A TRANSFORMATION.
The love of adventure that possesses the soul of most boys was not a
characteristic of John Worth. An adventurous life he had always led and
thought nothing of it; it was too commonplace to be remarkable to him.
This starting forth in search of knowledge, this seeking of the "dude"
and his ways in his own haunts, was an entirely different matter; it was
almost terrifying, and he was half inclined to turn back. To mix with
men who wore white "boiled" shirts habitually, who dressed and went down
to dinner, and who did all sorts of things strange to the frontier,
seemed to John a trying ordeal, and he dreaded it.
He had no definite plan, for he could not quite realize what lay before
him. A cowboy merely he would not be; he now felt that there was a
larger place that he could fill, and he knew that this could be reached
only through education.
A sound body and brain, enough money to last till spring, a good horse
to carry him, and a strong resolve to get somewhere were his
possessions.
For ten days he and Lightning wandered around from one settlement to
another, from town to town; he was enjoying his freedom to the utmost,
so much so in fact that none of the towns he passed through suited him.
Finally he woke up to the fact that he was avoiding a decision, and he
pulled himself up with a round turn.
"Here, John Worth," he said to himself, "you're afraid to begin; any of
those towns would have done."
He was in the open when he came to himself, riding along on a good
horse, dressed in a complete outfit of cowboy finery, fringed chaps,
good, broad-brimmed felt hat, heavy, well-fitting riding gloves, and
silver spurs, the envy of every man he met.
For the second time a storm helped to decide his destiny, for as he rode
along the sky became overcast and soon the snow began to fall heavily.
"Come, 'Lite,' let's get out of this," he said to his only companion;
and heading the pony toward the place where he knew ---- was located, he
urged him forward. Just before dark he reached ----, and after finding a
stable put up at a neat little hotel near by. Even if he had wished to
go on to some other place he could not now, for the storm developed into
a regular blizzard, which prevented man or beast from venturing outside
the town limits. John soon turned to the hotel keeper, a loquacious
individual who believed in his town and could sound its praises as well
as any real-estate boomer.
"Schools?" in answer to one of John's inquiries. "Schools? Why, we've
got one of the best schools in Montana; higher'n a high school! Schools
and churches--we're great on schools and churches."
He took his cue from John's questions; he could discourse just as
eloquently about the shady part of the town, its slums, its dives, and
dance halls; there was nothing in that town that should not be there and
everything that was desirable--at least that was the impression this
worthy strove to convey.
"Schools and churches," said John to himself. "That's what Mr. Baker
said I must hitch up to."
For several days the blizzard continued, so long in fact that John grew
restless and longed for something to do. He had about decided that he
did not like this town and thought he would move on as soon as the
weather permitted.
One day the landlord was declaiming earnestly on the merits of the town
and its institutions.
"Now, there's the academy," said he. "Now that academy is----"
"What's an academy?" interrupted John.
"Oh, that's a place where they teach you things."
"What kind of things?" persisted John.
"Reading and arithmetic and geography and--here's Gray, he'll tell you
all about it, he goes there. Henry, come here a minute," he shouted.
A young man in overalls, well sprinkled with ashes, and carrying a fire
shovel appeared.
The landlord introduced them and told Gray that John was looking for
information about the academy. Then he went off, leaving them together.
"Well," said Gray, a slight, dark-haired, bright-eyed, thoughtful
fellow, after some preliminary talk, "you begin with arithmetic; then
comes algebra, then geometry and trigonometry in mathematics; the
languages are Latin, Greek, French, and German."
The mere recital of these things was enough to scare John, who had
scarcely heard the names before. When Gray went on to enlarge on the
fine course of study the academy afforded, as a loyal student should,
his hearer was appalled by the amount of learning necessary even to
enter a school, and feared the ranch after all was the place for him.
[Illustration: THE DRIVE ... FORDING A STREAM. (_Page 315._)]
"Some of the fellows are good workers," Gray went on, "but some do
nothing but talk to the girls."
"Girls!" thought John. "So girls go to school with the boys here." This
boy, who had hardly seen a girl, was terrified at the idea of being
brought into such close association with them--he was quite sure now the
ranch was the place for him.
That night he made up his mind to go back to Mr. Baker and ask for his
old job, but the next morning was no better than the preceding ones.
For lack of something better to do, after much persuasion on Gray's
part, he went with him to the academy.
The things he saw there were as strange to him as they would be to an
Esquimau.
An old-fashioned school of one hundred and fifty students seated at rows
of desks, the boys on one side of the room, the girls on the other. The
principal sat at one end, surrounded by blackboards. Gray found a seat
for John at the back of the room, out of the range of curious eyes, and
he sat there and watched and listened--wonderingly.
The classes went up and recited one by one or demonstrated mathematical
problems on the blackboards. John heard with amazement youngsters answer
questions which he could not comprehend at all, and yet he noticed that
their faces were care-free and happy, as if they had never known what
trouble was. The faces he knew, young and old, bore distinctly the
traces of care and hardship. He was intensely interested and enjoyed the
whole session keenly.
When noon came, Gray approached, as he thought, to return to the hotel
with, him, but to his surprise he was marched up to the principal's desk
and introduced to Professor Marston. John was awe-stricken, but the
principal knew boys thoroughly, and soon put him at his ease.
"Will you come with us?" asked Mr. Marston after a while.
"I wanted to, but I guess not now." Somehow John's resolve seemed rather
foolish in the presence of this kindly faced man with the high forehead.
"Why? What is the trouble?"
"Oh, I changed my mind."
"What's your reason?" persisted the professor. "You don't look like a
fellow who changes his mind with every wind."
His manner was so kindly, his interest so evident, that John let go his
reserve and told of his ambitions and hopes and then of the futility, as
he thought, of a fellow at his age beginning at the very lowest rung of
the ladder when boys much younger than he were so far advanced. This
applied not only to actual schooling but to all the little things
wherein he saw he was different from these town-dwelling youngsters.
Mr. Marston was interested. He invited John to call and see him after
school. "I think we shall be able to talk our way out of this
difficulty," he said, as the boy bade him good-by.
At the appointed hour John appeared, eager to be convinced but
altogether dubious. Professor Marston received him cordially, and,
taking him into his private office, talked to him "like a Dutch uncle,"
as John assured Gray afterwards. He spoke to him out of his own wide
experience, told him of men who had worked themselves up to a high place
from small beginnings by determination and hard work. He showed John
that he believed he could do the same, and finally brought back the
confidence in himself which for a time had been banished.
"How did you come out?" called Gray as John burst into the hotel, his
face beaming, his eyes alight--confidence in every gesture.
"Bully!" exclaimed he. "I'm going to start right in."
"That's the way to talk," said his friend, delighted at his good
spirits.
"Professor Marston is going to help me, and I'm to get some one to
night-herd me; between the two I'm going to round up all those things
and put my brand on 'em. I mean," he hastened to explain, as he realized
that Gray might not be up on all the cow-punchers' phrases, "I hope to
put away in my mind some of the things that go to make up
book-learning."
Whereupon Gray volunteered to act as his night-herder, as John called
his tutor. The offer was gladly accepted, and the two went out to get
the school books which Mr. Marston had recommended.
John's first day was, as he expected, an ordeal. He was sensitive, and
it tried his soul to stand up with the primary class--he almost a
full-grown man. He heard the remarks spoken in an undertone that passed
from lip to lip when he stepped forward with the youngsters, and he
would have been glad to be able to get his hands on the whisperers and
bang their heads together; but he only shut his firm jaws together a
little tighter, clinched his hands, and drew his breath hard.
He did not even know the multiplication table, but under Gray's coaching
he picked it up very rapidly. Mr. Marston made everything as easy for
him as possible, and under the considerate aid of these two he made
great strides in his mental training. His application and capacity for
work was tremendous, and the amount he got through quite astonished his
teachers.
The jeers of his schoolmates, however, not always suppressed, drove him
more and more to himself. Gray, Professor Marston, and "Lite" were his
only companions. "Lite" was now living in clover; never in his short
life had he imagined such ease, so much provender, and so little work;
he was therefore fat and exceedingly lively, so that when John was
astride of him his master was able to show his schoolmates his absolute
superiority in one thing at least.
As he advanced in his studies and demonstrated his ability as a
horseman and a boxer (he soon had an opportunity to show that he knew
how to "put up his hands") the respect of his schoolmates increased--at
least that of the boys did--but it was only the kindly glances from one
girl's big soft eyes that saved the whole of girl-kind from complete
repudiation on his part.
John's first visit to a church was an event that he did not soon forget.
It was at Professor Marston's invitation. He came early, and as he told
Gray afterward: "The millionaire took me clear up front. My clothes were
stiff and my shoes squeaked, and I know everyone in the place was
looking my way." The music was strange to him; the only thing familiar
was "Old Hundred," and even that "had frills on it," he asserted. The
form of service was new and the good clothes of both men and women
oppressed him. The sermon, however, he could and did appreciate. A
sermon was the only part of a religious service he had ever listened to.
From time to time hardy missionaries visited the cow-camps and
sheep-ranches, and he had often been one of the congregation that, rough
though they were, and little as they appreciated what they heard,
listened respectfully to the good man's sermon. John had often on such
occasions, after the preacher had finished and gone away, mounted on
the wagon tongue and repreached the sermon, using his own words but the
same ideas. He was therefore able to appreciate and enjoy this sermon
preached in what seemed to him a most elaborate house of worship. This
was his first attendance at a "fancy church," and it was the last open
one for a long time. In the evening he was wont to steal in, in time to
hear the sermon, he excusing himself thus: "I can't do it all at once;
I'll have to learn their ways first."
The dinner at Professor Marston's which followed his first church-going
was a red-letter occasion of another kind. John's earnestness and
sincerity always made friends for him, and he speedily won the heart of
Mrs. Marston. She took great interest in the boy and gave him many hints
as to the ways of civilized life, so tactfully that he could feel only
gratitude.
He left her home full of content; he had discovered a new phase of
life--to him a heretofore closed book--the "home beautiful."
John Worth was a good student, a hard, conscientious worker, and with
the aid of his friend Gray and his instructor he made more and more
rapid progress. As spring advanced, he began to hear talk about
"vacation"--a word the meaning of which was strange to him.
When he found out what it was he wondered what new wrinkle would be
"sprung" on him next. But it was a serious thing to him; he could not
afford to stay in town and do nothing--he wanted to keep on with his
work.
Professor Marston called him into his office just before school closed,
and after learning of his difficulty suggested that he get a job during
the summer and come back to school in the fall, when he would give him
work that would pay his necessary expenses while he kept on with
studies. John's heart was filled with gratitude, but his benefactor
would not listen to his thanks, and bade him good-by and good luck.
The boy went away thinking he was indeed in luck. The only trouble was
to secure a job for the summer. This problem was speedily solved by
Gray, who proposed that they should try to join a party of tourists that
were to visit Yellowstone Park, and act as guides and guards. To their
great joy they were able to accomplish this, and soon after the
commencement festivities they rode out with the tourist outfit. John
always had pleasure in remembering one of the number, a fearless,
undaunted rider who won his admiration then, and still more later, when
he became Colonel Roosevelt of the "Rough Riders." John in his old
cowboy dress and mounted on Lightning was happy enough; as for the
horse, he fairly bubbled over with joy and gladness. He showed it in his
usual unconventional fashion by trying to throw John "into the middle of
next week," but his master understood him well and took all his pranks
good-naturedly, sitting in the saddle as if it was an every-day
occurrence and not worth bothering about.
The boy's leech-like riding attracted the attention of his employers at
once and especially one--a young Easterner named Sherman, who was a
college man.
The summer's experience was a very pleasant one; compared to the work
and hardship that John had formerly endured this was child's play.
On the long summer evenings young Sherman would often join John while he
was keeping his vigil over the saddle stock, and they would have long
talks, John telling of his experiences with Indians, cattle, and horses,
while Sherman in turn told of college life, its advantages and
pleasures, and the hard work connected with it.
Shortly before the time set for the return of the party, Sherman, who
had learned to respect and like John greatly, said: "Suppose you study
hard next fall and spring and prepare for college. If you can bone up
enough to pass the examinations I think I can get you a scholarship."
The proposition took John's breath away, but he was not the kind of a
boy to be "stumped," and when they separated he assured Sherman that
he'd do "some tall trying."
The party of tourists among whom John was soon broke up. Sherman went
East after exacting a promise from John to "carry out that deal."
John returned to ---- and to the academy, his path now marked out
clearly before him and a prize worth striving for at the end.