The sky parlor, as Yates had termed it, certainly commanded a very
extensive view. Immediately underneath was a wilderness of roofs.
Farther along were the railway tracks that Yates objected to; and a line
of masts and propeller funnels marked the windings of Buffalo Creek,
along whose banks arose numerous huge elevators, each marked by some
tremendous letter of the alphabet, done in white paint against the
somber brown of the big building. Still farther to the west was a more
grateful and comforting sight for a hot day. The blue lake, dotted with
white sails and an occasional trail of smoke, lay shimmering under the
broiling sun. Over the water, through the distant summer haze, there
could be seen the dim line of the Canadian shore.
“Sit you down,” cried Yates, putting both hands on the other’s
shoulders, and pushing him into a chair near the window. Then, placing
his finger on the electric button, he added: “What will you drink?”
“I’ll take a glass of water, if it can be had without trouble,” said
Renmark.
Yates’ hand dropped from the electric button hopelessly to his side, and
he looked reproachfully at the professor.
“Great Heavens!” he cried, “have something mild. Don’t go rashly in
for Buffalo water before you realize what it is made of. Work up to it
gradually. Try a sherry cobbler or a milk shake as a starter.”
“Thank you, no. A glass of water will do very well for me. Order what
you like for yourself.”
“Thanks, I can be depended on for doing that.” He pushed the button,
and, when the boy appeared, said: “Bring up an iced cobbler, and charge
it to Professor Renmark, No. 518. Bring also a pitcher of ice water for
Yates, No. 520. There,” he continued gleefully, “I’m going to have all
the drinks, except the ice water, charged to you. I’ll pay the bill, but
I’ll keep the account to hold over your head in the future. Professor
Stillson Renmark, debtor to Metropolitan Grand--one sherry cobbler, one
gin sling, one whisky cocktail, and so on. Now, then, Stilly, let’s talk
business. You’re not married, I take it, or you wouldn’t have responded
to my invitation so promptly.” The professor shook his head. “Neither am
I. You never had the courage to propose to a girl; and I never had the
time.”
“Lack of self-conceit was not your failing in the old days, Richard,”
said Renmark quietly.
Yates laughed. “Well, it didn’t hold me back any, to my knowledge.
Now I’ll tell you how I’ve got along since we attended old Scragmore’s
academy together, fifteen years ago. How time does fly! When I left, I
tried teaching for one short month. I had some theories on the education
of our youth which did not seem to chime in with the prejudices the
school trustees had already formed on the subject.”
The professor was at once all attention. Touch a man on his business,
and he generally responds by being interested.
“And what were your theories?” he asked.
“Well, I thought a teacher should look after the physical as well as
the mental welfare of his pupils. It did not seem to me that his duty to
those under his charge ended with mere book learning.”
“I quite agree with you,” said the professor cordially.
“Thanks. Well, the trustees didn’t. I joined the boys at their games,
hoping my example would have an influence on their conduct on the
playground as well as in the schoolroom. We got up a rattling good
cricket club. You may not remember that I stood rather better in cricket
at the academy than I did in mathematics or grammar. By handicapping me
with several poor players, and having the best players among the boys in
opposition, we made a pretty evenly matched team at school section No.
12. One day, at noon, we began a game. The grounds were in excellent
condition, and the opposition boys were at their best. My side was
getting the worst of it. I was very much interested; and, when one
o’clock came, I thought it a pity to call school and spoil so good and
interesting a contest. The boys were unanimously of the same opinion.
The girls were happy, picnicking under the trees. So we played cricket
all the afternoon.”
“I think that was carrying your theory a little too far,” said the
professor dubiously.
“Just what the trustees thought when they came to hear of it. So they
dismissed me; and I think my leaving was the only case on record where
the pupils genuinely mourned a teacher’s departure. I shook the dust of
Canada from my feet, and have never regretted it. I tramped to Buffalo,
continuing to shake the dust off at every step. (Hello! here’s your
drinks at last, Stilly. I had forgotten about them--an unusual thing
with me. That’s all right, boy; charge it to room 518. Ah! that hits
the spot on a hot day.) Well, where was I? Oh, yes, at Buffalo. I got
a place on a paper here, at just enough to keep life in me; but I liked
the work. Then I drifted to Rochester at a bigger salary, afterward
to Albany at a still bigger salary, and of course Albany is only a few
hours from New York, and that is where all newspaper men ultimately
land, if they are worth their salt. I saw a small section of the war as
special correspondent, got hurt, and rounded up in the hospital. Since
then, although only a reporter, I am about the top of the tree in that
line, and make enough money to pay my poker debts and purchase iced
drinks to soothe the asperities of the game. When there is anything big
going on anywhere in the country, I am there, with other fellows to do
the drudgery; I writing the picturesque descriptions and interviewing
the big men. My stuff goes red-hot over the telegraph wire, and the
humble postage stamp knows my envelopes no more. I am acquainted
with every hotel clerk that amounts to anything from New York to San
Francisco. If I could save money, I should be rich, for I make plenty;
but the hole at the top of my trousers pocket has lost me a lot of cash,
and I don’t seem to be able to get it mended. Now, you’ve listened with
your customary patience in order to give my self-esteem, as you called
it, full sway. I am grateful. I will reciprocate. How about yourself?”
The professor spoke slowly. “I have had no such adventurous career,” he
began. “I have not shaken Canadian dust from my feet, and have not
made any great success. I have simply plodded; and am in no danger of
becoming rich, although I suppose I spend as little as any man. After
you were expel--after you left the aca----”
“Don’t mutilate the good old English language, Stilly. You were right
in the first place. I am not thin-skinned. You were saying after I was
expelled. Go on.”
“I thought perhaps it might be a sore subject. You remember, you were
very indignant at the time, and----”
“Of course I was--and am still, for that matter. It was an outrage!”
“I thought it was proved that you helped to put the pony in the
principal’s room.”
“Oh, certainly. _That_. Of course. But what I detested was the way
the principal worked the thing. He allowed that villain Spink to turn
evidence against us, and Spink stated I originated the affair, whereas
I could claim no such honor. It was Spink’s own project, which I fell
in with, as I did with every disreputable thing proposed. Of course the
principal believed at once that I was the chief criminal. Do you happen
to know if Spink has been hanged yet?”
“I believe he is a very reputable business man in Montreal, and much
respected.”
“I might have suspected that. Well, you keep your eye on the respected
Spink. If he doesn’t fail some day, and make a lot of money, I’m a
Dutchman. But go on. This is digression. By the way, just push that
electric button. You’re nearest, and it is too hot to move. Thanks.
After I was expelled----”
“After your departure I took a diploma, and for a year or two taught a
class in the academy. Then, as I studied during my spare time, I got a
chance as master of a grammar school near Toronto, chiefly, as I think,
though the recommendation of Principal Scragmore. I had my degree by
this time. Then----”
There was a gentle tap at the door.
“Come in!” shouted Yates. “Oh, it’s you. Just bring up another cooling
cobbler, will you? and charge it, as before, to Professor Renmark, room
518. Yes; and then----”
“And then there came the opening in University College, Toronto. I had
the good fortune to be appointed. There I am still, and there I suppose
I shall stay. I know very few people, and am better acquainted with
books than with men. Those whom I have the privilege of knowing are
mostly studious persons, who have made, or will make, their mark in the
world of learning. I have not had your advantage, of meeting statesmen
who guide the destinies of a great empire.
“No; you always were lucky, Stilly. My experience is that the chaps who
do the guiding are more anxious about their own pockets, or their own
political advancement, than they are of the destinies. Still, the empire
seems to take its course westward just the same. So old Scragmore’s been
your friend, has he?”
“He has, indeed.”
“Well, he insulted me only the other day.”
“You astonish me. I cannot imagine so gentlemanly and scholarly a man as
Principal Scragmore insulting anybody.”
“Oh, you don’t know him as I do. It was like this: I wanted to find out
where you were, for reasons that I shall state hereafter. I cudgeled
my brains, and then thought of old Scrag. I wrote him, and enclosed a
stamped and addressed envelope, as all unsought contributors should
do. He answered--But I have his reply somewhere. You shall read it for
yourself.”
Yates pulled from his inside pocket a bundle of letters, which he
hurriedly fingered over, commenting in a low voice as he did so: “I
thought I answered that. Still, no matter. Jingo! haven’t I paid that
bill yet? This pass is run out. Must get another.” Then he smiled and
sighed as he looked at a letter in dainty handwriting; but apparently he
could not find the document he sought.
“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. I have it somewhere. He returned me the
prepaid envelope, and reminded me that United States stamps were of no
use in Canada, which of course I should have remembered. But he didn’t
pay the postage on his own letter, so that I had to fork out double.
Still, I don’t mind that, only as an indication of his meanness. He went
on to say that, of all the members of our class, you--_you_!--were the
only one who had reflected credit on it. That was the insult. The idea
of his making such a statement, when I had told him I was on the New
York _Argus_! Credit to the class, indeed! I wonder if he ever heard of
Brown after he was expelled. You know, of course. No? Well, Brown,
by his own exertions, became president of the Alum Bank in New York,
wrecked it, and got off to Canada with a clear half million. _Yes_,
sir. I saw him in Quebec not six months ago. Keeps the finest span and
carriage in the city, and lives in a palace. Could buy out old Scragmore
a thousand times, and never feel it. Most liberal contributor to the
cause of education that there is in Canada. He says education made him,
and he’s not a man to go back on education. And yet Scragmore has the
cheek to say that _you_ were the only man in the class who reflects
credit on it!”
The professor smiled quietly as the excited journalist took a cooling
sip of the cobbler.
“You see, Yates, people’s opinions differ. A man like Brown may not be
Principal Scragmore’s ideal. The principal may be local in his ideals of
a successful man, or of one who reflects credit on his teaching.”
“Local? You bet he’s local. Too darned local for me. It would do that
man good to live in New York for a year. But I’m going to get even with
him. I’m going to write him up. I’ll give him a column and a half; see
if I don’t. I’ll get his photograph, and publish a newspaper portrait
of him. If that doesn’t make him quake, he’s a cast-iron man. Say, you
haven’t a photograph of old Scrag that you can lend me, have you?”
“I have; but I won’t lend it for such a purpose. However, never mind
the principal. Tell me your plans. I am at your disposal for a couple of
weeks, or longer if necessary.”
“Good boy! Well, I’ll tell you how it is. I want rest and quiet, and the
woods, for a week or two. This is how it happened: I have been steadily
at the grindstone, except for a while in the hospital; and that, you
will admit, is not much of a vacation. The work interests me, and I
am always in the thick of it. Now, it’s like this in the newspaper
business: Your chief is never the person to suggest that you take a
vacation. He is usually short of men and long on things to do, so if you
don’t worry him into letting you off, he won’t lose any sleep over it.
He’s content to let well enough alone every time. Then there is always
somebody who wants to get away on pressing business,--grandmother’s
funeral, and that sort of thing,--so if a fellow is content to work
right along, his chief is quite content to let him. That’s the way
affairs have gone for years with me. The other week I went over to
Washington to interview a senator on the political prospects. I tell
you what it is, Stilly, without bragging, there are some big men in the
States whom no one but me _can_ interview. And yet old Scrag says I’m
no credit to his class! Why, last year my political predictions were
telegraphed all over this country, and have since appeared in the
European press. No credit! By Jove, I would like to have old Scrag in a
twenty-four-foot ring, with thin gloves on, for about ten minutes!”
“I doubt if he would shine under those circumstances. But never mind
him. He spoke, for once, without due reflection, and with perhaps an
exaggerated remembrance of your school-day offenses. What happened when
you went to Washington?”
“A strange thing happened. When I was admitted to the senator’s library,
I saw another fellow, whom I thought I knew, sitting there. I said to
the senator: ‘I will come when you are alone.’ The senator looked up
in surprise, and said: ‘I am alone.’ I didn’t say anything, but went
on with my interview; and the other fellow took notes all the time.
I didn’t like this, but said nothing, for the senator is not a man to
offend, and it is by not offending these fellows that I can get the
information I do. Well, the other fellow came out with me, and as
I looked at him I saw that he was myself. This did not strike me as
strange at the time, but I argued with him all the way to New York,
and tried to show him that he wasn’t treating me fairly. I wrote up
the interview, with the other fellow interfering all the while, so I
compromised, and half the time put in what he suggested, and half the
time what I wanted in myself. When the political editor went over
the stuff, he looked alarmed. I told him frankly just how I had
been interfered with, and he looked none the less alarmed when I had
finished. He sent at once for a doctor. The doctor metaphorically took
me to pieces, and then said to my chief: ‘This man is simply worked to
death. He must have a vacation, and a real one, with absolutely nothing
to think of, or he is going to collapse, and that with a suddenness
which will surprise everybody.’ The chief, to my astonishment, consented
without a murmur, and even upbraided me for not going away sooner. Then
the doctor said to me: ‘You get some companion--some man with no brains,
if possible, who will not discuss politics, who has no opinion on
anything that any sane man would care to talk about, and who couldn’t
say a bright thing if he tried for a year. Get such a man to go off to
the woods somewhere. Up in Maine or in Canada. As far away from post
offices and telegraph offices as possible. And, by the way, don’t leave
your address at the _Argus_ office.’ Thus it happened, Stilly, when he
described this man so graphically, I at once thought of you.”
“I am deeply gratified, I am sure,” said the professor, with the ghost
of a smile, “to be so promptly remembered in such a connection, and if
I can be of service to you, I shall be very glad. I take it, then, that
you have no intention of stopping in Buffalo?”
“You bet I haven’t. I’m in for the forest primeval, the murmuring
pines and the hemlock, bearded with moss and green in the something or
other--I forget the rest. I want to quit lying on paper, and lie on
my back instead, on the sward or in a hammock. I’m going to avoid all
boarding houses or delightful summer resorts, and go in for the quiet of
the forest.”
“There ought to be some nice places along the lake shore.”
“No, sir. No lake shore for me. It would remind me of the Lake Shore
Railroad when it was calm, and of Long Branch when it was rough. _No_,
sir. The woods, the woods, and the woods. I have hired a tent and a lot
of cooking things. I’m going to take that tent over to Canada to-morrow;
and then I propose we engage a man with a team to cart it somewhere
into the woods, fifteen or twenty miles away. We shall have to be near
a farmhouse, so that we can get fresh butter, milk, and eggs. This, of
course, is a disadvantage; but I shall try to get near someone who has
never even heard of New York.”
“You may find that somewhat difficult.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I have great hopes of the lack of intelligence in the
Canadians.”
“Often the narrowest,” said the professor slowly, “are those who think
themselves the most cosmopolitan.”
“Right you are,” cried Yates, skimming lightly over the remark, and
seeing nothing applicable to his case in it. “Well, I’ve laid in about
half a ton, more or less, of tobacco, and have bought an empty jug.”
“An empty one?”
“Yes. Among the few things worth having that the Canadians possess,
is good whisky. Besides, the empty jar will save trouble at the
customhouse. I don’t suppose Canadian rye is as good as the Kentucky
article, but you and I will have to scrub along on it for a while. And,
talking of whisky, just press the button once again.”
The professor did so, saying:
“The doctor made no remark, I suppose, about drinking less or smoking
less, did he?”
“In my case? Well, come to think of it, there _was_ some conversation in
that direction. Don’t remember at the moment just what it amounted to;
but all physicians have their little fads, you know. It doesn’t do to
humor them too much. Ah, boy, there you are again. Well, the professor
wants another drink. Make it a gin fizz this time, and put plenty of ice
in it; but don’t neglect the gin on that account. Certainly; charge it
to room 518.”