recollection better than description. The Pequot House is usually the
centre of ceremonies. Crowds of men are down from Cambridge, and there
are a few of the advance-guard from New Haven, although most of the Yale
men come next morning. Lectures and examinations are behind them, the
long vacation is ahead; it is the last spree of the year, the last
gathering of the four years for the Seniors,--and full justice is
usually done the occasion. Many a grad., too, runs away from his office
to the Connecticut town, or comes ashore there from his yacht, to renew
his youth on the eve of battle and to shout at the struggle on the
morrow.
Of course on that evening the party from Stoughton's boat were ashore,
and in the thick of it. Ned Burleigh was master of ceremonies, and
organized a band of "cheerful workers." Holworthy, however, kept out of
it. He was thinking of eight men up the river, five or six miles away
from all this roystering, and of one big man in particular, whose whole
soul, like his muscles, was strung up for the next day. He wondered
whether Rivers was getting any sleep, and the anxiety about his best
friend left him little heart to rollick with the others. He was
surprised to find Rattleton in much the same mood, for notwithstanding
the recent change in that young gentleman, it seemed hardly possible
that Jack could sulk in his tent at such a time as this. The two, with
the dog Blathers, walked out together on the piazza.
As they turned a corner of the veranda they saw sitting in the light of
a window two feminine figures, one of which Holworthy at once
recognized.
"By Jove!" he thought to himself; "has she come down to see that man
kill himself, or does she really want to see him win?" Then he growled
to Rattleton, "This is a nice place for a girl on this evening, isn't
it?"
Rattleton had stopped short. "Look here," he said, "you go warn those
Comanches, and keep them in bounds. I am going to talk to her."
"Why, do you know her?" queried Hollis a little surprised.
"Oh, yes,--slightly,--well enough to speak to. You go along."
Holworthy went to the back of the hotel, and Jack towards the two
ladies.
"Why, how do you do, Mr. Rattleton," said the younger one, as he came up
and bowed. "Let me present you to my aunt, Mrs. West."
"Are you staying in the hotel?" asked Jack after the opening
salutations. Just at this moment he heard, from the direction of the
billiard-room, the silvery voice of Mr. Edward Burleigh, leading the
cheerful workers in the strains of a hymn. He was greatly relieved when
Mrs. West answered, "No, we are staying in one of the cottages, and came
over here only for dinner. Ethel, my dear, I think we had better go back
now. You will walk over with us, Mr. Rattleton, will you not?"
"With pleasure," answered Rattleton, truthfully. "Do you mind my dog?"
On the contrary, they thought Blathers a lovely dog, and all four went
over to a quiet cottage at a little distance from the hotel. The veranda
looked out over the beautiful river and was most inviting. It was
apparently not so, however, to Mrs. West; for as she went up the steps,
she said: "I feel a little chilly, and am going in doors, Ethel. You may
stay out here for a little while, if you like." Ethel did like and went
over to a pair of chairs. As she passed through the light of an open
door, Jack caught sight of a bit of blue ribbon pinned on her dress. He
sat down opposite her, and opened the conversation, by remarking, "You
are on the other side of the fence, I see."
"Oh, yes," she answered. "Don't you know that I have a cousin on the
Yale crew? I am very proud of him."
"Oh, have you?" said Jack, with an inward groan. "I didn't know it.
Well, I never was a really clever, polite liar, but I am not such a
transparent one as to say that I hope he will win."
A little rippling laugh followed this confession. "No, you had better
not strain the truth to that extent. I will forgive you for sticking to
your colors and for being so frank about it."
"It is not only because I am a Harvard man that I want to see our crew
win," Jack went on with a sort of gulp, "it is also because the most
splendid man I ever knew, and one of my best friends, is in the boat. He
has been through an awful mill, and deserves to win if ever a man did."
"Indeed?" came the question, perfectly uninterestedly. "And who is
that?"
"A man named Rivers. Do you happen to know him?" Rattleton tried to see
in the moonlight whether or not there was any more color in her cheek;
but he couldn't. Besides, he had enough to do in looking after his own
face. He felt cold all over.
"Oh, yes, I know him quite well," she answered, quite carelessly. "Nice
fellow."
"He is more than that, he is a hero," declared Jack. "You can hardly
form any idea of what that chap has been through this year, and the way
he has borne it all is splendid. He has had all sorts of troubles; his
governor died; he was blue about his exchequer; and last, and worst of
all,"--Jack was glad the moonlight was kind to him also, but looked at
his boots, nevertheless,--"I am perfectly certain that he fell in love
with some girl and got a facer."
"A what?" exclaimed his listener.
"I beg your pardon--a staggering blow in the face, metaphorical, of
course. I have got so in the habit of using slang, that I fear I am not
fit to talk to a lady. I beg you will forgive me for bringing such
prize-ring language to your ears."
"It is very expressive, at least," she said. "And did Mr. Rivers tell
you that he had received a facer?"
"No, no, no," protested Jack, "of course not. I don't _know_ it, I only
suspected it from his actions and condition. I don't even know, of
course, who the girl is. But whoever she may be, she is making a big
mistake. She is throwing away the most magnificent fellow in the world.
If she does not amount to anything," he went on slowly, "I am glad she
doesn't take him, for Charley ought not to be wasted on her. But if she
is the most beautiful, gentle, sweet woman who ever lived, then, by
Jove, such a pair ought to be married. And I am sure she must be just
that, or else, you know, Rivers would not have fallen in love with her.
Don't you think so?"
Rattleton's hair was rigid at his boldness and impertinence, but his
hair had nothing to do with his speaking apparatus. His heart was taking
charge of that, moving it very slowly and just a little hoarsely.
"Why, what devout hero worship!" said the girl with a smile. "No, I
don't think anything of the kind. He might have fallen in love with some
one entirely unworthy of him, or, what is more, who did not care for
him. No matter how perfect she might be, you would not have her marry if
she did not love him, would you?"
"No--o," assented Jack, reluctantly, "but she ought to love him."
"He must, indeed, be all that you paint him, then," she laughed, "but
love does not necessarily take to paragons, you know. Why do you admire
him so very much?"
"Because I have known him like a brother for four years," answered Jack,
earnestly. "Oh, if you knew him as well as I do, you would----you
wouldn't think I was exaggerating."
"What made you think him so desperately in love?"
"Oh, I don't know. I think it is unmistakable," was Jack's weak reply.
"Only those can tell who have themselves been in that condition--they
say," came the laughing response.
Jack's finger-nails went into his palms. "No, no," he stammered, "no,--I
can tell. Oh, you ought to have seen him," he went on, desperately. "The
way he went to work at that rowing after it all, showed his sand. If
they lose to-morrow, I believe his plucky old heart will break right in
two."
"And is his 'sand,' as you call it, restricted to rowing a boat-race?"
"No, I didn't mean to imply that. He will go on working to win that girl
in every way he can, I am sure. I only meant that his conduct about his
training, in such a hard time, shows what stuff he has in him."
"Do you think, then, that winning a boat-race is the best way to win a
wife? Might not Mr. Rivers find some higher field for his qualities? Is
it not a little childish to make an athletic contest the aim of a man's
life? Do you think the only pluck worth admiring is that which goes with
muscle?"
Jack had heard endless discussions on this subject, and was ready for
these questions, "No," he said in answer to the last one, "I don't think
anything of the kind. Please don't imagine that at Harvard we are
nothing but gladiator worshippers. We admire a plucky athlete, it is
true, but not because he is strong or successful, only because of his
grit and self-denial. Of course we want him to put the Crimson ahead,
but we like him none the less if he fails, provided he has done his best
and done it like a gentleman. We admire the same qualities just as much
when we see them in any other field than that of athletics, but I
suppose we don't recognize them so easily. But in that our little world
is not so different from the big one. Now I am going to ask you some
questions. Has any man during the last seventy years been elected
President of these United States for his greatness, unless he was a
soldier? Has not the general been preferred time and again to the
statesman? Has not the warrior always been dear to the heart of the
people, while other men, who have hammered away all their lives with
longer-winded pluck and perseverance, must content themselves with
secondary honor? The reason of this must be that when a man does his
duty on the battle-field, his merit is more patent to the people than in
the harder and less showy struggle of civil life. Are we youngsters,
then, so very much younger than the old and wise ones who criticise us?
Why, you yourself just now said that you were proud of your cousin
because he was on the Yale crew."
"Oh, no, I didn't say that," laughed the girl; "I only said that he was
on the Yale crew and I was very proud of him. Why, Mr. Rattleton, what a
sharp pleader you are! I had no idea that your talents lay in that
direction."
"By Jove! neither had I," exclaimed the ingenuous Jack, really wondering
and somewhat abashed at his unaccustomed volubility. "I am only trying,
you know, to repeat what I have heard other fellows say," he confessed,
apologetically. "I suppose I have got it all mixed up and am talking
like a fool, but please make allowances for me, because I am one, you
know."
"No you are not at all," she said slowly, to Jack's great relief. "But
don't you think that you rather belittle yourself and your fellows by
being too humble, and comparing yourselves with people who have not had
your advantages? Ought not educated men, men of the same school that has
produced our greatest thinkers and workers, ought they not to discern
between the showy and the solid? Should the manliness of the athlete be
any more patent to them than the higher courage of the student?"
"I suppose not," admitted Jack, resignedly. "That is just what Holworthy
always says. I tell him he is a prig, but of course he is right, and so
are you. But nevertheless, childish or not, I cannot help admiring such
a man as Charlie Rivers for the qualities he has shown. He has been so
strong and patient and loyal,--oh! such a _man_. No, even if it is all
wasted as you say, you can never convince me that I ought not to love
him for it."
There was silence for a moment, and then came the admission very softly.
"No, I don't think I can." Jack's finger-nails went into his palms
again.
A moment later she arose and said: "Really I ought not to keep my aunt
up any longer. I must say good-night, Mr. Rattleton."
Jack jumped to his feet. "I beg your pardon for staying so late," he
said. "The time has gone fast. And--er--by-the-way," he continued, a
little awkwardly. "I have done wrong in talking so much about Rivers'
trouble. Of course, I really know nothing about it, and it is none of my
affair, you know, anyway. Please don't think that I am in the habit of
gossiping about other men in this way. I got rather carried away
to-night, I am afraid. I beg you won't say anything about it to any
one."
"I never make conversation out of such things, Mr. Rattleton," she
answered. "You may depend that I shall not repeat it to a soul. And now
good-night."
She looked into his eyes with a radiant smile, and held out her hand.
Jack took it as if he were afraid of breaking the little thing, and then
dropped it quickly. "Good-night," he said, shortly, and went down the
steps and over the lawn, followed by Mr. Blathers.
She stood for a moment and watched him putting great stretches of
moonlit grass behind his long thin legs, the little dark figure trotting
beside him. Then she went in, threw her arms around her aunt's neck, and
kissed her.
"Has Mr. Rattleton gone?" asked Mrs. West. "He seems like a nice
fellow."
"Yes, and he is one. When I first met him, I thought him easy enough to
understand, and like every other boy; but I can't quite make him out
now. At any rate he is a species new to me and an interesting one"; and
she ran up-stairs to her room, singing.
Jack Rattleton strode along the river bank and out to the end of the
Pequot pier. He stood there for a minute, looking over the river and
Sound, then sat down on a bench. That enchantress, the moon, was aided
in her fairy work by the riding lights of the dark fleet of yachts at
anchor, and by the colored sailing lights of the becalmed late comers
drifting in from the Sound. But the lights only hurt his eyes. He had
sat there some time when he heard his name spoken.
"Beautiful, isn't it," said Holworthy, behind him.
"Got a weed?" asked Jack.
"Yes."
"Give it to me." He bit off the end of the cigar nervously, and lit it
with thick puffs. "Gad!" he muttered, "I'm glad I'm not training for the
crew. How did he ever stand it! But Charlie Rivers is a very different
breed of cats from me."
Holworthy looked on a moment in silence, and tried to pull an idea out
of his moustache.
"What is the matter with you, Jack?" he asked, gently.
"Nothing--only that I am such a poor sort of a thing. No ambition, no
backbone, no sand. Just a worthless, dissipated loafer. Let's go lush up
with the rest of the crowd,--that is all I'm good for."
"Don't talk like a fool," replied Hollis, by way of comfort.
"A disgrace to the University. Haven't you always told me the same
thing?" asked Jack, with a ghastly grin.
"That is no reason why you should think so yourself and get so blue
about it. I never thought you would ever take it to heart so. You know I
never meant half that I said. I used to lay it on thick in hopes that a
little would soak in."
"I wish it had all soaked in long ago," answered Jack, ruefully. "Don't
take any of it back, old man; you haven't soured me. Come along, let's
go back to the old gang. You are all a very bad lot and don't properly
appreciate my faults; even you, you old prig. Come along, Blathers."
He tucked his arm through Holworthy's and they went back to the hotel,
Hollis musing much.
Meanwhile, in the billiard-room the good work was going on to Ned
Burleigh's deepest gratification. He himself, mounted on the pool-table,
was beating time with a broken cue for a choir of sweet singers. They
had cheered each member of the crew and the coxswain, declaring in the
time-honored measures that each was a jolly good fellow, and intimating
the mendacity of any one who might deny the fact. Grateful for his
degree, and being in a broad and liberal frame of mind, Burleigh had
also proposed each member of the Faculty of Harvard College for similar
honors, prefacing each nomination with a few well-chosen remarks.
"And now, dearly beloved brethren," said he, "omitting the next
fifty-three stanzas, let us all unite in singing the one hundred and
forty-fifth; and as I look upon your happy, up-turned faces, I cannot
help being touched by the spirit of those beautiful lines. All sing!"
The earnest chorus roared, with cheerful zeal, the one hundred and
forty-fifth verse, as exhorted.
"What ho!" shouted the Lord of Misrule, "What is yon tall form i' the
doorway. Is it the melancholy Jacques, forsooth? Or is it our long-lost
wandering Brother Rattleton returning to the fold? Pull off his coat,
somebody, and look for strawberry-marks. Joy, joy, mark his old time
smile! Throw him up here. Once more now, all sing, 'For he's a jolly
good fellow!'"
III.
The day was beautiful and the water perfect, a most unusual combination
for the 'Varsity race day. All the steam yachts had gone up the river,
and most of the others towed up also and anchored along the course near
the finish. It would be waste of time to try to describe the picture of
the great annual event of oardom, a picture that is done every year in
the sumptuous paints of the press, with the sky and the river and the
yachts and the crowds, and above all the two colors everywhere. It is
painted every year, but no one can appreciate it who has not seen the
original. It is not for this spectacle, however, that all these
tremendous crowds gather; it is to see two long thin yellow streaks,
each surmounted by nine bodies, eight of which swing back and forth in a
most monotonous, uninteresting manner. That is all that the race looks
like to most of the spectators--then why do they go to see it? Because
they know that those sixteen men are going through about the hardest
physical strain that men can bear. To the layman there is in tennis and
base-ball four times the skill and pretty playing that there is in
foot-ball, and in rowing there is none at all. Yet a tennis match
excites the least interest of all college sports, base-ball comes next
in the rising scale, and both of these combined do not rouse a quarter
of the enthusiasm provoked by a foot-ball game. But at the head and
front of all athletic contests is rowing--because it hurts the most.
Foot-ball, it is true, requires a dashing courage and disregard of
breaks and bruises (though "dashing courage" and all that sort of thing
never occurs to the struggling youngsters), but there is always the
great relief of frequent short rests during the game; in a four-mile
boat-race there is no let-up. The half-back makes his rush and plunge,
is slammed on the hard ground and buried under hard muscle, is picked
up, rubbed a little, and with the cheers of the crowd in his ears again
goes at the line, head first, as hard as ever. But for the oarsman there
is only the incessant pull, pull, pull, with the bees in his brain and
the growing hole in his stomach, the aching legs and leaden arms, and
before him, growing dimmer and dimmer, the bare back that will never
stop rising and falling, and that he must follow, it seems, to death.
Oh! it does hurt, and that is why the great crowd goes to see it and
goes wild. Yes, fair and gentle one, that is just why even you go to the
Thames as your predecessor went to the Colosseum. There is this vast
difference, however, between you and Octavia--the Roman Vestal looked at
hired gladiators, and prisoners who were forced to hurt each other,
whereas you go to see Tom, and Jack, and dear Mary's brother Mr. Brown,
hurt themselves; and, God bless you, I hope you always will. So long as
you do, this republic will never fail from the effeminacy of its young
men.
The "gang" had got seats in the same car on the observation-train and
were waiting for it to start.
"What were you doing with that Yale man just now?" Hudson demanded of
Randolph, as the latter joined the group on the platform.
"That was an old schoolmate of mine," answered Randolph, evasively.
"Oh, yes; and I suppose you were talking over your happy childhood days,
with a bunch of bills in your fist. Fie! Johnny, you have been betting."
"You needn't put on airs. You were the first backslider of the lot,"
answered Randolph.
"I haven't put up a cent," protested Hudson.
"No, because you met a man who knew you and bet on tick. I heard you."
"A man who _didn't_ know him, you mean," corrected Burleigh. "You are
all a set of weak, reprehensible young men. I am ashamed of you. I
depend upon you, at least, Hollis, my son, not to indulge in this wicked
vice of betting."
"Yes," laughed Holworthy, "there must be some one left to float you
home, if we lose."
"Now you mention it," Ned suggested, "perhaps you had better lend me an
X now, in case we should get separated after the race. I want to prevent
the spread of this athletic fever and the evils that follow in its
train. I am afraid my governor may become too enthusiastic. If I go home
to him again C. O. D. he will begin to take a real interest in seeing
Harvard win, and I fear even a pecuniary one."
"This betting is indeed a deplorable evil," said Stoughton, solemnly,
"in off years. Listen to me, my children. Two years ago I, even I, who
now stand before you, was a reckless, ungodly Sophomore. I went----"
Just then the whistle blew, and Stoughton jumped for the car to get a
front seat before the rest of the crowd. The long observation-train, a
peculiar feature of the New London race, moved slowly out from the
station on its way to the starting-point, four miles up the river. Then
the cheering began, one car taking it up after another, the sharp quick
cheers of the Yale men mingling with the slower full-mouthed
three-times-three of Harvard. Every one is always in great spirits
before the race begins,--it is different afterwards. They chaffed each
other, and shouted, and laughed, and the enthusiastic choruses of
"Here's to good old Yale, drink her down," were answered with the
stirring, swelling cadences of "Fair Harvard."
When they got to the starting-point, of course the crews were not yet
there. Across the river, however, at Red Top, the H. U. B. C. quarters,
tall forms were seen entering the boat-house.
"Oh, how I wish I were like those chaps," sighed little Gray, who was
already beginning to tremble with excitement. "What wouldn't I give to
be able to pull an oar to-day."
"I have thought of it myself," said Burleigh; "but they wouldn't build
the boat to suit my figure."
"The only thing I could do for the glory of Harvard was to try for
coxswain," went on Gray, ruefully, "and they wouldn't have me."
"Was that the best you could do for Alma Mater?" said Holworthy. "What a
pity you couldn't succeed in putting such laurels on her brow!"
"There, Gray, take that," chuckled Stoughton; "that is the time Pegasus
fell down and got his neck stepped on."
"Aren't you ashamed of yourself, you hot-headed little poet," put in
Hudson, gravely. "How can you speak so thoughtlessly, even when sitting
right beside Holworthy, the Superb? Can you, a member of the Oldest and
Greatest take such a childish interest in a paltry boat-race?"
"You are forgetting all about the atmosphere, and the traditions, and
all that sort of game," added Randolph. "What difference does it make to
us whether we win or lose? Remember the true glories and blessings of
our ancient University."
"For instance," drawled Rattleton, "whether we want to celebrate or
console ourselves, we have all the royal crimson juices with which to do
it, whereas those poor Elis can't find a blue drink to save their
souls."
"Jove! I never thought of that. Glad I didn't go to Yale, aren't you,
Gray?" exclaimed Stoughton.
"I don't believe the color of their booze troubles them much, as long as
we pay for it," reasoned Burleigh. "Still, that is the proper spirit and
the right way to look at these comparative collegiate advantages. Isn't
it, Gray?"
"If you chaps think you can get a rise out of me," answered Gray to all
this, "you are mistaken; but for your own sakes you had better not try
to be so funny in public. As for you, Hol, there is no use at all in
your trying to play the lofty indifferent. You are as much excited as
any man; you look as if you were going to row the whole thing yourself.
I have been watching you biting your knuckles and clenching your fist
and staring over at----"