Pursuivant leaned on his stick and produced his well-seasoned briar
pipe. "It's comforting to hear you say that. I mean, that Mr. Varduk
was once a college boy. I was beginning to wonder if he wasn't
thousands of years old."
Davidson shook his head slowly. "See here, why don't we sit down on the
bank and talk? Maybe I'll tell you a story."
"Very good," agreed Pursuivant, and sat down. I did likewise, and we
both gazed expectantly at Davidson. He remained standing, with hands in
pockets, until Pursuivant had kindled his pipe and I my cigarette. Then:
"I'm not trying to frighten you, and I won't give away any real secrets
about my employer. It's just that you may understand better after you
learn how I met him.
"It was more than ten years ago. Varduk came to Revere College as
a freshman when I was a junior. He was much the same then as he is
now--slender, quiet, self-contained, enigmatic. I got to know him
better than anyone in school, and I can't say truly that I know him,
not even now.
"Revere, in case you never heard of the place, is a small school with a
big reputation for grounding its students hock-deep in the classics."
Pursuivant nodded and emitted a cloud of smoke. "I knew your Professor
Dahlberg of Revere," he interjected. "He's one of the great minds of
the age on Greek literature and history."
Davidson continued: "The buildings at Revere are old and, you might
say, swaddled in the ivy planted by a hundred graduating classes. The
traditions are consistently mellow, and none of the faculty members
come in for much respect until they are past seventy. Yet the students
are very much like any others, when class is over. In my day, at least,
we gave more of a hoot for one touch-down than for seven thousand odes
of Horace."
He smiled a little, as though in mild relish of memories he had evoked
within himself.
"The football team wasn't very good, but it wasn't very bad, either.
It meant something to be on the first team, and I turned out to be a
fairish tackle. At the start of my junior year, the year I'm talking
about, a man by the name of Schaefer was captain--a good fullback
though not brilliant, and the recognized leader of the campus.
"Varduk didn't go in for athletics, or for anything else except a good
stiff course of study, mostly in the humanities. He took a room at the
end of the hall on the third floor of the men's dormitory, and kept
to himself. You know how a college dorm loves that, you men. Six days
after the term started, the Yellow Dogs had him on their list."
"Who were the Yellow Dogs?" I asked.
"Oh, there's a bunch like it in every school. Spiritual descendants
of the Mohocks that flourished in Queen Anne's reign; rough and rowdy
undergraduates, out for Halloween pranks every night. And any student,
particularly any frosh, that stood on his dignity----" He paused and
let our imagination finish the potentialities of such a situation.
"So, one noon after lunch at the training-table, Schaefer winked at me
and a couple of other choice spirits. We went to our rooms and got out
our favorite paddles, carved from barrel-staves and lettered over with
fraternity emblems and wise-cracks. Then we tramped up to the third
floor and knocked loudly at Varduk's door.
"He didn't answer. We tried the knob. The lock was on, so Schaefer dug
his big shoulder into the panel and smashed his way in."
* * * * *
Davidson stopped and drew a long breath, as if with it he could win a
better ability to describe the things he was telling.
"Varduk lifted those big, deep eyes of his as we appeared among the
ruins of his door. No fear, not even surprize. Just a long look,
traveling from one of us to another. When he brought his gaze to me,
I felt as if somebody was pointing two guns at me, two guns loaded to
their muzzles."
I, listening, felt like saying I knew how he had felt, but I did not
interrupt.
"He was sitting comfortably in an armchair," went on Davidson, rocking
on his feet as though nervous with the memory, "and in his slender
hands he held a big dark book. His forefinger marked a place between
the leaves.
"'Get up, frosh,' Schaefer said, 'and salute your superiors.'
"Varduk did not move or speak. He looked, and Schaefer bellowed louder,
against a sudden and considerable uneasiness.
"'What are you reading there?' he demanded of Varduk in his toughest
voice.
"'A very interesting work,' Varduk replied gently. 'It teaches how to
rule people.'
"'Uh-huh?' Schaefer sneered at him. 'Let's have a look at it.'
"'I doubt if you would like it,' Varduk said, but Schaefer made a grab.
The book came open in his hands. He bent, as if to study it.
"Then he took a blind, lumbering step backward. He smacked into the
rest of us all bunched behind him, and without us I think he might have
fallen down. I couldn't see his face, but the back of his big bull-neck
had turned as white as plaster. He made two efforts to speak before he
managed it. Then all he could splutter out was 'Wh-what----'"
Davidson achieved rather well the manner of a strong, simple man gone
suddenly shaky with fright.
"'I told you that you probably wouldn't like it,' Varduk said, like an
adult reminding a child. Then he got up out of his armchair and took
the book from Schaefer's hands. He began to talk again. 'Schaefer,
I want to see you here in this room after you finish your football
practise this afternoon.'
"Schaefer didn't make any answer. All of us edged backward and got out
of there."