heard the sound of music, and between the buildings caught a glimpse of
the enchanted quadrangle, the last bright transformation scene before
the drop of the curtain. He wandered on and beneath a well-known window
looked up, perhaps from force of habit. Then he stopped, for, though the
open window was dark, he thought he saw a form in it. He went up-stairs
and knocked at the door. "Come in," said Jack Rattleton's voice. The
room was unlit, and Jack was sitting in the window-seat with his dog.
"Hello, old man," said Gray. "I haven't seen you since the Tree. Have
you been up here by yourself all the evening?"
"Well, you see," drawled Jack. "Blathers was up here all alone, and I
thought I'd sit with him a little while. I can amuse him better than I
can a girl, you know."
Gray walked over to him, and for a long time the two men of opposite
natures looked silently out of the window together. Below, they could
see the Japanese lanterns, the white dresses, and all the gay
throng--they _could_ see them, but they didn't. They saw, above the
elms, the belfry of Harvard Hall against the clear night sky. They saw
the familiar outlines of the dark roofs and spires. Over all, they saw
the tower of Memorial pointing to the stars. Up from the Yard floated,
distinctly, the measures of the Anthem.
"Thou then wert our Mother, the nurse of our souls
We were moulded to manhood by thee,
Till freighted with treasures, life friendships and hopes,
Thou didst launch us on Destiny's sea."
HOW RIVERS' LUCK TURNED.
I.
"Well, it does concern me, because I don't want any love-sick invalids
in that boat." Thus spake the practical William Bender, Esq., Captain of
the H. U. Crew. He had just come into Hollis Holworthy's room and sat
down for a few minutes' private conversation with that gentleman. By a
simple method of his, he had come to the point of the interview in the
opening question, "Look here, Hol, is Charlie Rivers in love?"
Holworthy, somewhat startled, had replied that his chum's affairs were
not his, and intimated that he could not see how they belonged to Bender
either. Hence the above remark.
"I don't want you to think," he continued, "that I am merely inquisitive
and impertinent; but you see I am responsible for the condition of the
men, and if anything of that sort is going on I ought to know it. Last
year I had one man in the boat who was engaged, and two who wanted to
be, and I never knew anything about it until after the race. Jim Lovell,
who had precious little money himself, was engaged, to a girl without a
cent, and all the spring he was thinking about the price of beef when he
ought to have been watching the man in front of him and improving his
recover. As for Randal and Bowers they had no right to be in the boat.
They were all out of condition, and I don't see now how we won. Even at
New London, just before the race, those two men were moping like a pair
of sick pointers. They were off their feed and so blue that they made
every body else so. I was scared to death, thought they were
over-trained, and laid them off several times though they needed all the
practice they could get. I let them fill themselves up with Bass, nearly
a pint a day. Nothing did any good, and I never knew what to make of it
until last summer when the engagements of both were announced. Bah! no
wonder the starboard side was weak."
"Well, I have heard you rowing men growl about almost everything,"
laughed Holworthy, "but this is a new complaint. So Dan Cupid played the
mischief with the Harvard crew, did he? I shouldn't think the little
winged god would make such a heavy passenger in the boat. Think how much
harder his victims must pull when their fair ladies' eyes are upon them.
Why, it is quite like wearing a silken scarf at a tournament."
"Wearing grandmother's ducks. That is just all they know about such
things, the chaps who write novels. No amount of ladies' eyes or wearing
apparel ever pulled Sir Launcelot through a mill, if he wasn't properly
trained for it."
"You have no poetry in your soul, you old monk; your heart is as hard as
your muscles," replied Hollis, smiling. "Wait until you get an arrow
yourself, and see what a spirit it will put in you. Why, you will
conquer anything."
"That is all nonsense," declared Bender. "Every man on that crew will
pull his best, anyway, don't you be afraid about that; but his best
won't amount to much if he spends all his time worrying about some pink
and white girl. I think I know the symptoms of the disease now, and what
is more I think Charlie Rivers has it. Thank goodness he sticks to his
beef yet, and seems to pull as strong an oar as ever; but there is
something wrong. He used to be the jolliest old cock in college, and
bright and quick as a steel trap. Now he hardly talks at all at the
training table, and when he does make a joke it is usually stupid.
You're his room-mate and best friend, and you must know what is up. Of
course I don't ask you to betray any confidence, and if he has been
spilling over to you, you are quite right in telling me that it is none
of my business. But if you have diagnosed his case for yourself, I wish
you would tell me frankly what you think about it."
"If Charlie is in love he has never told me so," Holworthy answered
rather evasively. "I do know, however, that he has had a great many
things to depress him. His father died last winter, you remember, and of
course that was enough to make him blue. Then he has very little money,
and is uncertain about getting any sort of a good job when he graduates,
and he is worrying over that. He will probably brace up after a while. I
hope you won't fire him off the crew, for it would break his heart."
"Well, you know, Holly, it would break mine too," said Bender. "Charlie
has always played in awfully hard luck, and he certainly deserves
another chance to win his oar, and a red one at that; but, of course, I
can't keep him in the boat out of personal friendship and admiration, if
he is not fit to row. I don't think there is any danger of that yet,
however. He is still the prettiest oar I have ever seen, and surely no
one could work more conscientiously."
"He is a great deal too conscientious. It would do him good to break
training once in a while," asserted Hollis. "You ought to let a man in
his condition smoke, anyway."
"I don't know about that," objected the Tory oarsman. "I hope you will
do your best to cheer him up, though; and, especially, if you find out
that any girl has got him on a string, talk him out of it and clear his
mind."
"Oh, thou untamed Hercules," replied Holworthy, laughing at this last
simple request. "I suppose you think you could snap such a string as you
can an oar. When Omphale ties you up in her yarn, you won't find it so
easy to break."
"Well, I hope old Rivers is not snarled up in any such tackle," said
Bender, as he rose to go. "After all, though, I believe I would rather
have him in the middle of the boat than any other man in the
University,--even if he were in love with twenty girls." And with this
acknowledgment in spite of such Mohammedan possibilities, Billy Bender
went off to the river.
As Bender had said, Charles Rivers had been "playing in hard luck."
Though a splendid oarsman he had never won a race. In his Freshman year
he had been taken out of his class crew to be a substitute for the
University eight. The next year he rowed No. 4 on the 'Varsity; but Yale
won. He filled the same place all through his Junior year, until a week
before the race, when he sprained his heel and had to sit in the
referee's launch and watch his comrades get their revenge on the Blue.
This year was his last, and he had begun training, even with the new
men, before Christmas.
Few people realize through what a man must go who tries for a university
crew. Even those who have been to the rowing colleges cannot fully
appreciate it unless they have themselves trained with the big crew, or
been closely associated with some man who has done so. True, it is only
to lead a very regular abstemious life, and to do a good deal of
healthful, though hard work. It may seem easy to do this for seven
months--perhaps it is so for those superior to the little vices that
make life pleasant for us weaker ones. But you, my friend, who like a
good dinner and a cigar, and the merry company of your fellow-men, you
try it,--particularly if you are living in the midst of men who are
enjoying their youth to its utmost. Leave them before ten o'clock and go
to bed just as Tom is preparing to make a Welsh rarebit, and Dick is
brewing a punch, and Harry has got out his banjo. Gaze day after day on
your favorite pipes that look beseechingly at you from the mantel-piece.
Run five miles every day, and row ten or fifteen while the coach and
coxswain take turns at telling you how utterly useless you are; then try
to study all the evening for an examination. Watch your friends starting
off without you on moonlight sleigh rides, and theatre sprees, and
yachting and coaching parties. Go to a dinner and refuse everything
indigestibly tempting that is put under your nose, look on the wine when
it is red and don't drink it, and smell the other men's cigars. For six
or seven months out of the nine of a college year he must do all this
who would be one of the 'Varsity Eight; and at the end of the seven
months he may be appointed substitute, or thrown off altogether for a
better man. No doubt it is quite wrong to consider such a proper mode of
life as a sacrifice; nevertheless it is a great one to most of the young
men who go through it, and particularly to such a one as Rivers. Yet
this sacrifice he had made all through his college course.
But hard as the training is to a man in the full flush of health and
spirits, it is ten times harder to one who is troubled and depressed.
When in such a condition the incessant and monotonous exercise is apt to
wear on his nerves, and make him more despondent. If used to tobacco he
wofully misses the great comforter. So poor Charlie found it, for in
this, his Senior year, one thing happened after another to grieve and
worry him. In the winter his father died, and Rivers keenly felt the
loss, for his father had been his best friend. Added to his natural
grief was a new feeling of responsibility, as though left to fight a
battle unsupported, his reserves having been destroyed. On his own
account he would not have been troubled by this, but a young sister had
been left to him--and very little else. He would have left college at
once, but it had been his father's earnest wish that he should take his
degree, and there was little chance of finding anything to do before
Commencement. So the little sister was quartered with an aunt, and
Rivers came back to Cambridge, and went to work again with the crew. The
training wore on him more than ever before. He did not miss the fun that
was going on around him, but, oh! how he did long for his pipe. He kept
grimly on, however, more with the determination of the man (trivial
though the object may seem) than with the former enthusiasm of the boy.
Holworthy used to do his best in the evenings to lighten his chum's
mood, and never smoked himself when the latter was with him.
Besides these troubles, Hollis strongly suspected that there was
another; he had not been altogether frank with Bender on the subject.
One day some one and her mother came on to Boston for a fortnight, and
Rivers at the same time became bluer and more restless than ever. He put
all his pipes out of sight, and would tramp up and down the room, or sit
and look into the fire for an hour at a time. Nevertheless he would go
into Boston nearly every day, and get back only just in time for crew
practice.
When some one and her mother came out to see Cambridge, a luncheon had
to be given in the room. There was the usual borrowing of furniture,
ruthless clearing up, and upsetting of all established disorder in the
room, all of which Holworthy suffered in silence. He watched his patient
narrowly all through lunch; but when they went out to see the lions, he
no longer had any doubt about the case. For Rivers took Mamma, leaving
Hollis to convoy the younger craft.
Before the two weeks were up, Rivers did a very foolish thing. He came
to the conclusion that, in any event, hell would be better than
purgatory. That was of course illogical, but a man in purgatory is not
logical. Furthermore when he makes up his mind to jump out of that
middle place, he shuts his eyes and always hopes, with or without
reason, that he will not go the wrong way. If he were in a comfortable
state and could reason at his ease, he might not delude himself with
unfounded hope. Charlie Rivers thought he had argued coolly with
himself. To the prospect of his responsibilities and narrow means, he
answered that he had strength, energy, and education, and that his
little sister needed more than money. To the cold reflection that he had
never been shown the slightest glimpse of anything more than the
dictates of natural gentleness and good manners, he replied that perhaps
it was not right for a girl to show more until a man told her that he
loved her. At any rate he would not trust his untutored perceptions to
tell whether she cared anything for him or not; the only way was to ask
her and find out. If he was afraid to do so he was a coward and did not
deserve her. Then he argued himself into the idea that it was his duty
to tell her squarely how he stood, and give her the opportunity to send
him away if she so pleased and put a stop to attentions that might be
irksome to her. This was all very silly and boyish. If he had known all
about such things, as of course do you and I who read and write about
them, he would have spent that Sunday, on which there was no rowing, in
his room, reading Thackeray, or gone out with Rattleton and Holworthy in
the former's dog-cart, as he was asked to do. Instead of either of these
safe and normal Sabbath amusements, he hurried away from his untasted
lunch at the training-table (making Bender's blood run cold by showing
that he was "off his feed"), spent an hour in dressing, and then went in
to Boston.
That afternoon as Holworthy and Jack Rattleton were driving through a
suburb of Boston, they saw walking ahead of them a big, familiar form,
towering beside another form of very different proportions. Rattleton
laid the whip over his horse and went by the couple at a pace that
precluded any sign of recognition. Holworthy was as much surprised as
pleased at this thoughtful act on Rattleton's part; and concluded that
he must in some way have guessed that things were serious with Rivers,
and no subject for teasing. Nor did Jack say a word about the pair of
pedestrians, or hint that he had recognized Rivers, which reticence
confirmed Holworthy's conclusion. On this drive Rattleton did not talk a
great deal about anything. He had been quite despondent lately and
unlike himself, probably on account of the uncertainty of his
Commencement, though the dreaded end of Senior year was still a good way
off by Jack's ordinary computation. On two evenings within that past
week had he been found in his room, "grinding" for that degree, when the
examinations were still two months away.
It was dark when they got back to Cambridge, and went up to Holworthy's
room to sit until dinner-time. There was a dark mass on the couch, and
when they lit the gas they saw Rivers. The young giant was lying on his
chest, his great arms over his head and his face in the cushions.
"The old boy is over-trained and tired," whispered Rattleton. "I had
better clear out and not waken him," and he left the room.
Had Jack recognized Rivers that afternoon or not? wondered Holworthy. He
hoped not. He turned the light out again, not knowing exactly why. Then,
after a moment's hesitation, he went up and laid his hand gently on the
shoulder of his prostrate room-mate. Let us not turn the gas up again on
those two. We will go down-stairs instead with Jack Rattleton.
As he closed the door gently after him Jack gave a little low whistle.
Then he went slowly down-stairs and into the Yard, followed by the dog,
Blathers. "Come along, pup," he said to his constant companion; "let's
go take a walk." He walked a long way and came back to his club table
rather late for dinner.
Holworthy was late, too. As they were smoking with their coffee, the
other men having gone, Rattleton asked if Rivers was not getting "stale"
from his training.
"I think so, decidedly," answered Hollis. "I have spoken to Bender about
it, but he is such a conservative old martinet that he won't break any
of the canons of training until he is satisfied that a man is going into
a rapid decline. I know a cigar once in a while would do Charlie more
good than harm, but I can't make the conscientious beggar steal a smoke
without permission from his tyrant. He is blue as indigo."
"Is he troubled about money matters?" asked Rattleton, hesitatingly
coming now to what he wanted to find out. "Didn't his father leave him
rather hard up? Excuse my asking, but I thought we might help him to
find something to do, don't you know."
"That is a great deal of the matter with him," answered Holworthy, glad
to see the tack on which Jack was steering. "You needn't apologize for
asking about it. I wish to thunder we could find him a job. He is
worrying all the time about what he is going to do after leaving
college."
That night Rattleton wrote a letter to his father, who was president of
a big corporation.
From this time on Rivers seemed to brace up in his mental, and
consequently in his physical condition. This apparent improvement,
however, did not deceive Holworthy, who saw that it was, in a way,
unhealthy. Rivers had kept at his rowing and training patiently and
doggedly before; but he now threw himself into it heart and soul as a
distraction. He dreamed of the coming race night and day. He tried his
best to seem cheerful and encourage the other men, and his plucky
efforts succeeded very well. Bender was delighted, declared there was
nothing like faithful training to keep a man in proper shape, body and
mind, unless he was fool enough to fall in love, and concluded that he
had suspected Rivers unjustly on that score.
The latter showed every now and then to his chum the intensity, almost
fierceness, that lay under this apparently happy enthusiasm. One day he
said that he must make a success of at least one thing before leaving
college, and if that race were lost he should feel as though he were
going to fail in everything he undertook all through life. Then Mentor
Holworthy opened on him with all his batteries. He told him that he
ought to be ashamed to make such a mere sport the test of his life; he
descanted hotly on the subject of the athletic fever, and laughed
scornfully at the fancied importance of such intercollegiate contests.
"I suppose," said he, "that Hancock and Adams and Emerson and Longfellow
and all the rest of them will sleep more peacefully in their graves if
we beat Yale, and if we get thrashed no doubt old Dr. Holmes will be
sorry he ever came to Cambridge, and will at once go down to New Haven
to take his entrance examination for the Freshman class there. Haven't
you grown up yet, that you look on these things as a school boy? These
overwrought struggles can do good in just one way, and you seem ready
now to throw away even that advantage. Every time a thoroughbred gets
licked it does him good. You have seen the men on our different teams
get up after a thrashing and go at it as hard as ever the next year; you
have yourself gone through a splendid school of defeat and
disappointment, yet now you talk about lying down for all your lifetime
if you lose a boat-race. It is true you cannot row against Yale again,
but there is a bigger victory than that to be won. Have you for the
first time lost all your heart after a failure? You of all men should
not need to be told that a prize is never lost until won. At any rate
lay up in reserve for yourself the consolation of having done your best.
Charley, Charley, if you throw up the sponge after one knockdown, you
are not the man I have always thought you."
Rivers listened to all this, with head bent. When Hollis stopped he
raised his face again and said: "I know what you mean, old man, and you
are right. I won't lie down like a cur. I'll pull it through to the
finish, anyway. But in the meantime I must do like a man whatever I have
taken up."
"Now you are talking like your old self," answered Hollis, "but don't
forget that doing your duty like a gentleman is not confined to rowing a
boat-race."
After this broadside Rivers went on with his rowing in a better spirit
than he had shown during that year. Before long he was immensely cheered
up also by the promise of a position with a good salary and chance of
advancement, that was to be ready for him right after the boat-race.
Jack Rattleton, through his father, had succeeded in getting this for
him. His absorbing devotion to his rowing fortunately did not prevent
him from getting his degree but he lost a _cum laude_ and had to "take
his A.B. straight," as Burleigh said, "without any green leaves or
nutmeg in it."
There was another piece of parchment made out for Commencement Day, that
was a surprise to every one. It was marked Johannes Rattleton.
II.
Class Day and Commencement were over, and every one was now bound for
New London to attend the post-Commencement carnival that, for the
undergraduate at least, really winds up the college year. The crew had
gone down to their quarters at Gale's Ferry two weeks before; there had
been no Class Day for them. The faithful flocked to the Thames' mouth in
squads and divisions, and by all sorts of methods, some in big yachts,
some in cat-boats, others on coaches, but most by train at special
rates, for the undergraduate is usually not rolling in wealth,
particularly at the end of June. The fresh graduate who has just paid
his Commencement bills is still less apt to do any coaching or yachting
except by invitation.
Dick Stoughton however had a small sloop, and he and his friends had
decided that the cruise would not "break" them, and at any rate that
they would make it whether it broke them or not. It would be cheaper to
live aboard, they argued very plausibly, than to get swindled by New
London hotel-keepers. They would refrain from betting on the race; then
if Yale won they would be no worse off financially, and if the Crimson
went to the front they would not spend twice their winnings on the spot,
as they would be sure to do if they bet. This was a highly praiseworthy
resolution, and of course the most sensible way of looking at the folly
of betting. Burleigh said it was easy enough to look at anything
sensibly. They would go, then, on Dick's sloop, and they would not bet a
cent. They went on the sloop. The party was made up of Stoughton,
Hudson, Randolph, Burleigh, and Gray. Holworthy did not go; he had taken
a room in New London at the Pequot House, and went there immediately
after Class Day, as he wanted to see all he could of Rivers at the
quarters. Strange to say, Jack Rattleton also refused all persuasion to
join his friends on the cruise. In vain did Ned Burleigh, with tears in
his eyes, assure him that it would be the last and most beautiful "toot"
of his college course. Jack advanced several good but utterly
insufficient and unnatural reasons for "shaking the gang." Ned exhorted
him more in sorrow than in anger.
"What has got into you lately?" he asked anxiously. "That sheepskin
seems to have ruined you. I actually believe you have reformed, or have
caught a premature aim in life, or some such fatal disease. You were a
great deal better fellow when you were Lazy Jack and didn't amount to a
row of pins; John Rattleton, Esq., A.B., is a bore. You strained
yourself badly for those letters, and are run down in consequence. Hang
it all, Jack, come along, it will do you good."
But Rattleton did not go along. He hung around Cambridge until the day
before the race, and then joined Hollis at the Pequot House. Capt.
Stoughton's craft had arrived safely, notwithstanding her crew, and was
anchored in the river with the rest of the fleet in front of the hotel,
when Rattleton got there.