A warrior so bold and a virgin so bright
Conversed as they sat on the green.
Alonzo the brave was the name of this knight:
The damsel, the fair Imogene.
--LEWIS.
One of the mild amusements of this spring for Magnus was watching Rig.
For Mr. McLean had fallen in love. Not deeply, for that implies certain
other depths--or hopelessly, for there was every likelihood that he
would get out again all safe; but unmanageably. Unutterably, Rig called
it, and Magnus unendurably.
So the young man mooned over photographs, sported (in his room) an
end of pink riband; tumbled his hair all he could, and went down in
everything.
"I say, Rig!" Magnus admonished him one night, "keep out of the
'immortals,' whatever else you do."
"I cannot do much of anything," Rig answered mournfully.
"Well, I'd try, if I died in the effort," said Magnus. "Bone chevrons;
your charmer has a quick eye for them."
"She has a quick eye for everything."
"Wearing bell buttons." But Rig did not heed him.
"Confess, Kin, you never saw such eyes."
"Only about five hundred and forty times, when I used to go
cat-fishing. Ever notice catfish eyes, Rig?"
"They're so blue!" said Cadet McLean. "So deeply, darkly----"
"If you don't shut up," Magnus shouted at him, "I'll try if I can't
shake some sense into you. Quit sighing like a furnace. You nearly blew
the gas out."
"Of course I can't expect you to understand," said Rig. "You live only
in books, far away from all this sort of thing."
"I hope so, this sort," said Magnus.
"You see, my heart is larger than my head," said Mr. McLean. "Always
was."
But now Magnus threw down his book, and pitched into his friend
very literally; pounding him, hustling him, getting him into a real
fisticuff fight to protect himself.
"Feel better, don't you?" said Mr. Kindred, when the two faced each
other, flushed and panting. "Balance of power restored?"
"I don't know how I feel!" said McLean. "I've lost all my ideas."
"Well, don't advertise them at any high figure," said Magnus.
"Let 'em alone,
And they will come home,
With their little tails behind 'em.
"Sit down and study, like a reasonable being. If I were a woman, I
wouldn't _look_ at a man who couldn't hold his head up when my back was
turned."
"It is quite impossible for me to look at a book," said Rig.
"Very good; sit still and sigh, and I'll write your explanation."
"To whom? What about?" Rig sat up now and gazed at him.
"To the Prof. To-morrow. As follows:
"'Sir: I have the honour to state that I have fallen into a six-inch
mud puddle, and cannot get out in time for recitation. So wave motion
must wait.'"
"Stuff!" McLean said rather angrily.
"Stuff, and nothing but stuff. Rig, when you get fired in June, your
dear devoted will not turn her head to see which way you go to take
the train. Not much!" said Magnus, relieving his feelings with a bit
of slang, and then diving into his own problems for the next day. And
Rig could get neither word nor look more that night. But whatever
traditions may say, unlimited chocolate creams do not help a man with
his tactics; nor does plum cake after taps provide him a clear head for
next day's wave motion.
"You could make better marks, Mr. McLean," said the Superintendent one
day, meeting Rig. "Why don't you, sir?"
And if Rig had been openly honest, he would have answered:
"Love--and mince pie, sir."
Magnus scolded his friend, fought him, jeered him; then tried other
measures.
The days were softening and lengthening, with grass and flowers on
the jump. Visitors were arriving in numbers; and for Magnus had come,
from away across the continent, a bunch of snowdrops in Cherry's last
letter. Somehow his own great happiness made the young cadet anxious
for his friend.
"Look here, Trent," he said one day to another classmate, "can't you
pitch in and spoon that Curry girl? Rig will be ruined."
"Spoon her yourself."
"Haven't time. One more will make no difference to you."
"Thanks. Rig will put a bullet in my head, if he suspects."
"Well, your brain always did need fresh air," said Magnus, "so that
will fit. Why, to-day, in the section room, Hammer asked him the colour
of old red sandstone,--and Rig answered:
"'Blue, Lieutenant.'"
"Ha! ha!" laughed Mr. Trent. "But isn't this rather a queer business to
be talked up by our high and mighty magnate of the tender conscience?
The man who keels over at the mere sight of a 'pony.'"
"Pshaw! if it was some girls," said Magnus. "But it will make no
difference to her either. You've both worn your hearts out--supposing
you ever had any."
"Thanks--awfully! And you think Miss Curry might be induced to hand
over 'those fossil remains that she terms her affections' to me?"
"To your temporary care. You wear chevrons," said Magnus. "And your
affections are as fossilised as hers, allowing for the argument's sake
that such things ever existed. Just stroll up on the other side, when
Rig's around. She'll be delighted. And as neither of you could possibly
fall in love with anybody, there'll be nobody hurt."
"Except Rig."
"Rig!" Magnus said impatiently. "Rig ought to be cut in little pieces
and sewed up some other way."
"Kin," said Mr. Trent, striking an easy attitude across the back of a
chair, "you amuse me."
"Well, clear out and amuse yourself," said Magnus. "I've got a previous
with this old book. And if Catkins finds you here, you'll be skinned
for all he is worth."
Which warning Mr. Trent saw fit to heed.