A VICTORY AND A DEFEAT
Whereas Jerry’s close friends had been Tom and Joe alone up to the
evening of his party at The Cabin, now a fourth was added in the person
of Wayne Sortwell. The intimacy grew gradually. A few evenings after
the party Wayne appeared in Number 7 Baldwin with Joe and two evenings
later the quartet met again in Wayne’s room in McCrea at the latter’s
invitation. I think Wayne at first really liked Jerry better than Tom,
for the memory of the former antagonism remained and for awhile the
two recent enemies met, in a manner of speaking, with hands on sword
hilts. But distrust soon passed and it wasn’t long before Tom remarked
regretfully one day to Jerry: “Too bad Wayne won’t be here next year,
isn’t it?”
It was about that time that Tom had to pay a visit to the school office
on a matter of no great importance, and, Mr. Ledyard happening through
from the inner room, was invited into the secretary’s sanctum. “I
wanted to say a few words, Hartley, about your roommate,” Mr. Ledyard
announced when Tom was seated. “I reckon you recall the conversation we
had about him in the yard one day some time back.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Remember that I made the prediction that we’d be proud of Benson some
day? Well, Hartley, the faculty is proud of him now. I don’t believe
even you, who are thrown with him so much, realize what a hard row
Benson has had to hoe or how pluckily he has gone at it. I’m thinking
of his studies, Hartley, although he was faced by other difficulties,
too, as you know. He came to us five months ago with about as much
education as one year at grammar school would give him. He knew no
Latin at all, very little mathematics and wrote English――well, I’d
like to show you one of his first compositions, but it wouldn’t be
fair to him. I remember the dismay and indignation in which Mr. Jones
came to a faculty meeting soon after the term started. It would take
Benson two months of the hardest sort of work to catch up with the
third class Latin, he declared, and he was all for having him dropped
to the fourth. Mr. Logan, though, while he reported a similar condition
regarding Benson’s mathematics, declared stoutly that the boy showed
eagerness and application and that he deserved a fair trial. In the
end we decided to let him remain in the third. For my part, I feared
that dropping him just then would prove disastrous, would impose just
the added bit of discouragement that, like the proverbial straw, would
break the camel’s back. So we let Benson alone and he worked out his
own salvation. The next time I spoke to Mr. Jones about the boy he had
changed his tune completely. ‘I was all wrong, Ledyard,’ he told me.
‘That boy has got what is better than knowledge; he’s got the ability
to learn!’ And he has learned. Look here.”
The secretary pulled out a drawer in the cabinet beside him and ran
deftly through the cards filed therein. Then he took one out and laid
it in front of Tom.
“That’s his May report, Hartley. We aren’t supposed to show these, but
I want you to see because you’re as much interested in Benson as I am,
I reckon. You needn’t mention having seen it. What do you think of
those ratings? How is 69 in Latin for a boy who didn’t know there was
such a language five months ago? And look at his mathematics. Of course
75 isn’t high, but when you consider that there’s card after card in
that drawer showing as low as 60 and 65 for fellows who have been here
two years, it’s pretty good. And 85 in history is fine, too. He’s going
to pass safely in five out of seven studies, and I don’t believe that
the other two are going to be considered in his case.”
Mr. Ledyard returned the report card to its place and closed the drawer
with an air of triumph. “Hartley, I don’t suppose you can understand
the satisfaction we get from a case like Benson’s. It’s cases of the
kind that make you think sometimes that you aren’t just wasting time at
this sort of thing. Well, I’ve talked you to death. Is there anything I
can do for you, Hartley?”
“No, sir, thanks. I just had to see about an extra course that I took
up in January and had to drop.”
“What was it?” asked the secretary solicitously.
“First year Spanish, sir. I just didn’t have time for it, and it
interfered with my other recitations twice a week. But I stuck it out
four months and I won’t have to go back to it until the final term next
year.”
“Oh, well, that’s no harm. Rather courageous of you to try it, I’d say.
By the way, in case I don’t have another opportunity to speak of it,
my boy, I want to thank you on my behalf and the faculty’s for your
interest and efforts in Benson’s behalf. We all appreciate it, Hartley.
We’ve watched events and we’ve liked what you’ve done, and we want you
to know it.”
To Mr. Ledyard’s surprise this announcement of gratitude was met by Tom
with an amused chuckle. Then, seeing the expression of amazement on the
secretary’s face, Tom made a hurried and embarrassed apology.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Tom. “I――it’s nice of you to say that
and feel that way, sir, mighty nice, only it――well, it sort of struck
me funny, Mr. Ledyard!”
“How so?”
“Well, I don’t know that I can explain exactly,” replied Tom. “Of
course I did try to help Jerry every way I could, and maybe I sort of
made things a bit easier for him, but I guess the real truth is that he
didn’t need nearly so much help as we thought, sir. And looking back on
the whole business, it seems to me that Jerry’s done more for me than
I’ve done for him!”
“You’re thinking of the time he got you out of the mine hole? Well, of
course, that was very plucky, but I was referring rather to moral aid
than physical, Hartley.”
“So am I, sir. I guess I can’t lay my finger, as you’d say, on any one
thing to――to illustrate what I mean, Mr. Ledyard, but Jerry’s been a
kind of an inspiration to me, sir. He’s so mighty straightforward and
clean-cut about everything. He’s the sort that seems to see at once
what has to be done and just goes ahead and does it. He never straddles
anything, if you see what I mean.” Tom paused doubtfully, but the
secretary nodded.
“I think I do see, Hartley. There’s a good deal of the primitive in
Benson. He sees right and wrong, for instance, as two well-defined
objects. There’s no middle object, no blurring of the two, for him.
Isn’t that about what you mean?”
“Yes, sir, and it isn’t only regarding right and wrong. The same thing
applies to everything he does. Why, even when he plays baseball you see
it. When he goes to bat he has just one idea in his head, and that’s to
hit the ball as hard as he can hit it and make it go as far as he can.
Of course, every fellow is like that more or less, but Jerry’s more!
And I guess that’s why he most always gets a hit. That’s one thing I’ve
learned from him――or maybe I ought to say learning; to go after a thing
straight and get it, and not――not do a half-dozen other things on the
way.”
“An excellent plan, Hartley,” said the secretary.
“Another thing is that Jerry’s mighty fair and――and kind-hearted,”
resumed Tom thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose you knew anything about it,
sir, but Wayne Sortwell and I never pulled it off very well together.”
Mr. Ledyard shook his head encouragingly.
“There wasn’t anything real between us,” said Tom a bit sheepishly.
“We――we just got an idea, each of us, that the other fellow was no
good.” Tom paused to smile and shake his head in a slightly puzzled
way. “It was funny, I guess we detested each other about as thoroughly
as any two fellows could, and we’d never spoken a dozen words! Then,
lately, Jerry got it into his head that we ought to make up and be
friends. So he――he――well, he just went ahead and did it! We didn’t
either of us know he was doing it, either, I guess. You see, sir,
Jerry’s idea is that you can’t dislike any one. He says that if some
one wrongs you you must punch his head or let him punch yours and after
that you’re all square and can start over again!”
Mr. Ledyard laughed joyfully. “Hartley, that’s what I call a practical
application of the Golden Rule, the Golden Rule established at last on
a working basis! Why, if we’d all follow that plan――” he hesitated and
Tom added slyly:
“There’d be a lot of scrapping!”
Mr. Ledyard chuckled. “I reckon there would, but there’d be a heap
less growling and backbiting. It’s good philosophy, Hartley!”
“Yes, sir, I guess it is. Well, that’s why I――why I grinned when
you thanked me for looking after Jerry, sir. I didn’t mean to be
impertinent. I just couldn’t help it, because it struck me all of a
heap just then that the boot was on the other leg and I ought to thank
Jerry instead of being thanked by you!”
“I reckon it’s been mutual, Hartley,” responded Mr. Ledyard smilingly.
“Anyhow, I’m not going to retract my expressions of appreciation. If
Jerry has helped you, you’ve certainly done well by him, and we all
feel that way. And there’s my hand on it!”
Spring athletic activities were now at their height at North Bank.
The track team had worked to a condition that promised supremacy over
Cumbridge a few days later and the crews were showing the results of
two months of hard work on the river. A few days before the first
eight had held its own in a three-quarter-mile spurt with the Navy
second crew and already had emerged victor from a three-cornered event
with Bayside and West Shore. Lory Browne was waiting impatiently for
the real struggle with Cumbridge, certain that this year’s crew was
destined to repeat its last year’s triumph.
The game on the Wednesday following the victory over St. John’s was
played with Friends’ School, in Baltimore, and Jerry didn’t make the
trip. The squad that went was small, for an easy contest was predicted,
and the services of the hard-hitting substitute fielder were dispensed
with. As matters turned out, Jerry was badly needed, for Friends’
showed unexpected prowess and the game was won until the ninth inning,
when a batting rally by the visitors brought them victory by one run.
The track meet with Cumbridge Hall was held the Saturday afternoon
that the nine met the Navy “Plebes” at Annapolis, and so Jerry didn’t
witness it. His regret was tinctured with resignation, however, when,
returning to North Bank, he learned that the Light Blue had met defeat
by a bare six points. North Bank had won seven firsts but Cumbridge
had more than made up by her capture of second, third and fourth
places in numerous events. As for the ball game, it had been one-sided
and uneventful, for Thacher had held the Plebes to three runs while
Jackson, Pop Lord, McGee and Tom Hartley had each captured three hits
and the visitors had literally run wild on the bases to a final tune
of eleven runs. Jerry sat on the bench until the eighth inning, when
Mr. Keegan began to use his substitutes. The game ended before his turn
came at bat.
Final examinations began the next Monday and there were worried faces
to be seen about school. Joe Kirkham dropped around at least once a
day to confide to Jerry and Tom that he was absolutely certain to
flunk. It always required a generous administration of sweet crackers
or fudge to restore him to his wonted cheerfulness. In the end, since
he did not flunk, the suspicion that Joe had designs on the larder of
Number 7 seems permissible. Neither Tom nor Jerry worried much about
finals. Tom was pretty certain of passing satisfactorily in everything,
and Jerry――well, it wasn’t Jerry’s way to worry. He just buckled down
harder than ever and worked instead of worrying. And the plan may be
recommended, for Jerry went through finely, and, although he wasn’t an
Honor Man, he deserved honor.
One afternoon Jerry and Tom, Joe and Wayne followed the crowd and found
a vantage point overlooking the river a mile from school and saw the
light-blue-tipped oars of North Bank flash across the finish mark two
lengths and a half ahead of the Cumbridge shell. It was a close and
exciting race for most of the two miles, with Cumbridge getting the
water first at the start and leading by a good length at the half-mile
flag. After that the Light Blue, rowing a slower but steadier stroke,
wore down the rival’s lead until, at the halfway flag, North Bank’s
bow lapped the Cumbridge boat. In such manner the shells covered the
next quarter mile. Then Cumbridge, spurting, again opened water between
her and the enemy and at the three-quarter mark was more than a length
ahead. But that spurt seemed to have taken all she had, for when, a few
moments later, North Bank hit her stroke up a couple of notches without
sacrificing power or rhythm and began to overtake the Dark Blue, she
had little left to offer. A faster clip showed raggedness, and there
was a good deal of splashing at the bow. In the last quarter mile North
Bank lapped and then, while the cheers rang out from the shore and from
the boats along it, slipped remorselessly past. A hundred and fifty
yards from the finish line there was again open water between the stern
of the North Bank shell and the bow of the rival boat, and from then on
the distance widened, the Light Blue putting more power into her steady
stroke as the end approached and the Dark Blue weakening and crossing
the line far in the rear, with half of her men rowed out completely.
North Bank found consolation in the victory for the track team’s defeat
and a good augury for success on the diamond. The school celebrated
quite riotously that evening at a mass meeting at which Captain Browne
and his men were cheered to the echo.