ALLAN LEAVES THE CLUB TABLE
March winds are freakish, prankish things, and the wind in the face of
which Allan crossed the yard one morning a fortnight or so after the
indoor meeting was no exception. He was on his way from Grace Hall to
the Chemical Laboratory for a ten o’clock, and at the corner of the
chapel he passed a couple of fellows whom a casual glance showed him he
did not know. But that he was not a stranger to one of them was soon
proven. The wind, scurrying around the corner of the chapel, tossed him
the following fragment of conversation with startling distinctness:
“Who’s that fellow, Steve?”
“Ware, a freshie; he runs, or tries to. He was in the mile and two
miles at Boston week before last and didn’t do a thing in either of
them. Guess the Athletic Association will take his job away now. They
just employed him to keep him in college, I guess. This thing of giving
fellows work just because----”
The words ended as suddenly as they had begun, so far as Allan was
concerned, and he strode on to the laboratory. But his cheeks were
burning and his heart was filled with wrath. For the first time he
realized that his employment by the E. A. A. had a suspicious look, to
say the least, while it was even probable that what the fellow he had
overheard thought was really true. He was angry at the unknown youth
for saying what he had, angry with Stearns for placing him in such a
questionable position, and angry at Professor Nast for countenancing
it. He wondered whether all the fellows he knew or who knew him
believed as did the fellow he had passed, that he was knowingly
allowing the Athletic Association to present him with money he was not
earning.
The blood dyed his face again, and he marveled at his blindness.
Why had he not seen from the first that Stearns had secured him the
place in the office merely to ensure his stay at college and his
participation in the dual meet with Robinson? And hadn’t he more than
half suspected all along? But no, he was guiltless of that charge.
Credulous and blind he had been, but not dishonest. And dishonest he
would not be now. He passed a miserable, impatient half-hour, and when
it was over hurried to the office of the Athletic Association and found
Professor Nast at his desk.
The professor was a mild-mannered little man, rather nervous and
seemingly indecisive, but he was executively capable and had much sound
common sense. He viewed Allan’s arrival with mild curiosity, nodded
silently, and turned back to his work. But Allan didn’t allow him to
continue it.
“How much am I worth here, sir, if you please?” he demanded,
unceremoniously. The chairman looked somewhat startled and disconcerted.
“Why--er--that is a difficult question to answer, Mr. Ware. But if
you--ah--consider that you are not being paid enough, I shall be glad
to consider the matter of increased remuneration if you will make out
an application in writing, stating----”
“Well, is my work here worth a dollar an hour, sir?”
“Eh? A dollar an hour? I--er-- But I think you are receiving that
amount, are you not?”
“Yes, sir; and that’s what the trouble is.”
“Trouble? Suppose you explain what you mean.”
“Well, I--” He hesitated for words an instant and then threw politeness
to the winds. “You’ve made me do what isn’t honest, you and Stearns,”
he charged, angrily. “You offered me the work here just to keep me in
college, so I could run at your old meet, and you gave me a dollar
an hour for work that any one would do for half that money. Oh,
I know it’s lots my fault,” he went on, silencing the professor’s
remonstrances. “I ought to have guessed it, but I didn’t. I didn’t
think a thing about it until to-day I overheard a fellow say in plain
words that I was taking money I wasn’t earning. That’s a nice thing to
have fellows say about you, isn’t it? And I dare say the whole college
thinks just as he does, and--and----”
“Hold up a minute,” said the professor, finally making himself heard.
“You’re accusing Mr. Stearns and me of pretty hard things. Let’s talk
this over quietly. Sit down, please.”
Allan obeyed. The professor swung around in his chair until he faced
him, clasped his hands over his vest, and gravely studied Allan’s angry
countenance.
“I’m not sure that you--ah--have any right to come here and charge
me--or Mr. Stearns--with unfair dealings. But I will accord you the
right, Mr. Ware, for I see that there has been a mistake made. It was,
however, a mistake and nothing more, I assure you. Neither Mr. Stearns
nor I had any intention of deceiving you. Allow me to finish, please,”
he added, as Allan made an impatient movement.
“It has been the custom here, of recent years, to give employment in
this office to men who have needed the work, and preference has been
given to athletes. If they have been paid more for their labor than
that labor was really worth--and I am ready to grant that they usually
have--the money with which they were paid has always come out of the
general athletic fund and not from the college. I am not--ah--prepared
to defend this custom; on the contrary, sir, I think it a very bad one,
and I for one should be glad to see it discontinued. In your case,
now, Mr. Stearns came and saw me and told me you needed employment.
The place was vacant and I offered it to you at the terms which have
always been paid. You are not earning one dollar an hour, Mr. Ware,
and if you feel that you have been deceived by us, I am very sorry. No
deception was intended on my part, and I am sure Mr. Stearns believed
that you--er--understood the situation.”
“I didn’t, though,” answered Allan, somewhat conciliated by the other’s
manner. “I didn’t dream of it. I--I did think the work was rather easy
considering the pay, but I thought maybe it would get harder, and
that--that I could make up. If I had known the truth, I wouldn’t have
had anything to do with the work.”
“I am sorry, but, as I have said, there was no intent at deception.
I offer you my apologies, and I am sure Mr. Stearns will be quite as
regretful as I am. If there is anything I can do to better matters, I
shall be delighted to do it, Mr. Ware.”
“Yes, sir, there is. I’d like to keep on with the work until I have
squared myself.”
“You mean you want to work without wages?”
Allan nodded. The professor considered the matter for a while in
silence. Then--
“If you insist,” he said, “we will make that arrangement. But there
is another method that may answer fully as well. Are you averse to
continuing the work at--er--a just remuneration?”
“N-no, I suppose not,” Allan replied. “I need the work, and if you’ll
pay me only what it’s worth I’d like to go ahead with it.”
“I’m glad to hear you say so, for you have been very conscientious,
Mr. Ware, and your services in the office have become valuable to
me. I should dislike to make a change. Supposing, then, you continue
at--ah--fifty cents an hour? Would that be satisfactory?”
“Is it worth that much?” asked Allan, bluntly.
“Yes, it honestly is; it is worth quite that. Well, and in regard
to--ah--let us say arrears; I am working on the compilation of a rather
difficult lot of statistics which are to be incorporated into my
report. You could assist me vastly with that matter and could work,
say, an hour three evenings a week. In that way, it seems to me, you
could very shortly ‘square’ yourself, as you term it, and could, to
some extent, choose your own time for doing so. What do you--ah--think?”
Allan considered the matter. It sounded rather easy, and since an
hour ago he had grown to view easy tasks with suspicion. But he could
find no ground for objection, and in the end he accepted the proposal
gratefully and stammered a somewhat lame apology for his hasty
discourtesy. The Chairman of the Athletic Committee waved it politely
aside.
“We will consider it settled, then,” he said. “This afternoon we will
decide on the hours for the extra work. I’m glad you brought this
matter up, Mr. Ware, for I think the time has come to do away with a
pernicious custom. Good morning.”
On his way to his next recitation Allan reflected somewhat ruefully
that under the new arrangement there was one thing which had been lost
sight of, and that was a public vindication. As long as he continued
to work in the office fellows would continue to think he was receiving
money not earned. To be sure, he had the consolation of a clear
conscience, but it was hard to have the fellows he knew and whose
respect he craved think badly of him.
But there Allan was mistaken, for the story got out in short
order--Tommy saw to that!--and it wasn’t long before he heard an
account of the matter, in which he figured as a model of indignant
virtue and a galley-slave to conscience, from a fellow whom he knew
very slightly. After that he had no doubts about public vindication.
It was not a difficult matter to find three hours in the evening each
week for the new labor, and he found it, since he had a fondness for
mathematics, far more interesting than the daily letter-writing and
clerical work. But five dollars a week wasn’t ten, and so, despite
the protests of Pete and all the other members of the club table, he
left the hospitality of Mrs. Pearson’s and went back to the college
dining-hall, where he could, by careful management, make his monthly
bill ridiculously small. Pete commanded and implored to be allowed to
“fix things up” so that Allan need not leave the table; he almost wept;
but Allan was obdurate. Pete even threatened to “let the table go hang”
and return with Allan to Commons, but was finally dissuaded when Allan
pointed out that in all probability he (Allan) would very shortly be
taken onto the training-table of the track squad.
So Pete accepted the inevitable and draped Allan’s chair with some
dozen yards of black crêpe, and allowed none to occupy it for a week
of mourning. But Allan wasn’t a stranger to the table, for every
Saturday night he returned there as Pete’s guest and sat in his old
seat and was made much of by the crowd.