Chapter 26
Not much in my life at college is essential to this history--save thetraining. The students came mostly from other and remote parts of thenorth country--some even from other states. Coming largely from townsand cities they were shorn of those simple and rugged traits, thatdistinguished the men o' Faraway, and made them worthy of what poorfame this book may afford. In the main they were like other students theworld over, I take it' and mostly, as they have shown, capable of wilingtheir own fame. It all seemed very high and mighty and grand to meespecially the names of the courses. I had my baptism of Sophomoricscorn and many a heated argument over my title to life, liberty and thepursuit of learning. It became necessary to establish it by force ofarms, which I did decisively and with as little delay as possible. Itook much interest in athletic sports and was soon a good ball player, aboxer of some skill, and the best wrestler in college. Things were goingon comfortably when an upper classman met me and suggested that on acoming holiday, the Freshmen ought to wear stove-pipe hats. Those hatswere the seed of great trouble.
'Stove-pipe hats!' I said thoughtfully.
'They're a good protection,' he assured me.
It seemed a very reasonable, not to say a necessary precaution. A manhas to be young and innocent sometime or what would become of the Devil.I did not see that the stove-pipe hat was the red rag of insurrectionand, when I did see it' I was up to my neck in the matter.
You see the Sophs are apt to be very nasty that day,' he continued.
I acknowledged they were quite capable of it.
'And they don't care where they hit,' he went on.
I felt of my head that was still sore, from a forceful argument of thepreceding day, and admitted there was good ground for the assertion.
When I met my classmen, that afternoon, I was an advocate of the'stove-pipe' as a means of protection. There were a number of huskyfellows, in my class, who saw its resisting power and seconded mysuggestion. We decided to leave it to the ladies of the class and theygreeted our plan with applause. So, that morning, we arrayed ourselvesin high hats, heavy canes and fine linen, marching together up CollegeHill. We had hardly entered the gate before we saw the Sophs formingin a thick rank outside the door prepared, as we took it, to resist ourentrance. They out-numbered us and were, in the main, heavier but wehad a foot or more of good stiff material between each head and harm. Ofjust what befell us, when we got to the enemy, I have never felt sure.Of the total inefficiency of the stove-pipe hat as an article of armour,I have never had the slightest doubt since then. There was a great flashand rattle of canes. Then the air was full of us. In the heat of it allprudence went to the winds. We hit out right and left, on both sides,smashing hats and bruising heads and hands. The canes went down in ajiffy and then we closed with each other hip and thigh. Collars wereripped off, coats were torn, shirts were gory from the blood of noses,and in this condition the most of us were rolling and tumbling on theground. I had flung a man, heavily, and broke away and was tacklinganother when I heard a hush in the tumult and then the voice of thepresident. He stood on the high steps, his grey head bare, his righthand lifted. It must have looked like carnage from where he stood.
'Young gentlemen!' he called. 'Cease, I command you. If we cannot getalong without this thing we will shut up shop.'
Well, that was the end of it and came near being the end of our careersin college. We looked at each other, torn and panting and bloody, andat the girls, who stood by, pale with alarm. Then we picked up theshapeless hats and went away for repairs. I had heard that the path oflearning was long and beset with peril but I hoped, not without reason,the worst was over. As I went off the campus the top of my hat washanging over my left ear, my collar and cravat were turned awry, mytrousers gaped over one knee. I was talking with a fellow sufferer andpatching the skin on my knuckles, when suddenly I met Uncle Eb.
'By the Lord Harry!' he said, looking me over from top to toe, 'teacherup there mus' be purty ha'sh.'
'It wa'n't the teacher,' I said.
'Must have fit then.'
'Fit hard,' I answered, laughing.
'Try t' walk on ye?'
'Tried t' walk on me. Took several steps too,' I said stooping to brushmy trousers.
'Hm! guess he found it ruther bad walkin' didn't he?' my old friendenquired. 'Leetle bit rough in spots?'
'Little bit rough, Uncle Eb--that's certain.'
'Better not go hum,' he said, a great relief in his face. 'Look 's ifye'd been chopped down an' sawed--an' split--an' throwed in a pile. I'llgo an' bring over some things fer ye.'
I went with my friend, who had suffered less damage, and Uncle Ebbrought me what I needed to look more respectable than I felt.
The president, great and good man that he was, forgave us, finally,after many interviews and such wholesome reproof as made us all ashamedof our folly.
In my second year, at college, Hope went away to continue her studiesin New York She was to live in the family of John Fuller, a friend ofDavid, who had left Faraway years before and made his fortune there inthe big city. Her going filled my days with a lingering and pervasivesadness. I saw in it sometimes the shadow of a heavier loss than I daredto contemplate. She had come home once a week from Ogdensburg and I hadalways had a letter between times. She was ambitious and, I fancy, theylet her go, so that there should be no danger of any turning aside fromthe plan of my life, or of hers; for they knew our hearts as well as weknew them and possibly better.
We had the parlour to ourselves the evening before she went away, and Iread her a little love tale I had written especially for that occasion.It gave us some chance to discuss the absorbing and forbidden topic ofour lives.
'He's too much afraid of her,' she said, 'he ought to put his arm abouther waist in that love scene.'
'Like that,' I said, suiting the action to the word.
'About like that,' she answered, laughing, 'and then he ought to saysomething very, very, nice to her before he proposes--something abouthis having loved her for so long--you know.'
'And how about her?' I asked, my arm still about her waist.
'If she really loves him,' Hope answered, 'she would put her arms abouthis neck and lay her head upon his shoulder, so; and then he might saywhat is in the story.' She was smiling now as she looked up at me.
'And kiss her?'
'And kiss her,' she whispered; and, let me add, that part of the scenewas in nowise neglected.
'And when he says: "will you wait for me and keep me always in yourheart?" what should be her answer,' I continued.
'Always!' she said.
'Hope, this is our own story,' I whispered. 'Does it need any furthercorrection?'
'It's too short--that's all,' she answered, as our lips met again.
Just then Uncle Eb opened the door, suddenly.
'Tut tut!' he said tuning quickly about
'Come in, Uncle Eb,' said Hope, 'come right in, we want to see you.
In a moment she had caught him by the arm.
'Don' want 'o break up the meetin',' said he laughing.
'We don't care if you do know,' said Hope, 'we're not ashamed of it.'
'Hain't got no cause t' be,' he said. 'Go it while ye're young 'n full'o vinegar! That's what I say every time. It's the best fun there is. Ithought I'd like t' hev ye both come up t' my room, fer a minute, 'foreyer mother 'n father come back,' he said in a low tone that was almost awhisper.
Then he shut one eye, suggestively, and beckoned with his head, as wefollowed him up the stairway to the little room in which he slept. Heknelt by the bed and pulled out the old skin-covered trunk that DavidBrower had given him soon after we came. He felt a moment for thekeyhole, his hand trembling, and then I helped him open the trunk.From under that sacred suit of broadcloth, worn only on the grandestoccasions, he fetched a bundle about the size of a man's head. It wastied in a big red handkerchief. We were both sitting on the floor besidehim.
'Heft it,' he whispered.
I did so and found
it heavier than I expected.
'What is it?' I asked.
'Spondoolix,' he whispered.
Then he untied the bundle--a close packed hoard of bankbills with somepieces of gold and silver at the bottom.
'Hain't never hed no use fer it,' he said as he drew out a layerof greenbacks and spread them with trembling fingers. Then he begancounting them slowly and carefully.
'There!' he whispered, when at length he had counted a hundred dollars.'There Hope! take thet an' put it away in yer wallet. Might come handywhen ye're 'way fr'm hum.'
She kissed him tenderly.
'Put it 'n yer wallet an' say nothin'--not a word t' nobody,' he said.
Then he counted over a like amount for me.
'Say nothin',' he said, looking up at me over his spectacles. 'Ye'll hevt' spile a suit o' clothes purty often if them fellers keep a fightin'uv ye all the time.'
Father and mother were coming in below stairs and, hearing them, wehelped Uncle Eb tie up his bundle and stow it away. Then we went down tomeet them.
Next morning we bade Hope goodbye at the cars and returned to our homewith a sense of loss that, for long, lay heavy upon us all.
Eben Holden: A Tale of the North Country Page 26
