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HARVARD STORIES
SKETCHES OF THE UNDERGRADUATE
BY WALDRON KINTZING POST
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK; LONDON
27 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET; 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND
The Knickerbocker Press
1895
COPYRIGHT, 1893
BY WALDRON KINTZING POST
Electrotyped, Printed and Bound by
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
TO
THE CLASS OF '90
PREFACE.
I cannot expect any one to be interested in these stories who is not
interested in the scenes where they are laid. To you, my class-mates and
contemporaries, I need make no apology. We always gave each other freely
the valuable gift Burns asked of the gods; my shortcomings I shall learn
soon enough--especially if I have written anything false or pretentious.
But I feel sure that anything about Harvard, however imperfect, will not
be unwelcome to you--provided it is true. We are scattered far apart and
cannot often meet to talk over old times; perhaps these recollections
may partially serve at times, in the place of an old chum, to bring back
the days when we were all together. They are only yarns and pictures of
us boys; but you will think no worse of them for that. The higher
traditions of the old place I have dared in only one instance to
approach.
"The great and the good in their beautiful prime
Through those precincts have musingly trod,"
and for that we reverence, we glory in those precincts; is it
profanation to add that we also love them, because we ourselves have
rollicked through them, with Jack, Ned, and Dick?
One thing, however, I must say to you before you begin to read. You will
quickly see that I can claim little originality in the following
stories. They are almost all founded on actual occurrences of either our
own college life, or that of undergrads. before us. Some of the
incidents came under my own notice, others happened to men of whom I do
not even know the names, but who, I trust, will forgive my use of their
experiences. But let no one imagine that, in any of the characters, he
recognizes either himself or any one else. No one of us enters into
these pages,--though I have tried to draw parts of all.
Among you also, my older brothers, I hope to find readers. There have
been changes and developments since you were in college; many old
institutions have passed away and new ones taken their places; there may
be features in these sketches that you will not recognize; but in the
main, Alma Mater is still the same. Holworthy, with all its memories,
still gazes contemplatively down the green leafy Yard; the same old
buildings flank it on either hand. The white walls of University still
look across to the aged pair, Massachusetts and her partner, the head of
the family. The latter still rears his sonorous crest (in spite of all
your historic efforts to silence it); and is it not Jones who rings the
bell? The river is there, the elms are there; above all, the
undergraduate is there, and oh, reverend grads., from the tales I have
heard ye tell, I opine that the undergraduate is still the same. If I
can recall him to you in these sketches, if I can make one of you say,
"That is like old times," I shall have done all that I hope.
HARVARD STORIES.
JACK RATTLETON GOES TO SPRINGFIELD AND BACK.
The shadow of Massachusetts had reached across the Yard almost to
University Hall, which fact, ye who are ignorant of Harvard topography,
means that it was late in the afternoon. Hollis Holworthy was stretched
in his window seat with a book, of which, however, he was not reading
much, as his room was just then in use as a temporary club. It was the
month of November, but Holworthy kept the window open to let out the
volume of pipe smoke kindled by his gregarious friends. He and his chum
Rivers had an attractive room on the Yard, up only one flight of stairs,
and these little gatherings were apt to come upon them frequently. The
eleven was going to Springfield next day, so the foot-ball practice on
that afternoon had been short, and several of Holworthy's "gang" who had
been watching it had dropped into the room on their way back from Jarvis
Field. They were a typical set of Harvard men, hailing from various and
distant parts of the nation, and of various characters; yet all very
much alike in certain respects, after three years together around that
Yard. Rivers, part owner of the room, who had been playing foot-ball,
came in after the rest and announced joyfully that he had been
definitely assigned to the position of guard on the team.
"Sorry to hear it," growled Billy Bender, who was captain of the
University crew. "You are sure to get a bad knee or something, and be
spoiled for the boat. I lost two good men by foot-ball last year. If I
had my way I wouldn't let any of the rowing men play the confounded
game."
"If you had your way, you old crank," said Holworthy, "you'd strap every
man in college fast to an oar. Then you would stand over them and crack
a whip and have a bully time. You would have made a first-rate galley
master."
"I am tired to death of talking and hearing nothing but the game,"
declared Hudson. "I move to lay it on the table. There is nothing new to
guess about it. I don't see how we can lose, and you don't see how we
can lose, and no one sees how we can lose."
"That is apt to be the case at just this time," remarked Holworthy. "Two
days from now our vision may be woefully cleared up."
"Shut up, you old croaker," cried Burleigh, throwing a sofa cushion at
his host. The cushion knocked the book from Holworthy's hand and out of
the window.
"You go down and get that now, you pretty, playful child," said
Holworthy, indignantly. "Oh, thank you, yes, throw it up, please," he
continued to someone outside. "Much obliged. No, Rattleton isn't here. I
believe he went out for a ride."
"Who's that?" asked Randolph, as Holworthy drew in his head, having
caught the book.
"Varnum, the coxswain."
"What the deuce does he want with Jack Rattleton?" queried Burleigh.
"I am sure I don't know," answered Holworthy, "but he and Jack are great
pals, you know."
"What!" exclaimed Bender, who was not one of Rattleton's intimate
friends, "Varnum and Rattleton? That is the funniest combination I ever
heard of. The quietest, hardest worker in college, and the worst
loafer."
"You are wrong there," said Holworthy. "If you knew Jack as well as the
rest of us do, you'd know he was the best loafer in college."
"I believe that good-for-nothing chap would get up in the middle of the
night to be hanged for any one of us," added Rivers.
"I am not sure about the middle of the night," said Hudson, doubtfully.
"At any rate if he was to be hanged for it himself, he wouldn't get up
before nine in the morning."
"How did he happen to get thick with Varnum?" inquired Bender.
"First they sat next to each other in some course," explained Holworthy.
"One day Jack was out in his dog-cart, I believe, and met Varnum walking
and picked him up. Jack was a Sophomore then, but a pretty good sort of
a Soph., and I think he was rather surprised and interested at
discovering that there were men in this University outside of his own
little set, and of a new kind."
"That fellow Varnum is a rattler," said Rivers. "Hardly anyone knows him
except the crew men, and, I suppose, some of his Y. M. C. A. pals. He
has been making an awfully sandy fight of it, I can tell you, working
his way all through college. Why, do you know, that chap came up with
just two dollars and forty cents in his pocket!"
"There are lots of men doing just that sort of thing," declared Ernest
Gray, a sympathetic, enthusiastic little man. "Some day we'll be proud
of having been in the same class with some of those fellows. It's a
shame that we don't know all about all of 'em."
"Oh, well," said Burleigh, consolingly, "we can always let people think
we were hand in glove with the great men. 'Know him? Why he was a
classmate of mine'--all that sort of thing, you know."
"Yes," said Dick Stoughton, "it's a comfort to reflect that we can
always blow about them without taking the trouble to hunt them up now."
"Awful nuisance to chase up incipient and impecunious merit," added
Hudson.
"I suppose that's why you helped Jack Rattleton take care of Varnum when
he was sick. Why do you affected fools always want to cover up the
precious little good you have got in you?" demanded Gray, in a mixture
of sorrow and anger.
"One reason why they do it," said Holworthy, "is to make you flare up,
you little powder keg. Haven't you got used to it yet, after three
years?"
"Varnum is a first-rate coxswain, anyway," said Captain Bender, coming
down to his regular estimate of worth. "I ran across him last year when
I was looking for a light man to steer. It's lucky I did, too; for there
was a great dearth of rudder-men. This little firebrand Gray would have
wrecked the 'Varsity crew to a certainty. I watched him in the class
races last year--he came near grabbing stroke's oar and trying to pull
himself. He nearly killed his men yelling at them in the first mile."
"I should think he did," ejaculated Randolph, who had rowed in his class
crew.
"Well, we won, anyway," said Gray in defence.
"You bet we did," said Randolph, "and we tossed Gray in a blanket during
the celebration just to show there was no hard feeling, and give him all
the honors due to any coxswain."
"I hope Varnum won't be too busy to steer this year," said Bender. "He
has a lot to do always."
While this conversation was going on in Holworthy's room, the subject of
it, the man who "had a lot to do," continued on his way through the
Yard. Varnum's financial struggles had not been exaggerated by Rivers.
He had come up to college with almost nothing, except the clothes that
he wore and a strong heart under them. He had received help at starting
from the loan fund; by means of one of the numerous scholarships,
tutoring, and careful economy he had succeeded in clearing his debt by
his senior year. In the summer vacations he had supported himself and
laid up a little money, by all sorts of employments, from that of a
clerk in a country store to that of foremast hand on a yacht. Though he
worked at his studies hard enough to keep the necessary scholarship, he
was not a very high stand man. He was interested in some of the mission
work in Boston, and gave a great deal of time to "slumming."
During the last year, too, he had made a little spare time for steering
the University crew; for he found this to be a good relaxation from his
work, and, besides, it brought him in contact with men whom he would not
otherwise have met, many of them well worth knowing. He was not the sort
of man to make friends easily, in fact he had no really intimate
companion; but the man to whom he had been most attracted was one of
entirely opposite character, training, and associates. His friendship
with Jack Rattleton, which had been the subject of the conversation in
Holworthy's room, was not an uncommon case of the attraction of
extremes. Rattleton's weak nature was easily drawn to a strong one, and
on the other hand "Lazy Jack Rat" was a source of amusement and interest
to Varnum.
The latter once in telling Rattleton about himself had said laughingly,
"My father was very much opposed to my trying to work through Harvard.
He had terrible ideas about the old place; said it was a rich man's
college, and if I got through it at all I should learn nothing but
extravagance and evil. I have rather changed his notions now, I think;
but, Rattleton, I should be afraid to show you to him, as my nearest
approach to a friend."
"Why," the ingenuous Rattleton had replied, opening his mild eyes as
though a little hurt as well as wondering; "I dare say I am an ass, but
I don't do you any harm, do I?"
"Not a bit," answered Varnum, smiling; "on the contrary, you do me lots
of good. Horrible example, you know; but if my old father ever comes to
see me, don't offer to take him out in that dog-cart of yours."
"Why, it is perfectly safe," Jack had declared; "and I should be very
glad to give him a drive."
As Varnum left the Yard and turned into the Square, he saw a tall thin
figure approaching, astride of a diminutive polo pony, and followed by a
brindled bull-terrier. Why do the men with the longest legs always ride
the smallest horses, while the little men invariably perch up aloft on
the tallest animal they can find? The long-legged rider put his
ill-matched steed into a canter when he saw Varnum, and pulled up
alongside of him.
"Hullo, Varnum," he called with a little drawl; "while I think of it,
here's that five I owe you for tutoring. Why didn't you remind me of it
before?"
"I have just been looking for you to dun you," answered Varnum. "I want
a little cash very much just at present, so I am not going to tell you
to wait until any time that is convenient."
"Fool if you did," said Jack. "No time is ever convenient with me.
Somehow or other I seem to be hard up all the time. Oh, you needn't
laugh. I know I have rather more to spend than most fellows out here,
but that doesn't help me a bit when I've spent it. You needn't grin at
this nag either, you old monk, it hasn't been mine for some time. I had
to give it to that robber Flynn, the livery-man, for his bill. Don't
seem to have made much on the transaction, though, because now I have to
hire the beast. Flynn has my horse, hang him, and somehow I've still got
his bill."
"There is no doubt about it, Rattleton," said the other; "you will be
renowned as a philosopher some day. You keep discovering great truths
all the time."
"Are you going to the game?" asked Rattleton, turning the subject.
"That would be a useless question to ask most men," said Varnum; "it is
equally useless to ask me. Of course I am not."
"Not?" exclaimed Jack. "Nonsense! You're not going to stay all by
yourself here in Cambridge? Come now, old grind, do take a day off."
"No," said Varnum, a little sadly, shaking his head; "I can't do it. I
can't spare either the time or the money. Besides I have something on my
hands that I can't drop just at present."
"Bet I know," said Rattleton. "It is some of your confounded indigent
kid business. Of course, that sort of thing is bully and I admire you
for it, you know, and all that; but I should think you might leave the
indigents alone for one day."
"Well, you see I am one myself," laughed Varnum. "Really I can't afford
it, so I don't deserve any credit for sticking by the other paupers."
"The special rates to Springfield are very low," urged Jack. "I tell you
what you can do;--just what I'm going to do. Bet your expenses on the
game and then it will all be on Yale."
"And if we lose?" queried Varnum.
"Oh, well, if we lose, we'll only be hard up, just as we are now," was
the assuring response.
"I see I have not been tutoring you in Pol. Econ. for nothing," said
Varnum. "No, Rattleton, I'd give anything I could afford to see that
game, but I can't afford anything, so don't stir me up about it."
"All right, have your own way. Come 'round and dine with me to-night."
Varnum assented, and Rattleton, calling out to his dog, "come along,
Blathers," rode off to the stables. On the way to his room to change his
clothes he met the other men of his club table going from Holworthy's
room to dinner. He told them that Varnum was coming to his table, and
warned them not to talk constant foot-ball all through dinner.
"I wish I could help that chap out somehow," he said, discontentedly;
"he has got on to the tutoring dodge. He won't tutor me now, except when
there is an hour exam. coming, and he knows I have got to go to somebody
to be put through if I don't come to him."
On the following day the Harvard forces began to move on Springfield.
The game was to be played on Saturday, but many men went on Friday
afternoon, for there is great joy to be had in Springfield on the eve of
battle. The Glee Club always gives a concert, after which there is a
very fine ball, one of the Springfield Assemblies, I believe. There is
also apt to be another ball, a "sociable" of the something-or-other
coterie. Holworthy and Gray were on the Glee Club, and were going to the
Assembly. The others decided to go to Springfield on that night also,
and attend the other ball.
"Down with the bloated silk-stockings," declared Burleigh. "Let the
kid-gloved dudes dally with the pampered aristocracy. We are the people;
we'll go where we can turn in our waistcoats, stick our sailor-knots in
our shirt fronts, and be right in the top flight!"
The Glee Club men had rooms engaged. Hudson was on the shooting-team,
and therefore also had a room secured, and the two Jacks, Rattleton and
Randolph, were going on one of the club sleeping-cars. Burleigh and
Stoughton had no rooms, but were willing to take their chances of
getting one. Indeed, these two very rarely failed on an expedition of
this sort in getting the best of everything. They were both sons of the
energetic West, besides which Stoughton was famed for his craft, and was
the recognized Ulysses of "the gang." They had a very effective method
of working together in a crowd. Ned Burleigh was six feet three, and his
weight had never been accurately ascertained by his friends. Dick
Stoughton, on the other hand, was of a slight and active build. On
arriving at any town where there was a rush for the hotels, Burleigh
would breast the crowd with all the weight of his broad front.
Stoughton, following close at his back with both the portmanteaus, would
swing them, one on each side of Burleigh's legs, about knee high. Thus
they would cut their way through any crowd, and arriving at its front,
Ned would take the baggage and come along by slow freight, while Dick
dashed for the hotel.
This manoeuvre was successfully executed at Springfield, and Stoughton
secured the last room at the Massasoit House.
The Glee Club concert in the evening was a great success, and after it
was over the respectable element, consisting of Gray and Holworthy,
passed a very delightful evening at the Assembly ball. So, I grieve to
record, did the low-toned members of "the gang" at the other ball. At
the _soiree_ of the Social Club, Ned Burleigh obtained control of the
cotillion early in the evening. With Rattleton and Stoughton as right
hand men, he introduced many new and pleasing figures of his own
invention. In some way these three got unto themselves huge and gorgeous
badges, labelled "Floor Committee," and managed the whole affair with
wild success. Randolph, who came from the Sunny South, and "Colonel"
Dixey, of Kentucky, picked up one or two Yale men from their section of
the country, and organized an extempore Southern Club. If the governors
of the Carolinas had been with them, those celebrated dignitaries, I
suspect, would have experienced none of their proverbial trouble. As the
evening wore on, the Southern Club, in a true brotherly spirit, extended
its privileges to all the states and territories of the Union, and
initiated each new member. Hudson, at first, was disconsolate, for he
was on the shooting-club team that next day was to shoot a clay-pigeon
match against Yale before the game. He had strict orders to go to bed
early, and keep his eye clear for the next morning. At Dick Stoughton's
able suggestion, however, he hunted up a member of the Yale
shooting-team, and agreed to pair off with him. The excellence of this
fair parliamentary procedure forcibly struck all the representative
shots of both universities, except the captains. The captains of both
teams at first stormed, and swore that none of their men who stayed up
late or indulged in other startling innovations on the eve of battle,
should be allowed to shoot on the morrow. When they found, however, that
all their substitutes had "paired" also, they went off arm in arm, and
were found later in a corner with a large earnest bottle between them.
Altogether, as Burleigh said, "it was a very enjoyable occasion."
Next morning the clay-pigeon match came off, as usual, on the grounds of
the Springfield Gun Club. It resulted in a close and glorious victory
for Harvard, as the Yale team shot a little bit worse. It was a rather
costly triumph, however, for both teams with their supporters drove back
in a barge to the Massasoit House, and there had another meeting at the
expense of the victors. Those Harvard-Yale shooting-matches are a very
pleasant sport, and prolific of the best of feeling.
Before it was time to start for the battle-ground at Hampden Park,
certain financial transactions took place at the hotel. The slender
balance at the Cambridge National Bank, standing in the name of John
Rattleton, had been wiped out on the previous day, and most of it was
now deposited at the office of the Massasoit House in the joint names of
J. Rattleton and a man from New Haven, to become later the sole property
of one or the other. As Jack turned away from the clerk's desk, he met
the steady Holworthy face to face, and looked guilty.
"Have you been betting all your quarter's income as usual, you jackass?"
demanded Holworthy.
"No, only what is left of it," said Rattleton. "Might as well. If I
didn't bet it, I should have to lend it all to the rest of the gang, if
we get beaten. And suppose we win, as we are almost sure to, and I
hadn't taken a blue cent out of New Haven, and had to pay for my own
celebration; how should I feel then?" he demanded, triumphantly.
"Will you ever grow up?" asked Holworthy, shaking his head. "Don't come
running to me if we get thrashed, that is all. I hope you have kept your
return ticket to Cambridge."
"Oh, yes, I have that," answered Rattleton, reassuringly; "and I have
twenty-five dollars that I sha'n't put up unless I can get it up even.
These fellows want odds here, but I think I can find even money on the
field."
The Yale men are prudent bettors, however, and Jack did not "find even
money" at Hampden Park. In fact, at the last minute he could not get a
taker at any odds that even he was willing to offer. So he kept his last
twenty-five dollars, and took his seat with his friends, feeling that he
had not done his full duty.
All the morning the trains from New Haven, from Boston, from New York,
from everywhere within a six-hour radius, had been pouring their heavy
loads into Springfield. The north side of Hampden Park was a
crimson-dotted mass, nearly ten thousand strong; the south side was
equally banked up with blue, and the two colors ran into each other at
the ends. It is never weary waiting for the foot-ball game to begin,
when the weather is good. It is amusing to see the grads come swarming
to the standard. Familiar and popular faces turn up, that have been out
of college only a year or two, and their owners are greeted
enthusiastically by their late companions. There, too, come numbers of
faces far more widely known, those of governors, congressmen, judges,
architects, and clergymen. Other faces, not so conspicuous, are
apparently equally interesting over the top of glowing bunches of
Jacqueminots, or of violets, as the case may be. Jack Rattleton's
terrier Blathers, who was rarely separated from his master on any
occasion, took more interest in a big dog with a blue blanket on the
other side of the field, a familiar figure at recent foot-ball games.
At about half past two o'clock a great cheer rolled simultaneously along
both sides of the field, and there trotted into the lists twenty-two
young specimens of this "dyspeptic, ice-water-drinking" nation. It is
sometimes said that Americans are overworked and deteriorated from the
physical standard of the race; but as these youths of the Western branch
pulled off their sweaters and faced each other, they did not look a very
degenerate brood. Harvard had the ball and formed a close "wedge," Yale
deployed in open line of battle. For a moment they stood there, all
crouching forward, their heads well down, their great limbs tense, all
straining for the word to spring at each other. There was not a sound
around the field. "Play!" called the referee, and the Harvard wedge shot
forward, and crashed with a sound of grinding canvas into the mass of
blue-legged bodies that rushed to meet it.
For nearly three quarters of an hour the mimic battle was fought back
and forth along the white-barred field. All the tactics of war were
there employed; the centre was pierced, the flanks were turned, heavy
columns were instantaneously massed against any weak spot. It was even,
very even; but at last a long punt and a fumble gave Harvard the ball,
well in the enemy's territory. A well-supported run around the right end
by Jarvis, the famous flying half-back, two charges by Blake the
terrible line-breaker, and a wedge bang through the centre drove the
ball to Yale's five-yard line. Another gain of his length by the tall
Rivers. Another. Then with their backs on their very line the Yale men
rallied in a way they have. Down, no gain. Now for one good push or a
drop kick! Time. The first half of the game was over and neither side
had scored.
"Everything is lovely," declared Hudson. "We'll have the wind with us
next half. We've had the best of it so far, as it is. It's a sure thing
now." That was the general feeling among the Harvard supporters, and
every one was happy. To the excited spectators the interval was a
grateful relief, almost a necessary one to little Gray, who was nearly
beside himself. He moaned every now and then over his physical inability
to carry the Crimson in the lists.
After fifteen minutes' rest, the giants lined up again. The wind did
seem to make a difference, for the play from the start was in Yale's
ground. Jarvis the runner, who had been saved a good deal in the first
half, was now used with telling effect.
Within fifteen minutes, an exchange of punts brought the ball to Yale's
thirty-yard line. After three downs Spofford dropped back as though for
a kick, and the Yale full-back retreated for the catch. Instead of the
expected kick, Rivers the guard charged for the left end, and the blue
line concentrated on that point to meet him, when suddenly Jarvis, with
the ball tucked under his arm, was seen going like a whirlwind around
the right, well covered by his supports. The Yale left-end was knocked
off his legs, and the whole crimson bank of spectators rose to its feet
with a roar, as it realized that Jarvis had circled the end. The Yale
halfs had been drawn to their right, and every one knew that with Jarvis
once past the forwards, no one could run him down.
On he went at top speed for the longed-for touch-line. The full-back,
however, was heading him off, he had outrun his interferers, and a Yale
'Varsity full-back is not apt to miss a clear tackle in the open. They
came together close to the line. Just as his adversary crouched for his
hips, Jarvis leaped high from the ground, and hurled himself forward,
head first. The Yale man, like a hawk, "nailed" him in the air, but his
weight carried him on, and they both fell with a fearful shock--over the
line! The next minute they were buried under a pile of men.
Then did all the Harvard hosts shout with a mighty shout that made the
air tremble. For five minutes dignified men, old and young, cheered and
hugged each other, and acted as they never do on any other occasion,
except perhaps a college boat-race. The two elevens had grouped around
the spot where the touch-down had been made. Suddenly the pandemonium
ceased as the knot of players opened, and a limp form was carried out
from among them. "It's Jarvis!" ran along the crowd, followed by an
anxious murmur. A substitute ran back to the grand stand and shouted,
"nothing serious, only his collar-bone." Those near the place where the
plucky half-back was borne off the field could see that his face was
pale, but supremely happy, and he smiled faintly as he heard the cheers
of thousands, and his own name coupled with that of his Alma Mater.
The touch-down had been made almost at the corner too far aside for the
try for goal to succeed. Spofford's kick was a splendid attempt, but the
ball struck the goal post.
Then the battle began again. The Harvard team had suffered an
irreparable loss in the fall of the famous Jarvis, but the score was
four to nothing in its favor, and all it needed to do now was to hold
its own. The Crimson was on the crest, and it was for the Blue to come
up hill. Every one on the north side was elated and confident. Then
began a struggle grim and great. The Yale men closed up and went in for
the last chance. There was no punting for them now, the wind was against
them; but they had the heavier weight and well they used every ounce of
it. Steadily, as the Old Guard trod over its slain at Waterloo, did the
Blue wedge drive its way, rod by rod, towards the Harvard line. And as
the fierce red Britons tore at Napoleon's devoted column, so did the
Crimson warriors leap on that earth-stained phalanx. The rushers
strained against it, Blake would plunge into and stagger it, Rivers and
Spofford would throw their great bodies flat under the trampling feet,
and bring the whole mass down over them. At last there would be a waver
in the advance, three forward struggles checked and shattered, and on
the fourth down, the ball would be Harvard's. On the first line up with
the ball in Harvard's possession, would be heard the sound of Spofford's
unerring foot against the leather and the brown oval would go curving
and spinning over the heads of the rushers, far back into Yale's
territory, with the Harvard ends well under it. A great "Oh!" of relief
would go up from the north side. Then those Yale bull-dogs would begin
all over again. Again and again did they fight their way almost to the
Harvard line, only to be driven all the way back by a long Spofford
punt.
"How those Elis do fight!" exclaimed Gray in admiration. "Don't they,"
admitted Burleigh; "and isn't it nice to be able to be magnanimous and
admire them? What a lot of credit you can give a fellow when you are
licking him."
"Those chaps aren't thrashed yet, my boy," said Holworthy. "They won't
be, either, until the game is called, and, by Jove, they may not be
then."
This observation was perfectly true. The Waterloo simile extended no
further than the appearance of battle. A Yale touch-down would tie the
game, and if made near the goal would probably win it. For the fourth
time the New Haven men struggled to the Cantabrigian twenty-yard line.
There had been many delays in the game, and the short November afternoon
had grown dark. A bad pass by the Harvard quarterback, a slip, a fumble
by Spofford, might turn the result. The time was nearly up. The cheering
had died almost entirely; the excitement was too deep for that, and
every one was too breathless. A short gain for Yale.
"Rattleton? Is Mr. Rattleton here?" called a messenger boy walking along
the front of the long stand.
"Hullo, here. What's wanted?" answered Jack.
"Telegram for you, sir," said the boy. Rattleton did not take his eyes
from the game while he tore open the envelope. Having opened it, he
glanced hurriedly at the message, then jumped to his feet with a
whistle. He had read:
"Come to Massachusetts General Hospital immediately when back
from game.
"VARNUM."
"When does the next train leave for Boston?" he asked the boy.
"There is one in a few minutes," was the answer.
"Whoop it up for me, children," he said to the others, "I've got to
leave. Come along, Blathers."
"Why, Jack, what's up?"
"I don't know. Varnum wants me," and he jumped to the ground, pulling
the dog after him. "The poor devil may be dying for all I know," he
added to himself, as he made for the gate; "but there is no need of
spoiling their fun by telling 'em."
He stretched his long legs for the station at a rate that made his
four-footed chum gallop to keep up with him. The train was just
starting. As he jumped aboard, he heard, from the direction of Hampden
Park, the distant roar of ten thousand throats. "Hear that?" he
exclaimed to the brakeman, "either the game is over or Yale has scored."
Not a very enlightening conclusion.
There was a dining-car on the train, and the sight of it reminded Jack
that he had had no lunch. He did not need to be reminded that he was
extremely thirsty also, and actually a little worn by the afternoon's
excitement. He entered the moving restaurant, and with one of his
accustomed happy thoughts at such moments, was about to order an
attractive lunch and a pint of champagne. Suddenly it occurred to him
that if that noise had gone up from the wrong side of Hampden Park, he
had just twenty-five dollars to carry him over the Christmas vacation
and through January. "Furthermore," he reflected, with a knowledge born
of bitter experience, "if that is the Eli yell, there won't be a
mother's son in Cambridge, that I know well enough to borrow from, who
will have any thing to lend,--except perhaps old father Hol. I suppose
he will step into the breach as usual and pay our car-fares, but he
can't support the whole gang. Hang it, I wish I was on an allowance
again; then the governor would pay my bills at Christmas and give me a
blowing up. This being my own paymaster isn't what I expected when I was
a Soph."
He concluded that a sandwich would support life until he got to Boston,
where he could find a precarious credit. He also decided that beer was
an excellent beverage, at any rate until he learned the result of the
game. After this unusually prudent repast he pulled a cigar out of his
pocket, and smoked it carefully in the thought that he might not have
another like it for some time--at his own expense. However, he
remembered consolingly that his half-colored meerschaum needed
attention.
The moment Jack arrived in Boston he jumped into a herdic and drove
straight to the hospital. He inquired for Varnum, and, after a little
red tape had been untied, was shown into one of the public wards.
At the end of a long room on a narrow bed was Varnum, looking very
white, his eyes closed. He opened them as Rattleton and the nurse
approached softly, and his face seemed to light up a little when he saw
Jack.
"How was the game?" he asked, faintly.
"Splendid. Harvard four, Yale nothing," answered Jack, promptly. He did
not think it worth while to mention that he had left before the end.
"Good," murmured Varnum. "Bowled over by a wagon. Awfully sorry to bring
you here, Rattleton, but they thought at first I might be done for, and
I don't know any one----"
"Yes, I know, old man; cut all that," broke in Jack. "Don't tire
yourself talking. Is there anything I can do for you right away?"
"Yes. There is a sick boy at 62 Sloven Street. Tenement house. Jimmy
Haggerty. I promised to see him. There is a can of wine-jelly and a
book. They must have brought them here when they picked me up. Will you
take them to him and tell him that I am laid up? It is not exactly in
your line, Rattleton," he added, with a smile, "but it won't give you
much trouble."
"Not a bit," declared Jack, cheerfully. "Great play for Phil. XI., you
know. I can make a special report on the Sloven Street district, and it
ought to pull me through the course."
"You mustn't talk to him too long, sir," said the nurse.
"All right, I'll go right off. 62 Sloven St.--Haggerty. You make
yourself easy, old man, I'll look after all your indigent kids for you,
and I'll tell the other fellows you are here. I'll be back soon."
In answer to Rattleton's inquiries, the nurse told him how Varnum had
been knocked down and run over by a runaway team in a narrow street. He
had been brought to the hospital, and the doctors had at first thought
his injuries fatal. Subsequent examination, however, had proved that his
condition was not so serious. At his request the telegram had been sent
to Rattleton. Jack left directions to have Varnum put in a private room
when he could be moved, and every comfort given him. "And, by the way,"
he added, "don't let him know that there is any expense about it. If he
objects, tell him the public wards are chuck-full; tell him there is
small-pox in 'em; tell him any good lie that occurs to you. Send the
bill to me."
The jelly and the book had not been brought in the ambulance, and no one
knew anything about them. So Rattleton, stopping at the hospital office
for Blathers, who had been there deposited, went first to a hotel, for
all the shops were closed. From the restaurant he replaced the
wine-jelly, and added some cake and a bottle of champagne. "I don't know
much about what a sick boy ought to have," he thought, "but fizz is
always good."
At the newspaper-stand he bought all the picture papers, and found a
colored edition of nursery rhymes, which he concluded would be just the
thing. "Now we are all right," he said, "come along, Blathers."
Jack had been very ready and cheerful about his mission when talking to
Varnum, but he had misgivings about it as he took his way to Sloven
Street, in the heart of the poorest tenement-house district. "I suppose
it is easy enough just to leave this stuff and come away," he thought;
"but I am sure to make some fool break." He knew there were lots of men
in college who "went in for that sort of thing"; but he had had no
experience of that kind himself, and Varnum was the only man he knew
well, who had. He had a vague idea that Varnum held prayer-meetings
among the poor, and preached as well as ministered, and he feared he
might be called upon to do something of the kind himself.
It was quite dark, so he heard only one or two requests to shoot the
dude, as he was passing lamp-lights, and to his infinite relief nothing
was thrown at Blathers. He had expected certainly to have a row on the
dog's account. In front of 62 Sloven Street he found a small boy smoking
a cigarette, and inquired from him whether Jimmy Haggerty lived within.
"Sure!" assented the youngster, removing the cigarette from his lips and
holding the lighted end for Blathers to smell. "Is you one o' de
Ha'vards?" "Ye-es," acknowledged Jack, doubtfully, feeling that he was
deceiving the little man; for he suspected that he was not exactly the
kind of "a Ha'vard" that was expected in those quarters.
"Well say, how did de game come out? I ain't seen de bulletin-boards."
Jack's heart leaped towards the boy at once; he discovered that there
was a bond of sympathy between them after all.
"I don't know," he answered; "I came away before the end. It was four to
nothing in our favor then."
"Chamesy Haggerty lives on de tird floor. I'll show ye up." Jack
followed his pilot up the dark, smelly stairs, answering questions all
the way as to the foot-ball game.
"A-ah, ye can't do notin' widout Jarvis," commented the youngster, upon
hearing of the half-back's injury.
"Dat's a nice lookin' purp yer got," he said, eyeing Blathers, as they
arrived at the third floor. "Guess he's a good 'un to fight, ain't he?
Le 'me take care of him for yer, while you're inside."
Jack did not accept this kind offer. His guide, pointing to a door,
said: "Well, dat's Chimmie's. I ain't goin' in, 'cause he's got scarlet
fever."
"The devil he has!" exclaimed Jack.
"Yare; leastways dat's what dey all say. Wait till I get down-stairs
'fore yer open de door." And with a vain whistle to Blathers he
disappeared down-stairs.
Rattleton knocked at the door indicated as "Chimmie's," and opened it in
response to a voice within. The small room was pretty well lighted by a
lamp, the first thing that Jack's eye fell on. It was Varnum's
student-lamp; Jack knew it at once from a caricature he had himself
drawn on the shade. A hard-faced, slovenly old woman was sitting near a
stove, and looked at him in surprise as he entered.
"Is this Mrs. Haggerty?" he asked.
"I am," she answered; "what do you want?"
"Mr. Varnum sent these things," replied Rattleton. "He couldn't come
himself because he has been hurt, and is in the hospital."
"Is that so? Sure, I'm sorry to hear that," said the woman with real
regret in her tone. "Mr. Varnum has been kind to us, I tell you. He's
helped me with my boy Jimmy here ever since he's been sick."
"Dat's too bad," complained a thin voice from the corner. On the other
side of the lamp was a bed, from under the dirty quilt of which
protruded a little pale face. "Ain't he coming to read to me? What's de
matter wid him?"
Jack explained, with an accompaniment of sympathetic "tut-tuts" from the
woman and more forcible expressions from the sick boy.
"I'm obliged to him for the things," said the former, as Rattleton
handed her his burden. She looked at the bottle with a puzzled and
half-frightened air.
"That's the first time ever Mr. Varnum give us anythin' like that. The
poor young feller must be dizzed, by the hurt of him. I'll hide that."
And to Rattleton's horror she shoved the bottle of Irroy under the
stove.
"Would you do me a bit of a favor, sir," she asked, "like Mr. Varnum
would do?"
"With pleasure,--that is if I can," answered Jack, cautiously, wondering
what she wanted, and with a dread that it might be in the nature of
religious services.
"I got to go out to see the doctor, and I'd take it friendly would you
sit wid th' boy, till I get back. I'll not be long."
"Why, yes, of course," said Rattleton, feeling how much worse it might
have been.
The woman took down her shawl, and throwing it over her head, drew out
the bottle she had just hidden, and tucked it under her arm out of
sight. "I'll ask the doctor whether this is good for the kid," she
muttered. "If Jamsey don't need it, I can sell it. I know some one else
it ain't good for."
Opening the door she first looked out cautiously, then hurried
down-stairs.
"Wonder what I ought to do now?" thought Rattleton. Blathers was over at
the bed making friends with the patient.
"Dis your dog? nice one, ain't he. Is you one o' de student fellers?"
Jack admitted that he was, knowing that the word "student" was used in
its generic, not its strict sense.
"You're a friend o' Mr. Varnum's, eh? He's nice, ain't he?"
Rattleton agreed emphatically that Varnum _was_ "nice."
"Yare," continued the boy, "he's a daisy. He comes in and reads to me
all de time. Mr. Talcot, he comes too sometimes; but he ain't as nice as
Mr. Varnum. Hullo, you been to de game?"
This last question was elicited by the sight of the little bit of
crimson ribbon stuck through Rattleton's buttonhole,--an _insignium_
brought from the seat of war. In cheerful compliance with the demand to
hear all about it, Jack sat down by the bed, and recounted, as well as
he could, all the details of the afternoon's battle. He described
Jarvis' splendid run, and how he had scored and at the same time broken
his collar-bone in his great plunge for Harvard and glory. As he told of
it he thought of Varnum lying alone in the hospital.
"Would you like me to read to you?" suggested Jack, when the foot-ball
subject had been exhausted.
"You bet," assented the patient. "I ain't heard no readin' all day.
Mudder can't read; and Sis ain't been here."
"Here's a book I brought," said Rattleton, picking up the
bright-pictured nursery rhymes. "I don't know whether it's interesting,"
he added, doubtfully.
For a little while he read the classics of _Mother Goose_ in his gentle
drawl, until the boy interrupted him.
"Say, what sort o' baby's stuff is dat, anyhow? I don't t'ink much o'
dat. I'd sooner hear _Dare-Devil Dick_ dan dat."
"I am inclined to agree with you," replied Rattleton. "Really, you see,
I hadn't read this for so long that I had forgotten just what it was
like. Let's have _Dare-Devil Dick_."
"I ain't got it now. I give it away. Mr. Varnum, he gi' me a book he
said was better, and I guess it is. It's got an A-1 scrapper in it, too,
dat could do Dare-Devil Dick wid one hand. He didn't kill so many
people, but I t'ink he was a better feller. 'Dere it is at de foot o' de
bed."
Rattleton took up the book indicated. It was _Westward Ho!_ He sat down
again by the bed, and opened the book at a place where there was a mark.
Then the two went out from the little squalid room, and sailed away over
the Spanish Main with tall Amyas Leigh and his good men of Devon. For
over half an hour the little invalid street-arab and the hare-brained
Harvardian were both wrapped in the spell of the apostle to the
Anglo-Saxon youths.
Before Rattleton had finished reading he heard the door open and close,
and a rustle of skirts. Looking up he saw, not the old woman, but a
rather gaudily-dressed young one. Jack thought he had seen her face
before somewhere. That was quite possible, I regret to say.
"Hullo, Sis," said the boy. "Me sister," he explained to Rattleton. The
young woman looked with surprise at the latter, as he rose to his feet.
Her eye glanced at his stick and his bull terrier, and all over his
clothes, from his shoes up; then narrowly scrutinized the face of the
thoroughly uncomfortable youth. Though the shyest of men, this was the
first time he had ever felt very bashful in such a presence. Then she
asked, disdainfully, "What's one o' your kind doing here?"
Jack colored to his hair. "I--I don't know exactly, myself," he
stammered. "You see I came to take the place of my friend who is ill,"
he explained, apologetically.
"I know you now," said the girl, her look softening a little. "You're
the sport that done up Dutch Jake for kickin' a kid one night in
Stuber's restaurant."
"I _have_ been in there occasionally," Jack confessed. He was going to
add "I am sorry to say," but remembered that might be rude. "I promised
Mrs.--er--Mrs. Haggerty, to sit here until she returned," he continued,
"but I suppose I am not needed now?"
"No, much obliged to you, I'll stay with Jimmy till she gets back."
Jack took up his hat and stick, but paused a moment awkwardly as he
turned to leave.
"Would you--er--would you mind," he said, hesitatingly,
"my--er--my--er--my _lending_ a little money--for the boy, you know?"
The girl laughed bitterly. "I guess we can stand it," she said. "If you
never spent your money worse than that, I'm mistaken. You can give us
the tin. We ain't proud."
"Thanks," murmured Jack, vaguely feeling that he was being helped out of
an awkward attempt. He pulled out the contents of his pocket, both bills
and change. "I dare say you _will_ spend it better than I."
Just as he was handing the money to the girl, there was a knock on the
door, and in answer to her heedless "come in" a man entered. It was a
classmate, named Talcot, whom Jack knew only by sight as one of Varnum's
"Y. M. C. A. pals." He stopped in astonishment, and then frowned, as he
recognized Rattleton, and saw him giving the money.
"Mr. Rattleton, I believe?"
Jack looked him in the eye, and nodded stiffly.
"Don't you think, sir," asked the worthy student, with an indignant
sneer, "that you had better confine yourself to your expensive clubs,
and to your regular haunts in town?"
Jack colored again, the shade of his little ribbon; but this time it was
not a blush. He bit his lip for a moment, and gripped his stick hard.
"I am afraid I had," he said very slowly, as he moved towards the door.
"But I will tell you one thing, Mr. Talcot," he added as he paused in
the doorway. "I am an awful fool, I know, but I am not mean enough to
think that every damn fool must be a damn rascal. I will give you an
opportunity later to apologize. Good-night, Jimmy. Come along,
Blathers," and he strode down-stairs.
"Pheugh," puffed Rattleton, as he got out in the grateful fresh air
again. "I got it in the neck twice in that round. Guess I'd better keep
out of that kind of a ring hereafter."
He went back to the hospital, and found that Varnum was asleep, and
resting comfortably. "Now, by Jove, Blathers, we'll have dinner!" he
exclaimed, joyfully, as he left the hospital. "I'm nearly dead," he
thought, "we'll go to the Victoria and have a bang-up din, and a bot--No
we won't, either," he suddenly concluded, as he thrust his hands into
his pockets, "we'll go to Billy Parks." He had a bill at Park's. There
was also a fair prospect of his walking out to Cambridge that night,
unless he met a friend; for he had forgotten to keep even a car-fare.
Holworthy always declared that Rattleton would forget his head some day,
and Jack now expressed a fear of that nature himself, when he discovered
the void in his pockets.
Annoyance never chummed long with Jack Rattleton, however, and it had
left him by the time he got to Park's restaurant. He looked over the
bill-of-fare with the delight of anticipation and expended a good deal
of careful thought in his selection.