THE HARVARD FRESHMAN
For two or three days the intercourse between Irving and Westby was of
the most formal sort. At table they held no communication with each
other; in the class-room Irving gave Westby every chance to recite and
conscientiously helped him through the recitation as much as he did any
one else; in the dormitory they exchanged a cold good-night. Irving did
not press Westby for a retraction of the charge which he had overheard
the boy make; it seemed to him unworthy to dignify it by taking such
notice of it. He knew that none of the boys really believed it and that
Westby himself did not believe it, but had been goaded into the
declaration in the desperate effort to maintain a false position. Irving
wondered if the boy would not have the fairness to make some
acknowledgment of the injustice into which his pride had provoked him.
And one day at luncheon, Westby turned to Irving and with an embarrassed
smile said,
"Mr. Upton, do you get any news from your brother about the Harvard
Freshman eleven?"
Carroll directed at Westby the quizzical look under which Irving had so
often suffered. But Westby did not flinch; he waited for Irving's
answer, with his embarrassed, appealing smile.
"I had a letter from him this morning," said Irving. "He writes that
there is a chance of their coming up here to play the School eleven; I
had asked him if that couldn't be arranged."
"Oh, really!" exclaimed Westby, in a tone of honest interest.
"When, Mr. Upton?" "Does he think they'll come?" "Does Lou Collingwood
know about it?"
"I guess he knows as much as I do." Irving tried to answer the flood of
questions. "He wrote officially to the captain at the same time that I
wrote to Lawrence. If they come at all, it will be about a week before
the St. John's game."
"When shall we know for sure?" asked Westby.
"It appears to be a question whether the Freshmen will choose to play us
or Lakeview School. They want to play whichever team seems the stronger,
and they're going to discuss the prospects and decide in a few days."
"I'm sure we're better than Lakeview," declared Blake. "You'll tell your
brother we are, won't you, Mr. Upton?"
"I'll tell him that I understand we have a very superior team," said
Irving. "I fancy he knows that it's as much as I can do to tell the
difference between a quarterback and a goal post."
"You will admit, then, that there was some reason for my not believing
you had a football brother, won't you, Mr. Upton?" Westby tried thus to
beat a not wholly inglorious retreat.
"Every reason--until it became a matter of doubting my word," said
Irving.
Westby crimsoned, and Irving felt that again he had been too severe with
him; the boy had been trying to convey an apology, without actually
making one; it might have been well to let him off.
But Irving reflected that the account was still far from even and that
perhaps this unwonted adversity might be good for Westby. Irving did not
realize quite how much teasing had been visited upon Westby in
consequence of his disastrous error, or how humiliated the boy had been
in his heart. For Westby was proud and vain and sensitive, accustomed to
leadership, unused to ridicule; for two days now the shafts of those
whom he had been in the habit of chaffing with impunity had been
rankling. Because of this sensitive condition, the final rebuke at the
luncheon table, before all the boys, cut him more deeply than Irving
suspected. Afterwards Westby said to Carroll,--
"Oh, very well. If he couldn't accept my acknowledgment of my mistake,
but had to jump on me again--well, it's just spite on his part; that's
all. I don't care; I can let him alone after this. That seems to be what
he wants."
"A month ago he wouldn't have asked more than that of you," observed
Carroll. "And you didn't feel like obliging him then."
The implication that Irving had worsted him galled Westby.
"Oh," he retorted, "the best of jokes will wear out. Kiddy was a
perfectly good joke for a while--"
Carroll annoyed him by laughing.
For one who had hitherto been indifferent to all forms of athletics,
Irving developed a surprising interest in the game of football. Every
afternoon he went to the field and watched the practice of the Pythian
and Corinthian elevens. He had once thought the forward pass a detail
incapable of engaging one's serious attention, and worthy of rebuke if
attempted in dormitory; but after Lawrence wrote that in executing it he
was acquiring some proficiency, Irving studied it with a more curious
eye.
He wondered if Lawrence was as skillful at it as Collingwood, for
instance; Collingwood had now learned to shoot the ball with accuracy
twenty or twenty-five yards. Occasionally Irving got hold of a football
and tested his own capacity in throwing it; his attempts convinced him
that in this matter he had a great deal to learn. Looking back, he could
comprehend Louis Collingwood's indignation and amazement at a master who
would coldly turn away when a boy was trying to illustrate for him the
forward pass.
One afternoon from watching the football practice Irving moved aside for
a little while to see the finish of the autumn clay-pigeon shoot of the
Gun Club.
There were only six contestants, and there were not many spectators;
most of the boys preferred to stay on the football field, where there
was more action; the second Pythians and second Corinthians were playing
a match. But Irving had heard Westby talking at luncheon about the
shoot and strolled over more from curiosity to see how he would acquit
himself than for any other reason.
The trap was set in the long grass on the edge of the meadow near the
woods; Allison was performing the unexciting task of pulling the string
and releasing the skimming disks. When Irving came up, Smythe was
finishing; he did not appear to be much of a shot, for he missed three
out of the seven "birds" which Irving saw him try for.
Then it was Westby's turn. Westby had got himself up for the occasion,
in a Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers and leggings; he was always
scrupulous about appearing in costumes that were extravagantly correct.
He saw Irving and somewhat ostentatiously turned away.
Irving waited and looked on. Westby stood in an almost negligent
attitude, with his gun lowered; the trap was sprung, the clay pigeon
flew--and then was shattered in the midst of its flight. It seemed to
Irving that Westby hardly brought his gun to his shoulder to take aim.
It could not all be luck either; that was evident when Westby demolished
ten clay pigeons in rapid succession. It was Carroll's turn now; Westby,
having made his perfect score, blew the smoke from the breech and stood
by.
Irving went up to him.
"I congratulate you on your shooting, Westby," he said. "It seems quite
wonderful to a man who never fired a gun off but a few times in his
life--and then it was a revolver, with blank cartridges."
Westby looked at him coolly. "It's funny you've never done anything that
most fellows do," he observed. "Were you always afraid of hurting
yourself?"
"I was offering my congratulations, Westby," said Irving stiffly, and
walked away.
"Why did you go at him like that?" asked Carroll, who had heard the
interchange.
"Oh," said Westby, "I wasn't going to have him hanging round swiping to
me, soft-soaping me."
"I think he was only trying to be decent," said Carroll.
"I like a man who is decent without trying," Westby retorted.
Yet whether his nerves were a little upset by the episode or his eye
thrown off by the wait, Westby did not do so well in the next round. The
trap was set to send the birds skimming lower and faster; Westby missed
two out of ten, and was tied for first place with Carroll. And in the
final shoot to break the tie, Westby lost.
He shook hands with Carroll, but with no excess of good humor. He knew
he was really the better shot, and even though Carroll was his closest
friend, the defeat rankled.
At supper Blake congratulated Carroll across the table.
"You won, did you, Carroll?" asked Irving.
"Yes, sir--by a close shave."
"I'm sorry I didn't stay to see it." The remark was innocent in
intention, but to Westby it seemed edged with malice--as if the master
was exulting over his defeat.
Something in Westby's expression told Irving what the boy had inferred;
Irving went afterwards to his room in a despondent mood. It didn't
matter how hard he tried or what he did; he had not the faculty of
winning and holding affection and respect. As it was with boys, so it
would be with men. If only he could see how and why he failed, and could
learn to correct his mistakes!
He felt of more importance in the School world when a letter from
Lawrence was the first announcement that the Freshman eleven would come
to play St. Timothy's. He asked Collingwood if he had had any word, and
when Collingwood said no, he told him his brother's message.
"I don't believe there can be any mistake," said Irving. "He writes that
it was decided only the night before. You'll probably receive the
official communication in a day or two."
Collingwood was tremendously elated. "I knew we were better than
Lakeview--but I was afraid they wouldn't realize it," he said. "Now
we'll have to get ready and beat them. Anyway, if we can't do that, it
will be the best kind of preparation for the St. John's game."
The official communication arrived; Collingwood rushed with it to the
bulletin board in the Study building and posted it for all eyes to see.
The same day he posted the School eleven, as it would line up in that
game.
Westby was to be first substitute for Dennison at right half back.
Westby had been playing a streaky game on the First Corinthians; on some
days he was as brilliant a runner and tackler as there was in the
School, and on other days he would lose interest and miss everything.
If he was disappointed at the preference given to Dennison, he did not
show it; in fact, that he appeared on the list as substitute seemed to
fill him with elation. He had never taken football quite so seriously as
some of the others--as Collingwood and Dennison, for example; and
therefore only a moderate success in it was for him a matter of
gratification.
The training table was organized at once, but Westby was not admitted to
it. There was not room for the substitutes; they were expected to do
their own training. Westby was notoriously lax in that matter and had to
be nagged constantly by Collingwood, whom he found some pleasure in
teasing.
He would secure some forbidden article of food and ostentatiously appear
to be eating it with the greatest enjoyment until he caught
Collingwood's eye; a large circular doughnut or a chocolate eclair
delicately poised between his thumb and finger were his favorite
instruments for torturing his captain's peace of mind. He would contrive
to be seen just as he was on the point of taking the first bite; then he
would reluctantly lay the tidbit down.
"It's a hard life, this being a near athlete," he grumbled. "Sitting at
a table with a lot of uncongenial pups like you fellows.--Mr. Upton,
Blake's kicking me; make him quit, sir.--Not allowed to eat half the
things the rest of you do, and not allowed either to get any of the
training-table grub. Well, I never did think of self, so I can endure it
better than most."
The others jeered. But Westby, however he might complain, was faithful
at practice and accepted good-naturedly his position upon the second
eleven, and the hard battering to which every one on the second eleven
was subjected.
The day when he got round Morrill, the first eleven's left end, and
scored a touchdown--the only one which in that week of practice the
second eleven scored--brought him so much applause that he began really
to think there might be a chance of his ousting Dennison from the
regular position. When that notion entered his head he ceased to be
facetious about the training; he became suddenly as serious as
Collingwood himself. But in spite of that, he remained Dennison's
substitute.
The Saturday set for the game with the Harvard Freshmen was an Indian
Summer day. In the early morning mist wreathed the low meadows and the
edges of the pond; it seemed later to dissipate itself through all the
windless air in haze. The distant hills were blue and faint, the elms in
the soft sunlight that filtered down had a more golden glow.
"Great day," was the salutation that one heard everywhere; "great day
for the game."
Now and then in his morning classes Irving's thoughts would wander,
there would be a gentle rush of excitement in his veins. He would turn
his mind firmly back to his work; he did not do any less well that day
because his heart was singing happily.
In three hours more--in two--in one--he was going to see Lawrence again; he
wondered if he would find his brother much changed. Only two months had
passed since they had parted; yet in that time how remote Lawrence had
grown in Irving's eyes from the Lawrence of the Ohio farm!
The bell announcing the noon recess rang; Irving dismissed his last
class. He hurried down the stairs almost as madly as the Fourth Formers
themselves; the train on which the Harvard Freshmen were coming was due
ten minutes before; already Lawrence and the others must have started on
the two-mile drive out to the School.
In front of the Study building most of the older boys and many of the
younger were congregated, awaiting the arrival of the visitors. Irving
walked about among the groups impatiently, now and then looking at his
watch. He passed Westby and Collingwood, who were standing together by
the gate.
"Pretty nearly time for them, Mr. Upton," said Westby. "Feeling nervous,
sir?"
There was more good nature in his smile than he had displayed towards
Irving since the day of the track games.
"A little," Irving admitted, and at that moment some one shouted, "Here
they come!"
Over the crest of the hill galloped four horses, drawing a long red
barge crowded with boys. Collingwood climbed up on the gate-post.
"Now, fellows," he said, "when they get here, give three times three for
the Freshmen."
The boys waited in silence. Irving strained his eyes, trying to
distinguish the figures huddled together in the barge. The horses came
down at a run, with a rattle of hoofs and harness; the driver
flourished his whip over them spectacularly.
"Now then, fellows!" cried Collingwood. "Three times three for the
Freshmen!"
And amidst the waving of caps as the cheers were given, Irving could see
no one in the barge. Then when that cheer had subsided, one of the
visitors stood up and took off his hat and shouted,--
"Three times three for St. Timothy's! One--two--three!" The fellows in the
barge sent up a vigorous, snappy cheer, and then overflowed at back and
sides. In the confusion and the crowd, Irving was still straining his
short-sighted eyes in a vain attempt to discover Lawrence.
Suddenly he heard a shout,--"Hello, Irv!"--and there, a little way off,
was Lawrence, laughing at him and struggling towards him through the
throng. The boys understood and drew apart and let the two brothers
meet.
"It's great to see you again, Irv," said Lawrence, when he could reach
and grasp his brother's hand; he looked at Irving with the same old
loving humor in his eyes.
"It's great to see you again, Lawrence," said Irving. He could not help
being a little conscious and constrained, with so many eyes upon him.
He tucked one hand in his brother's arm and with the other reached for
Lawrence's bag. Lawrence laughed, and with hardly an effort detached it
from Irving's grasp.
"_You_ carry that, you little fellow! I guess not," he said.
Some of the boys heard and smiled, and Lawrence threw back at them a
humorous smile; Irving blushed. He led Lawrence away, towards the Upper
School. The other Freshmen were being conducted in the same direction by
Collingwood and his team.
"Well," said Westby to Carroll in an outpouring of slang from the
heart, "Kiddy's brother is certainly a peach of a good looker. I hope
he'll bring him to lunch."