HANSEL DECLARES FOR REFORM
Two days later Hansel Dana had officially become a student at
Beechcroft Academy, one of a colony of some one hundred and forty-odd
youths of from twelve to twenty years of age, about half of whom
lived in the two school dormitories and half in the village or in the
occasional white-painted and green-shuttered residences along the way
to it. (In Beechcroft parlance the former were called “Schoolers” and
the latter “Towners,” and there was always more or less rivalry between
them.) Hansel had passed his entrance examinations with a condition
in Latin which he must work off during the fall term, and he was very
well satisfied. Harry told him, in the words of Grover Cleveland, that
“it was a condition and not a theory which confronted him,” but Hansel
didn’t have any doubt as to his ability to work it off before the
Christmas recess.
He had also meanwhile passed another examination, and that without
conditions. The candidates for the school eleven, by which term the
first team was known, had assembled on the afternoon of the first day
of school, and never before, according to Mr. Ames, had there been so
many of them; and never, he had also added to himself, had they been
nearly so unpromising. Out of a possible one hundred and forty-odd
students, seventy-one, or practically one-half, had reported for
practice on the green. Of the number five had played on the last year’s
team, while many others had been on either the scrub or the class
elevens. Hansel, because of an examination in mathematics, had not been
able to reach the green until the first practice was almost half over.
He had reported to Bert Middleton, and had been ungraciously sent to
one of the awkward squads composed of the candidates from the entering
class. But he hadn’t stayed there very long. Mr. Ames, making the round
of the squads, had watched him for a moment and had thereupon sent
him into the second group, which was under the instruction of a big,
good-natured boy whom Hansel recognized as the Laurence Royle of whom
Harry Folsom had spoken. The first day’s practice consisted principally
of exercises designed to limber up stiff muscles, and proved most
uninteresting and disappointing to many of the new candidates. After
doing a quarter of a mile jog around the cinder track, the fellows
were sent up to the gymnasium, where their names and weights were
taken down by the manager. On the second afternoon the unpromising
candidates were weeded out, and definite teams--first, second, third,
and fourth--were formed; and Hansel found himself one of sixteen lucky
fellows constituting the first.
The coach was Mr. Ames, instructor in French and German. He had played
football and baseball during his college days at Harvard, and had,
in fact, been an all-round athlete. He was a young man, very popular
with the students and very successful in handling them, either on the
gridiron or in the classroom. During his five years as coach Beechcroft
had won three football games from Fairview School, her dearest enemy,
and had lost two; had been defeated three times in baseball, had tied
one game and won one; had been generally successful on the track, and
in the two years that hockey had been played had been twice defeated.
The physical training was looked after by Mr. Foote, the director
of the gymnasium. Undoubtedly Beechcroft could have done better in
athletics had she had a professional trainer and additional coaches,
but there was little revenue from athletics and almost no support from
graduates, and as a consequence what money was obtained for athletic
expenditure came from the students themselves and was insufficient
for anything more than the items of equipment, field maintenance,
and traveling expenses. Under the circumstances, it was felt that
Beechcroft did very well.
Mr. Ames believed that in Hansel the football team had a find of no
small importance. The boy evidently knew football from the ground up,
had weight, speed, and brains, and promised to develop into one of the
best men on the team. He confided his belief to Bert and Harry one
afternoon after practice was over, and even Bert was forced, seemingly
against his will, to agree with him. Harry was enthusiastic, possibly
because he had discerned Hansel’s abilities at their first meeting, and
so felt a sort of proprietary interest in him.
“He’s got end cinched,” declared the manager. “Cutter and Grant will
have to toss up to see which one of them goes to the scrub. I knew the
first moment I set eyes on the fellow that he could play the game.”
“Well, if he’s a find he’s the only one that I know about,” said Bert.
“There isn’t anyone else in sight who threatens to become famous.”
“That’s so,” agreed Mr. Ames. “The new men are a poor lot from the
football standpoint. But there’s some good track material in sight.”
“Hang your old track material,” laughed Bert. “What I’m looking for is
a few good heavy linemen.”
After the coach had taken himself off, Bert and Harry went up to the
latter’s room in Weeks.
“How are you and Achates getting on together?” asked Harry when he had
pushed Bert into an easy chair and thrown himself among the window
cushions.
“Oh, all right, I guess. I told you he had a grudge against me, didn’t
I, because he says I used to haze him when he was a youngster?”
“Yes, but of course you didn’t really do such a thing,” laughed Harry.
“You dry up! I dare say I did tease him a bit; he was such a milksop,
you see. But I think it’s mighty small of him to remember it all this
time!”
“Yes, I suppose so, but--oh, I don’t know; he seems sort of funny in
some ways, don’t you think?”
“Yes, he’s woozy, the silly dub! And I know all the time that he’s
sort of laughing at me up his sleeve because I told him not to be
disappointed if he didn’t make the team.”
“Did you tell him that?” laughed Harry.
“Yes; I didn’t want him to think he could get on just because he roomed
with the captain; you know lots of fellows would have thought that.”
“Ye-es, but I don’t think Dana’s that kind.”
“Maybe not; I know he isn’t, in fact. But I didn’t then. Gee but he
_can_ play!”
“You’d better believe it, Bert! I’ll bet he’ll turn out the best end in
years. Why, the chap can run like a gale of wind, and as for putting
his man out--” Words failed him. “Well, I’m glad you two are chummy; it
makes it better, eh?”
“We’re not exactly chummy,” answered Bert with a frown, “but we get on
all right. He attends to his affairs and I attend to mine; we don’t
have much to say to each other--yet.”
“Pshaw, don’t be nasty, Bert. He’ll be decent if you will, I bet. You
know you have a temper sometimes, and----”
“I don’t remember things a thousand years, do I?” asked the other
angrily. “Temper! Who wouldn’t have a temper when----”
“There, there, old chap! Don’t get waxy with me. If you do I’ll throw
you out of the window!”
Whereupon a scuffle ensued, and Bert’s ill temper passed.
Bert’s description of the existing relations between the occupants
of 22 Prince was a true one. He and Hansel “got on all right,” but
there wasn’t much chumming. Football seemed to be the only topic which
could induce conversation. Sometimes an hour passed in the evening
during which not a word was exchanged across the study table. Bert
would have been glad to let bygones be bygones, for he liked Hansel,
if only because of the latter’s ability to play football; Bert would
have found a warm corner in his heart for the sorriest specimen of
humanity imaginable had the latter been able to play the game well. But
he wasn’t one to make advances even had there been encouragement, which
there wasn’t. Hansel was always polite, always amiable, but, so far as
Bert could see, didn’t care a row of pins whether his roommate came or
went. Life at home wasn’t enlivening to Bert in those days, for he was
very dependent upon the society of others for happiness; solitude had
small attraction for him and silence still less. As a result he spent
most of his time, when study was not absolutely necessary, away from
his room.
On the second evening following the conversation recorded with Harry,
however, he was at home; study to-night was incumbent. He sat at one
side of the table and Hansel at the other. For the better part of an
hour each had been immersed in his books and not a word had been said.
Finally, Bert pushed his work away, stretched, yawned, and looked at
the little clock on the mantel. As the clock was never known to be
right, the resulting increase in knowledge wasn’t valuable. He knew
plaguy well it wasn’t twenty-six minutes to seven! Hansel raised his
head and glanced across at him.
“Going to knock off?” he asked politely.
“Yes, I guess so.” He pined for conversation and wished heartily that
the other would stop studying and talk. “What you worrying over?”
“Latin,” was the laconic reply, as Hansel’s head bent over the book
again.
“Find it hard?”
“Yes, I hate the foolish stuff.”
“Well, I never found it hard; but math has me floored.”
“That so?”
“Yes.”
Silence, during which the untruthful clock ticked loudly.
“How are you with math?”
“Fair, I guess; mathematics don’t bother me much.”
“Wish I could say that. Did you ever hear the yarn they tell on Billy
Cameron?”
“No, I don’t think so,” was the polite and uninterested response. But
Bert wasn’t to be silenced.
“Well, you know Billy’s about twenty or twenty-one. He went to Bursley
for about a hundred years before he came here. They got tired of trying
to teach him anything and so he left there and showed up here. At
least--well, that’s one reason. The other reason is that we needed a
good half back, and Billy was open to inducements.”
Hansel’s eyes came away from his book and he began to show signs of
interest.
“What sort of inducements?” he asked.
“Oh, the usual, you know; tuition paid by popular subscription and a
nice comfortable place as waiter in dining hall, where he doesn’t have
to do much and gets his meals free.”
“Oh,” said Hansel thoughtfully.
“It isn’t supposed to be known, of course, but I guess it is. I guess
folks don’t make the mistake of thinking Billy is here to improve his
mind. He’s a good chap, but his mind will never trouble him--that way!
And of course the only reason they let him stay at Bursley so long was
just because he was one of the best players on any school team and they
needed his assistance. Well, as I was saying, the story goes that some
one said to Billy one day--and, by the way, he’s been in the second
class ever since he came here, and that’s a year this fall--some one
said to him: ‘Say, Billy, how are you getting on with your studies?’
‘Oh,’ said Billy, ‘pretty fair.’ ‘That’s good. Find it easy going, do
you?’ ‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ says Billy. ‘The field’s pretty
rough in places.’”
“Hm,” said Hansel. He didn’t even smile, and Bert regarded him
disgustedly. Bert thought that a pretty funny yarn.
“Look here,” demanded the other after a moment of silence, “do you mean
to tell me that that fellow is here just to play football and that the
school is paying his expenses?”
“That’s about it,” answered Bert in surprise. “Why?”
“I don’t like it,” said Hansel decisively.
“Don’t like it? Well--well, what can you do? Why don’t you like it?”
Bert was genuinely astonished.
“I don’t like to think that that sort of thing is done at the school
I go to,” answered the other firmly. “When I found I was coming here
to Beechcroft I was proud of it. I had heard of the school all my life
and had always wanted to come here, but never expected to be able
to. Beechcroft has stood for me for everything that’s fine and high
and--and noble in school life, and now you tell me that it’s no better
than any of the little mean sneaky schools out West that give free
tuition and board to any chap who can kick a football or run around the
bases! That’s why I don’t like it, Bert.”
“Well, don’t you let the fellows hear you calling Beechcroft mean and
sneaky,” said Bert indignantly. “If you do you’ll get laid out.”
“Isn’t it?” asked Hansel quietly.
“No, it isn’t!” exploded Bert. “You needn’t judge Beechcroft by your
little two-by-twice schools out West. What if Cameron does get helped
along by the fellows? If we’re willing to do it it’s our affair. He’s a
_bona fide_ student at the academy, and no one can say he isn’t.”
“But I say it,” Hansel replied calmly.
Bert glared at him across the table as though on the point of
inflicting blows. But Hansel’s steady untroubled gaze deterred him, and
he contented himself with flinging himself out of his chair and seeking
the support of the mantel.
“Then you lie!” he retorted hotly.
“I don’t think I do,” was the answer. “You’re not looking at the thing
fairly and squarely, Bert. Here’s a fellow who hasn’t come here to
prepare himself for college, who isn’t paying his own tuition, and who
wouldn’t be here a day if he wasn’t a swell football player. And you
call him a ‘_bona fide_ student’!”
“Of course I do! He’s taking a regular course at the school and keeping
up with his studies----”
“How?”
“What?”
“I asked how?”
“Same as you and I, I suppose.”
“But you’ve said yourself that he couldn’t stay at Bursley, and anyone
knows that Beechcroft is three times as hard as Bursley. Who’s
coaching him?”
“What’s that got to do with it? Aren’t lots of the fellows coached?”
“Maybe; but who is coaching Cameron?”
“I don’t know; it’s none of my business. And it’s none of yours either,
Hansel.”
“Yes, it is. Cameron has no business here; at least, he has no business
playing on the school football team, and you know it.”
“Oh, don’t be a silly ass!” said Bert angrily. “You’re too blamed
particular. Why, great Scott! lots of the schools have fellows on their
football and baseball teams that aren’t any better than Cameron. Look
at Bursley!”
“Maybe lots of them do, but that isn’t any reason that we should.
Besides, I don’t believe many of them are like that. Bursley may be,
but how about Fairview?”
“She’d take Cameron in a minute if she could get him!”
“I don’t believe it, Bert.”
“You don’t have to. Maybe you know a lot more about it than I do!”
“Well, anyway, I think it’s a pretty poor piece of business. It isn’t
as though we couldn’t get a winning team out of a hundred and fifty
fellows, either; that makes it worse; we’re dishonest when there isn’t
the least excuse for it. You needn’t tell me we couldn’t win from
Fairview one year out of two without this Cameron fellow. Are there any
more like him here?”
“You find out! I’ve told you all I’m going to. You make me tired,
putting on airs as though Beechcroft wasn’t as good as any old school
out where you come from.”
“She’s better than some of them,” answered Hansel calmly, “but I don’t
know of a school out my way with half the reputation that Beechcroft
has that would do such a thing.”
“Rot!”
“It’s so, just the same.”
“Well, let me tell you one thing; if you go around talking the way you
have to-night you’ll get yourself mighty well disliked--and serve you
right! You needn’t think we’re going to take a lot of nonsense like
that from a fellow who comes from a little old village academy that no
one ever heard of!”
“What does Ames think of it?” asked Hansel irrelevantly.
“You’d better ask him.”
“I will. And I’ll tell you what else I’m going to do,” continued
Hansel, with a look in his steady brown eyes that Bert found
disquieting. “I’m going to do away with that sort of thing at
Beechcroft, if not this year, then next. Will you help me?”
“Me?” gasped Bert, thoroughly taken aback. “No, I won’t!”
“Well, I didn’t suppose you would, although as captain of the team you
ought to be the first one to do so. I’ll just have to go ahead without
you.”
Hansel drew his book toward him and seemed to consider the subject
closed. Bert regarded him a moment in silence. Somehow he felt worsted,
impotent, and in the wrong. And the feeling didn’t improve his temper.
“A fat lot you can do,” he growled wrathfully.
“You wait and see,” was the placid response.