The next day was Commencement.
A brief, informal session was held in the morning, but it was a
session from which none wished to be absent, for then the names of the
prize-winners were to be announced.
There were many anxious hearts, and a few hopeful ones, for though the
rank-list read the day before told each boy his standing in class, it
did not settle the matter of the prize scholarships.
It is safe to say that only one boy grudged Stanley Clark the first
rank that he had so fairly won by his steady, thorough work. That boy
was Everett St. John. He would not have been present at all, that
morning, but for the Latin essays. He had still a lingering hope that
his might be adjudged the best.
But now Mr. Horton was writing on the blackboard, and every boy gazed
eagerly forward to read what was written. In his clear hand, they read
the names of the six colleges offering the scholarships. Then, with the
chalk in his fingers, he faced the school.
“You all heard the rank-list read yesterday,” he said, “so you know
that Clark, St. John and Gordon would have the first claim on the
second, third and fourth of these scholarships, but as these three are
to enter other colleges, these scholarships go to the next in rank,
Graham, Griffin and Bent; the two last named being members, as you
know, of section A.
“The last two scholarships on the list have, I am happy to say, been
won by girls. And now there remains but one--the first--which will be
awarded to the boy whose Latin thesis has been considered by the judges
to be the best. That thesis I hold in my hand, but I do not know what
name it bears, as it was handed to me in this sealed envelope.”
Every eye watched as he tore open the envelope and read the name of
Stanley Clark, and hearty cheers expressed the satisfaction of his
classmates at the result.
As soon as he could secure silence, Mr. Horton went on:--
“The judges desire me to say that they have awarded the prize to
Stanley Clark because of the high character of his essay, and they also
wish me to state that, in elegance of style and choice of words, the
essay submitted by Everett St. John is decidedly superior.”
It was Clark who led applause for St. John, but the latter only scowled
in response to it. His pride and ambition were too bitterly hurt to
appreciate any expression of kindly feeling.
“There is one more prize to be given this year,” Mr. Horton went on,
taking a small case from his desk. “It is a gold medal which has never
been given before, but the donor has made it a perpetual gift from this
time. It is to be given to the boy in the senior class who has made
the greatest advance in moral character during the year. Of course,
we can only judge from what we see, and therefore this is the most
difficult prize to award; so you, to whom the decision is left, must
think carefully before you decide. This is to be awarded by vote of the
class. I should have added that, by express desire of the gentleman who
gives this prize, it is to be, this year, awarded to some member of
section D. After this year, it is not to be so limited.”
The boys looked wonderingly at one another. They did not quite like the
responsibility laid upon them.
“May I speak to some of the boys, sir?” Clark asked, and as Mr. Horton
gave assent, he quickly turned to Hamlin, and whispered:--
“I think Crawford ought to have it, don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Hamlin, promptly. “I had thought of Freeman, but though
he has improved immensely this year, he hasn’t made such a jump as
Crawford, because he never got so far down.”
“And I’m sure it will help Crawford to know how we feel about it,”
suggested Clark.
From one to another the suggestion passed, and, when Mr. Horton called
for the decision, it was almost an unanimous one for Crawford. He was
taken utterly by surprise. Not one thought of the possibility of its
being awarded to him had entered his mind, and he was prepared to vote
most heartily for Freeman; but he was honestly pleased to know that his
efforts to “do the square thing,” as he would have expressed it, had
been appreciated, and that shining gold medal was a constant incentive
to fresh effort thereafter. It was many a year before he discovered
that it was his stern guardian, Mr. Chase, who had given this prize,
earnestly hoping that Crawford would be the winner.
The Commencement exercises were held in the evening in one of the
largest opera-houses.
Never had the decorations on such an occasion been so beautiful as
this year, for never before had so many outside friends lent a helping
hand. There was Gordon’s father, so proud that the old high school was
regaining its old reputation, and so proud and happy because of the
share his boy had had in bringing this about; and there was Reed’s
father, who was but too happy to spend some of his abundant means to
make the occasion a memorable one, not only for his own boy’s sake,
but also for the sake of Stanley Clark, whom he had taken right into
his big heart. And, by the way, he had carried matters with a high
hand, and when he made arrangements for his boy at Yale, he had made
arrangements for Stanley Clark to go with him, and no refusals would he
listen to for a moment. Clark had been obliged to give in, and accept
the generous provision, though he did it with a mental vow that he
would pay it all back one of these days.
Then there was Mr. Chase, who was so relieved and delighted at the
improvement in his ward, that he, too, insisted on “lending a hand” at
these Commencement arrangements. And so it happened that no graduating
class had ever had such beautiful decorations, such perfect stacks of
flowers, or such fine music as graced this occasion.
And it was Clark who, much against his will, delivered the oration for
the class. He did his best to get out of it, declaring that it should
be given by Gordon, or Hamlin or St. John; but it was Clark himself
that his classmates now delighted to honor, and it seemed as if they
could not do enough to make up to him for what was past.
His story had spread through the school, and he was the unanimous
choice of the senior class, so there was no escape for him, and he was
obliged to be the orator of the evening.
He performed his duty well, as was testified by the applause that
followed, and so many floral tributes were sent to the stage, that Reed
laughingly told him that he’d have to hire an express wagon to “tote
’em home.”
But the boy’s glad eyes sought out the spot where his mother sat with a
tall man beside her, a man whose strong, noble face bore the marks of
the sufferings of the past years.
When it was whispered about that Clark’s father was there, every boy
was wild to see him, and not one who looked into his face that night
but felt that he was a father to be proud of.
The exercises were over at last. The address to the graduating class
had been made by an eminent lawyer. The diplomas had been received with
more or less grace and ease, or more or less shyness and awkwardness.
“Rosy” had distinguished himself by darting out of the line, as
the boys passed forward to receive their diplomas, and picking up
Grace Harlan’s handkerchief, which he presented to her with his most
fascinating smile.
Then the benediction closed the exercises, and in a burst of martial
music from the orchestra, the crowd began to disperse.
But the boys of section D lingered still. They realized now that they
could never be all together again, and Mr. Horton, as he clasped one
after another by the hand, found it harder to say “Good-bye” to this
than to any class he had ever before taught.
“I am afraid I shall dread to go back next year,” he said, holding
Hamlin’s hand, while he laid his arm affectionately across Clark’s
shoulders. “You boys are going into new scenes, and you will soon
forget the old high school, but I shall be there with all new faces.
Boys--you don’t know how I am going to miss you.”
They crowded about him then, realizing, as they had not done before,
how real and true was his interest in them--his friendship for
them--realizing, too, that the great days of our lives, though full of
sunshine, have yet their shadows.
But they were boys, strong, healthy, happy boys, and life was all
before them, with ever new heights to reach, new prizes to win, and no
shadow could rest long on their young hearts on that glad day.
In the years that followed they made no mean record in college and in
the world, and often Mr. Horton would read with a happy smile of what
one and another of his boys--the boys of section D--had accomplished
out in the great world.
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
Illustrations have been moved to paragraph breaks near where they are
mentioned.
Punctuation has been made consistent.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in
the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors have
been corrected.