CLASS SPIRIT
Peter Doe descended the marble steps of the big dormitory withdiscouragement written large upon his face. When he reachedthe sidewalk he drew a blank book from his pocket and studiedit with frowning brows until he had crossed the avenue, and,half-unconsciously, perched himself on the top rail of the collegefence. Then he sighed and returned the book to his coat.
Peter had been canvassing for the freshman crew for four days. Armitageand the rest had spoken cheerfully of eight hundred dollars as theprobable result of his labors. To-day Peter shook his head ruefully.The book in his pocket held subscriptions representing only two hundredand sixty-four dollars, of which nearly half was "pledged," a termpossessing doubtful significance. And Peter was discouraged.
When Ronald Armitage--popular, influential and much sought--hadrequested Peter to join the squad of canvassers, Peter had beensecretly much flattered, and had acquiesced instantly, gladly. Fortwo whole days he had haunted the dormitories, indifferent to alldiscourtesies.
Peter was glad to be of service to his class. He believed that aman's first duty was to his college, his second to his class, histhird--well, the third did not as yet trouble him. He stood just fivefeet six and one-half inches, and had all a small man's admiration forbrawn and athleticism. His complexion was pink and white, a fact whichworried him so much that in summer he spent precious hours lying withhis face upturned to the sun in the hope that he would tan. But henever did; he simply got very red and the skin peeled off his nose.
Peter's crowning glory was his hair, which was of the color of redgold. It was very beautiful hair from an artistic point of view, butit did not please Peter. At preparatory school it had won him thename of "Little Goldie," a title which still clung to him among hisacquaintances. He was good at studies, and was visibly impressed withthe seriousness of existence.
After a while Peter slipped from the fence. He was eighteen years old,and at eighteen discouragement is a matter of a moment. Peter set hisface toward Haworth Hall and Vance Morris, resolved to play his lastcard. Vance Morris was one of the richest men in college, and by farthe wealthiest in the freshman class.
Peter had gone to school with him at St. Matthew's, but theiracquaintance was only of the nodding kind. Armitage had told Peter thatMorris was "good for a hundred at least." Fortune had apparently playedinto the collector's hands at the very beginning of his canvassing,for, crossing the yard in the morning he had encountered Morris, andhad, not without a struggle with his diffidence, stopped him and askedfor a subscription.
"We, that is, Armitage and the others, you know, thought that aboutone hundred dollars would be--er--enough," he had announced. WhereuponMorris, who was plainly in a hurry to reach the square, had grinnedand replied:
"Really? That's very modest of them, isn't it? Don't you think they'drather have a thousand?"
The tone had made Peter feel a bit uncomfortable, but he had managedto give audible expression to the belief that a hundred would do verynicely; upon which Morris had again grinned down upon him from his sixfeet two inches, and had started away.
But Peter had trotted after him. "Then we--then I may look for onehundred, Morris?"
"You may," the other had answered. "Oh, yes, you may look for it.There's my car."
It was a hard race to the square, but Peter sprinted desperately andswung himself up on the rear platform a second after Morris.
"You--you promise?" gasped Peter.
"Oh, yes, confound you! Get off or you'll break your neck!"
Peter did not break his neck, but he afforded much amusement to a groupof students by rolling riotously over the street for several yards.To-day, as he skirted the yard toward Morris's room, he recalled thathard-bought promise and was comforted. Another hundred would bring hislist up to the sum of three hundred and sixty-four dollars, far removedfrom the fabulous amount predicted by Armitage, but, after the illsuccess of the past four days, something over which to rejoice. Duringthe bitterest moments of his laboring, Peter had comforted his soulwith thoughts of that one hundred dollars.
Peter found Morris alone, lying at ease in a big, hospitable armchair,and in good humor.
"Hello!" Morris held forth a big, brown hand. "Glad to see you. Sitdown."
Peter made known the object of his visit, and finally Morris yawned andstretched a hand toward his desk.
"All right; toss me my check-book."
Peter eagerly brought book and pen, ink and blotter, and the bigfreshman, using the arm of the chair for support, scrawled illegiblecharacters. Then he tore off the little strip of pale-green paper andhanded it to Peter.
"That's the best I can do for you."
He yawned again and closed his eyes. Peter opened his. "But--butthis--this is for only ten dollars!"
"You're good at figures," muttered Morris, sleepily.
Peter stared at him in silence while the brass-dialed clock tickedtwenty times. This, then, was the realization of his magnificent hopes!
A paltry ten dollars where he had looked for a hundred! What wouldArmitage and the others say? What would they think of him? Peter'svoice trembled in shrill, indignant protest:
"This isn't fair, Morris! It isn't honest! It isn't--isn't decent! Why,you promised a hundred, and I--we all counted on it; and now--now yougive me this measly little ten!"
Morris swung slowly round and stared in bewilderment.
"Well!" he muttered, in awestruck tones.
"You ought to do more than this for the crew!" Peter went on, wavingthe check wildly in air. "You can afford to give what you promised,and--and by jiminy, _you've got to_!"
"Got to!" growled the other. He drew himself from the chair untilhe towered above Peter like a step-ladder above a footstool. He puthis hands in the pockets of his jacket and looked down in frowningamusement. "_Got to!_" he repeated.
Peter's face blanched from pale to the perfect whiteness of newlyfallen snow, but he held his ground. His voice broke, but he answered:
"Yes."
Morris laughed and slapped Peter on the shoulder.
"Good for you! But look here, take that check and get out. It isn'tyour funeral, you know. And besides, ten dollars isn't to be sneezedat. If every fellow in the class gave ten dollars----"
"But you know every fellow can't!" broke in Peter. "You know lots ofthem can't afford to give anything! But you can, Morris; you can affordto give what you promised--more than that."
"Oh, leave off!" said Morris. "Run along with your check, like a goodlittle boy."
Peter hesitated; then he folded the slip of paper and placed it in hispocket. Taking the pen, he dipped it into the ink and wrote a receipt.Then he faced Morris again.
"Yes, I'll take this on account. But I've got to have ninety more,"he said, doggedly. "And I'm going to have it. I'm going to keep at ituntil I get it. You've got to do what is right, Morris!"
"You're like what's-his-name's raven," sighed the other. "But I'll tellyou what I'll do. When you get a hundred dollars out of me for thecrew, I'll--I'll give you another fifty!" He laughed uproariously.
Peter strode to the door, and when he reached it turned and facedMorris impressively.
"Remember your promise!"
The door closed sternly behind him. Morris dropped into the armchairand laughed until the tears came. That was on Thursday.
The next day Peter returned. Morris's study was filled with students.Morris was courteous to a fault, but Peter refused to be placated.
"Can you let me have that ninety dollars for the freshman crewto-day?" he asked. The crowd grinned. Morris shook his head and lookeddevastated with grief.
"I regret that I can not; not to-day. Perhaps next fall--or a year fromyesterday, now----"
When the door was closed between him and the laughing enemy, Peterturned and shook a small, tightly clenched fist. "Wait!" he whispered,hoarsely.
That was on Friday.
Returning across the yard from chapel the next morning, Peterencountered Wyeth, Morris's roommate. He carrie
d a valise, and Peterknew that he was going home over Sunday.
"Beg pardon," said Peter, "but can you tell me where I can find Morris?"
Wyeth hesitated. Then he laughed and played traitor. He jerked hishead in the direction of Haworth, and scuttled for the car. Peter'sheart leaped as he hurried across the campus. When he reached thedormitory he crossed the courtyard and sprang up the stairs two at atime. The outer door was ajar. On the inner he knocked boldly. Therewas no response. He knocked again, then entered the study. The room wasdeserted. The sunlight shone in brightly through one window, where thecurtain was drawn back. Peter investigated the bedroom to the left.It was empty. He crossed to the opposite door. Within lay Morris on agorgeous brass bedstead, his big chest rising and falling in mightyrespirations, his half-opened mouth emitting sounds resembling thesubterranean roar of an idle geyser. One arm lay straight beside him;the other crossed his body, clutching the embroidered quilt.
The clock in the next room ticked on, slowly, monotonously, whileMorris slept and Peter evolved an idea, an idea so grand, so desperate,that his flaming locks stirred uneasily upon his scalp and his breathcame in gasps. Then he sighed as if from his very shoes. His mind wasmade up!
He crept into the study and locked the hall door, dropping the key intohis pocket. On the wall by the fireplace hung a monstrous Mexican hat,three pairs of spurs, a quirt, and, gracefully encircling these, along, braided rawhide lariat. With the aid of a chair Peter took thelariat from its place and crept noiselessly back to the bedroom. Thegiant still slept. With thumping heart Peter set to work.
For the next ten minutes he worked like a beaver--or a burglar. Hemade eight trips under the bed. At seven minutes past nine by thebrass-dialed clock the last knot was tied, and Peter, trembling,breathless but triumphant, viewed his work with satisfaction. His enemywas delivered into his hands!
He returned to the study. He had no right, he told himself, todisturb Morris's slumber; he must wait until the sleeper woke ofhis own accord. The hands of the clock crept round toward ten.Peter recollected that he was missing an English lecture, and wouldundoubtedly be kept from German. His regret, however, was but passing.
He took up a magazine, but had turned only two leaves when therereached him a sound like the spouting of a leviathan. He drew his kneestogether and shivered. The giant was waking! Then the bed creakedalarmingly and Peter crept to the door. At the same instant Morrisopened his eyes, yawned, blinked, yawned again, tried to stretch hisarms, and stared.
"Hello, Goldie! That you? What in thunder----"
He raised his head as far as circumstances allowed and saw himself,like Gulliver, enmeshed in a network of thongs. Amazement gave way tounderstanding, understanding to appreciation, appreciation to laughter.The bed shook. Peter gained courage and entered.
"Oh, Goldie," cried the giant, "you'll be the death of me yet, I knowyou will!"
Peter waited in silence.
"I didn't think you were such a joker, Goldie, honest, I never did!"
"I'm glad I've amused you," replied Peter, with immense dignity. "Iassure you I had no idea of a joke."
"No idea of a joke!" said Morris, vainly striving to wipe his streamingeyes on the pillow-slip by rolling his head. "Then what do you callthis?"
"Business."
"Business? Oh, well, call it what you like; it's good, mighty good. Tothink that you managed to hog-tie me like this without waking me up!It's--it's-- By the way, what time is it?"
"Just ten o'clock."
"Great Scott! You don't mean it? Here, untie these knots and let me up.I was going to be in town at eleven."
Peter shook his head. Morris stared. The truth dawned.
"You don't mean--" he began, incredulously. Peter nodded.
"_Well, I'll be jiggered!_"
He lay and stared in amazement. Peter stared uncompromisingly back. Thestudy clock ticked unnaturally loud. Peter was pale and Morris was of aredness that verged on purple. The storm broke suddenly.
"Why, you little red-headed, snub-nosed idiot!" bellowed Morris. "WhenI get up I'll smash you into slivers! I'll----"
He strove mightily to wrest himself from the clutches of theencircling lariat. He heaved, strained, twisted, writhed; but rawhideis uncompromising to a degree. At the end of one strenuous minute hesubsided, panting, perspiring, glaring like a trapped lion. Peter satdown on the edge of the bed.
"I don't want you to think," he announced, "that I have taken thiscourse willingly; you--you have driven me to it. I gave you fullwarning."
Morris roared loudly, inarticulately. Peter waited politely, thencontinued, "I gave you fair warning. I told you I had to have themoney. I regret putting you to this--this inconvenience, and----"
For a space the bed rocked like a scow in a squall.
"And assure you that as soon as you do your duty to the freshman crewand to yourself I'll let you up."
"Duty!" frothed Morris.
"Duty!" frothed Morris.]
Peter interlaced his fingers round one knee and settled himselfcomfortably against the foot-rail. He observed the captive gravely,dispassionately, almost indulgently, as a just parent might view adisobedient child to whom punishment is being meted out. Then he beganto talk. He pointed out to Morris that a college man's duty does notend with himself; that he should consider the good of the universityand his class, and stand ready and eager to support the honor of eachto the best of his ability; that he should be willing to sacrifice hispersonal pleasure to that end. Class spirit, said Peter, was one of themost beautiful things about college life.
Peter talked leisurely, eloquently, even convincingly. Havingestablished--to his own satisfaction, at least--the claim that theclass body possesses on its members, he passed to the subject of thebenefits of athletics. When he had exhausted that, he indicated theself-evident fact that athletics can prosper only with the support ofthe students. Morris by this time had raged himself dry of expletives,and was a silent, if unenthusiastic, auditor.
Peter was encouraged, and his eloquence increased. The freshman class,he declared, was in many ways the most important of all. Its contestson track, field and river were watched with interest second only tothat given to the struggles of the varsity teams and crews. The classthat attained honor in its freshman year established a stable basisfor future glory. Those whose privilege it was to make possible thathonor, either by labor or by financial support, should deem themselvesfortunate.
Morris was now groaning impotently. Peter brushed a stray wisp ofred-gold hair from his brow and went on, his eyes transfixing hisvictim. There were many in the class, he said, who could afford tocontribute but little to the cause. There were others so fortunate asto be in position to give generously. It was the duty, the privilege ofevery fellow to give according to his means. In the case of Morris----
The clock chimed the half-hour. Morris gave a deep sigh and yielded.
"Goldie, for heaven's sake cut it out!" he begged. "Let me up and I'llwrite you a check for fifty dollars."
"Ninety," corrected Peter, firmly.
"Well, ninety."
Peter rose and untied several knots. The result was not quite whatMorris had expected. He found only his right arm free.
"Where's your check-book?" asked Peter.
"In the desk. Aren't you going to let me up?"
The only response was the sound of pen on paper. When Peter reappearedhe placed the book before his captive and put the pen into his hand."After you've signed," he said.
Morris grumbled, but with some difficulty affixed his signature to thecheck for ninety dollars. Peter tore it off and once more presented thebook. Morris stared. "What's this?" he demanded.
"Another one for fifty," answered Peter, quietly. "Remember yourpromise."
"My promise?" cried Morris.
"Certainly. When I got one hundred from you for the crew you were togive me fifty more. Have you enough ink?"
Morris glowered, glancing from Peter's inexorable countenance to theopen check-book. Then he
grinned craftily and signed.
"Now you've got to untie me," he said.
Peter folded the two slips carefully and placed them in his pocket.Then he wrote a receipt for one hundred and forty dollars, Morriswatching him uneasily.
"Thank you!" said Peter, laying down the receipt. "I am certain thatyou'll be glad in the end that you were able to do so much for thecrew. I am now going over to the bank"--Morris writhed--"to get thesecashed. As soon as possible I'll return and set you free."
For a moment Morris fought against fate. Then he capitulated.
"Hold on, Goldie! I know when I'm beaten. I give you my word I won'tstop those if you'll let me up now. What's more, I won't lay a hand onyou, honor bright!"
Peter set about untying the knots; it was a long task.
"Had breakfast?" asked Morris, presently.
Peter had not. He had quite forgotten it.
"Well," said Morris, "wait until I get my clothes on and we'll go overto Brimm's and have some."
"All right," stammered Peter. He flushed with pleasure andembarrassment.
"But what I can't understand," said Morris, a little later, stretchinghis cramped arms above his head, "what I can't understand is why youwant to go to all this bother about crew money. It isn't your funeral."
Peter Doe paused in the labor of undoing a particularly obstinate knotthat confined Morris's chest, and stared at the conquered giant in realsurprise.
"Why, class spirit, of course!" he said.
Arrival of Jimpson, and Other Stories for Boys about Boys Page 6
