* * * * *
Philip Thatcher responded to the suggestion made by Huntington and his
mother with such conspicuous success that within a fortnight Hamlen
accepted his leadership from one experience to another with wonderment
and devotion. The fact that the boy was his namesake formed the first
bond, and with confidence once established intimacy developed rapidly.
Boys to Hamlen had been unknown quantities, creatures to be endured if
necessary but avoided if possible, and Philip did much to raise the
standard of his genus in the older man's mind. Billy's explosive
outbursts startled him for a time, but he learned to understand even
these, and accepted them at their true value.
The responsibility came to young Thatcher at just the time when he was
best prepared to accept it. During the Easter recess his father suddenly
discovered that the boy had become a man, and it was with real
gratification that he took him into his confidence. To Philip, the
statement of present conditions made impending disaster seem conclusive,
and it was with difficulty that Thatcher persuaded him that many things
might happen to ease the situation before calamity really overtook him.
The boy wanted to leave college at once, and to throw himself into some
sphere of business activity so that his income might be added to the
family exchequer to keep the wolf from the door! His father,
strengthened by the youthful loyalty and enthusiasm, pointed out the
value, as a personal asset to himself, of actually possessing a college
degree, now so nearly secured, and sent the boy back to Cambridge with a
determination to make the most of the few remaining months in preparing
himself to rush into the breach and save his family from the threatening
malignant specters.
The whole experience was a sobering one to Philip, and resulted in
putting him nearer on a plane with Hamlen. To the one, the world had
already proved its unreliability; to the other, it was now on trial with
every presumption of speedy conviction. Each event in the day took on a
new significance in the boy's mind, and Hamlen's dependence made him
feel that he was already man-grown, taking his place in the front rank
of the battle of life.
Huntington watched these developments with a curious sensation of
interest and surprise. The most he had hoped was that Philip might take
the man far enough into undergraduate activities to give him by
assimilation a fresh viewpoint, but he found his guest largely taken off
his hands by one who was accomplishing the desired results far better
than he himself could do. Day by day he saw Philip winning a deeper hold
upon the affections of his older friend, and he marveled at the changes
taking place in Hamlen. For himself, he quietly forced him to meet such
of their classmates as were in Boston, preparing them by a brief outline
of Hamlen's experiences to extend a fitting welcome; but he left it to
Philip to show him what the new Harvard really is.
It was impossible to have all this happen without misgivings and
questioning on the part of his guest.
"I appreciate all this," Hamlen said to him one evening; "but don't for
a minute think that I take credit for the sudden interest on the part of
the fellows who never noticed me when I was in college. That belongs to
you. With the position you had then, and which you hold in the Class
to-day, the boys would drink healths and sing, 'For he's a jolly good
fellow' to a Fiji islander if he happened to be your friend."
"Suppose we grant all that," Huntington answered frankly; "what
difference does it make? Didn't you tell me that you owned a piece of
land in Oklahoma on which oil was struck?"
"Yes," Hamlen replied; surprised that his friend should so abruptly turn
the conversation. "What has that to do with our discussion?"
"How much did you value it before you discovered what it contained?"
"It was a joke; I begrudged even paying the taxes."
"Now you consider it well worth including among your investments?"
"Naturally. It is one of the best things I own."
Huntington smiled at him quietly. "Don't you see the application? It is
no reflection on those who walked over that land that they were ignorant
of the riches which lay beneath their feet. It is no reflection on the
sincerity of your classmates that they like you now and did not know you
before. I discovered what you really are, Hamlen, quite as accidentally
as you struck oil in that apparently worthless land in Oklahoma. Now I
stand simply as the promoter of a property which has proved its worth."
When Hamlen unpacked his trunk at Huntington's house he produced a
volume of Milton's "Areopagitica" which he placed in his friend's hand.
"This is the latest issue from the 'Island Press,'" he said. "It was
nearly completed before you all came down to Bermuda and disturbed my
peace of mind. I put the covers on after you left, but I haven't been
able to produce a thing since. I believe this is the last book I shall
ever make."
Huntington turned the leaves with great interest. "Exquisite!" he
exclaimed. "Quite the best example you have turned out. I love that type
of yours, Hamlen, for I feel it is the exemplification of William
Morris' definition of the Type Ideal,--'pure in form, severe without
needless excrescences, solid without the thickening and thinning of the
line, and not compressed laterally.' You have carried out what he set
himself to do and failed. How many copies did you print?"
"Only fifty."
"Splendid! But I am selfish enough to wish there was but one, and that I
owned it! I never saw finer presswork in my life."
"You may gratify your wish if you like," Hamlen replied indifferently.
"I have the whole lot in my trunk up-stairs, and you may destroy the
other forty-nine if you choose. They are yours to do with as you will."
"You don't mean it!" Huntington cried, enthusiastically.
He fondled the copy in his hand, and his face was lighted by the
pleasure of the moment. Then he laughed.
"It is a frightful temptation, Hamlen! Think of owning the only copy in
existence of a book like that! Bibliomania leads one on almost to crime,
and it would be nothing less to prevent other collectors from enjoying
this wonderful volume. I accept the gift proudly, Hamlen; I will make
good use of it."
At the next monthly gathering of his fellow-collectors in their
attractive club-house Huntington took Hamlen with him as his guest. He
introduced him to his friends, but made no reference to the fact that he
was the creator of the productions of the Island Press. They listened to
an interesting paper, and then seated themselves at the long
supper-table to prove that even bibliomaniacs are human. Here Huntington
adroitly turned the conversation upon the subject of Hamlen's work.
Huntington had told his friend that when once he heard the opinions of
other collectors the words of praise spoken at Bermuda would seem mild;
and the prediction proved true. Hamlen's cheeks burned as he heard his
work extolled and himself compared to the master-printers of the past.
There could be no doubt of the sincerity of the comment, for no one but
Huntington knew his identity; and the pleasure he felt was so intense
that it almost overcame him.
As the discussion waned Huntington made his dramatic play. Each member
present was handed a copy of the "Areopagitica," on the fly-leaf of
which Hamlen had written his autograph.
"A gift from our guest," Huntington explained; "and each copy is
inscribed by the master-printer of the Island Press."
The silence which followed heightened the effect of Huntington's _coup_,
and Hamlen felt the blood rushing to his face. Huntington watched the
proceedings with evident relish, and as comprehension followed surprise
in the minds of his fellow-members he held his glass aloft.
"To the health, gentlemen, of Philip Hamlen, our master-printer, an
American, thank God, who knows how to preserve that art preservative of
all arts!"
It was the first triumph Hamlen had ever tasted, and as Huntington
watched his face he feared that in the desire to give him the confidence
of approval he had over-estimated his friend's physical strength. But
joy never kills, and the first weakness was conquered by the necessity
of living up to the position which had been thrust upon him. He
responded bravely, and Huntington smiled contentedly as he saw still
another barrier broken down between Philip Hamlen and the world he
believed to be against him. On their way home no word was spoken in the
motor-car, but when safe within the retreat of the library, which Hamlen
had learned to love, the pent-up emotion burst forth.
"Then I have done something after all!" he cried. "My life has not been
all a mistake! Heaven knows what a mess I've made of it, but at least
there is something saved out of the wreck? You think they meant it,
don't you, Huntington?" he asked beseechingly, and he found his answer
in the beaming countenance of his friend. "I had no idea it would mean
so much, that so wonderful an experience as I had to-night could ever
come to me. Even now I can't understand it. Those little books are only
expressions of myself; I made them merely for personal gratification."
"In doing so, my friend, you gave yourself to us; and more than that no
man can do!"
The wonderful weeks went by, filled with a bewildering series of unusual
experiences for Hamlen and of continuing satisfaction to Huntington.
Philip unfolded to him day by day the various elements which went to
make the new Harvard spirit, and Huntington supplemented the boy's
efforts by keeping his guest in touch with the graduate activities
centered in and reaching their climax in the building of the "Home of
the Harvard Club" in Boston, dedicated as "the tomb of Harvard
indifference." Hamlen saw the freshmen segregated in their own
dormitories, and forced to become acquainted one with another, and he
realized what it would have meant to him at a similar time in his life
if heads wiser than his own had compelled him to show himself to his
classmates. He stood within the massive Stadium, he went to a
mass-meeting at the Harvard Union, he followed the crew on the Charles
in the launch "John Harvard," proud that Philip, his namesake, had won
a place in the boat. He spent many hours at the Harvard Club with
Huntington, watching the democracy which means unity, and the unity
which means fellowship. For the first time he felt a pride to be a part
of it, for the first time his degree stood to him as something more than
what he learned from books. Philip was to row against Yale, and he felt
that he himself, at last, was to take part in an intercollegiate
contest, once the ambition of his life. He was no longer a man without a
college, but was one of that great brotherhood which recognizes its
heritage, and stands ready to live up to the responsibilities this
heritage entails.
* * * * *