oh, I’ve found that out already,” answered Wayne ruefully. “We have somany studies here I can’t begin to keep track of them all. I never knowwhether I ought to be at a recitation or fussing with dumb-bells in thegymnasium.”

  “Well, you’ll get used to it after a while and like it immensely, andthink that there isn’t another place in the world like Hillton. Andwhen you do you’ll care more whether we win or get beaten at athleticsand football; and then----”

  There came a loud hammering at the door.

  “Enter Paddy and David!” cried Don.

  Dave Merton alone entered, and closing the door behind him promptlyfell over an armchair.

  “Confound you fellows! why can’t you keep your room decent? A chap’salways breaking his shins when he comes here. Where’s Paddy?”

  “What, have you become separated?” cried Don. “Light the gas, Wayne,and let us view the unaccustomed sight of Dave without Paddy.”

  “He said he was coming up here after he dressed. I left him at thegym.” Dave stumbled against a straight-backed chair, placed it on itsback just inside the door, and groped his way to a seat beside Don.“Hope he’ll break his shins too, when he comes,” he said grimly.

  “What have you two inseparables been up to this afternoon?” asked Don.

  “Oh, Paddy’s been doing stunts with a football, and he’s awfullyannoyed over something, and I’ve been tossing a hammer around thelandscape; that’s all.”

  “And did you manage to break another goal post?”

  “No; couldn’t seem to hit anything to-day, although I _did_ come withina few yards of Greene.”

  Another thunderous knocking was heard, and, without awaiting aninvitation, Paddy came in, and the sound of breaking wood followed ashe landed on the chair.

  “I’m afraid I’ve bust something,” he said cheerfully, as he struggledto his feet. “And serves you right, too. Is Dave here?”

  “Haven’t seen him,” answered Wayne.

  “Wonder where the silly chump went to. Where are you, you fellows?”Paddy felt his way around the table and gropingly found a seat betweenDon and Dave. “He said he was coming up here before supper.” A faintchuckle aroused his suspicions and the sound of a struggle followed.Then Paddy’s voice arose in triumphant tones.

  “’Tis you, yer spalpeen. There’s only one ugly nose like that inschool.”

  “Ouch!” yelled Dave. “Let go!”

  “Is it you?” asked Paddy grimly.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you a spalpeen?”

  “Yes, oh yes. Ouch!”

  “All right.” Paddy deposited Dave on the floor and arranged himselfcomfortably in the window.

  “Dave says you’re annoyed, Paddy. Who’s been ill-treating the poorlittle lad?” asked Don, when the laughter had subsided and Dave hadretreated to the other window seat.

  “Don, it’s kilt I am intoirely,” answered Paddy. “For thirty mortalminutes Gardiner had me snapping back the ball to that butter-fingeredBowles. If he doesn’t put another quarter-back in soon I shall hand inme resignation. And to make things worse Gardiner stayed up all lastnight and thought out a most wonderful new trick play, and to-day hetried to put us through it. And, oh dear! I wish you could have seenthe backs all tearing around like pigs with a dog after them, bumpinginto each other, getting in each other’s way and all striking the lineat different places and asking, please wouldn’t we let them through! Ohdear! oh dear! And that chap Moore, who plays center on the second, gotme around the neck twice and tried to pull my head off. If he doesn’tquit that trick I’ll be forced to forget my elegant manners and slughim.”

  “And he’ll wipe the turf up with you, and I hope he does,” said Dave,rubbing his nose ruefully.

  “And the St. Eustace game only two weeks off,” continued Paddy,heedless of the interruption. “We’re in an awful state, fellows. I wishwe had Remsen back to coach us. Gardiner’s all right in his way, buthe doesn’t begin to know the football that Stephen Remsen does. We’regoners this year for sure.”

  “Oh, cheer up,” answered Don. “You can do lots in two weeks. Look atthe material we’ve got.”

  “Yes, look at it,” said Paddy. “There isn’t a man in the line or backof it that’s played in a big game except Greene and myself.”

  “But St. Eustace has a lot of new men this year, too.”

  “Don’t you believe it, my boy. That’s what they say, but Gardiner toldme yesterday that St. Eustace has five fellows on the team that playedagainst us last year.”

  “Does the game come off here?” asked Wayne.

  “No, it’s at Marshall this year. We’re all going down, aren’t we,fellows?” asked Dave.

  “Of course,” answered Don. “We will go and see Paddy slaughtered. Waynewill go along and we’ll teach him to sing ‘Hilltonians.’ By the way,I’ve been trying to persuade him that he ought to take up training forthe track team. He will make a first-class runner. But he’s so terriblylazy and indifferent that it’s like talking to a football dummy.”

  “Of course you ought to, Wayne,” exclaimed Paddy earnestly. “It’s yourduty, my young friend. Every fellow ought to do everything he can forthe success of the school. I’d try for the team if I could run anyfaster than I can walk.”

  “Oh, well,” said Wayne, “I’ll see about it.”

  “You ought to jump at the chance,” said Dave, in disgust. “It isn’tevery chap that gets asked by the captain of the team. And, let me tellyou-- Hello! Six o’clock, fellows. Who’s for supper?”

  “Every one,” cried Don, jumping up. “But I’ve got to wash first. Someone light the gas if they can find the matches.”

  “Well, I’m off,” said Paddy.

  “So’m I,” echoed Dave. “I say, Don, I’m coming over after supper to seeif you can help me with that trigonometry stuff.”

  “All right,” answered Don from the bedroom between splashes. “If youknow less about it than I do I’ll be surprised.”

  “Come on,” cried Paddy impatiently from the doorway--

  “‘The time has come,’ the Walrus said, ‘To eat of many things; Of apple sauce and gingerbread, Of cake and red her_rings_!’”