BURNING THE MIDNIGHT OIL
Final examinations were now impending, and the preparation for them
engaged our earnest attention night and day. The pressure upon Ray
Wendell was particularly severe; for, being a Senior, his examinations
took place during the first week in June. Ray, moreover, was determined
to obtain a high rank in his class, and one of the honorary orations
to which such a rank would entitle him. These orations were allowed
to the first ten men in the Senior class, and as they were delivered
on Commencement Day in the town hall before all the college faculty,
trustees, and assembled guests, they were coveted and striven for as
positions of marked distinction.
The valedictorian was selected by the faculty, and for the oration they
chose the best speaker among the first six men in the class. It was
this particular position that Ray desired; and in the estimation of
his fellow students, his securing it depended solely upon him winning
a place amongst the first six, for Ray was well known to be one of the
best speakers in his class.
The week after our return from Berkeley, therefore, was one of steady,
arduous work for Ray; and with the exception of the regular hours of
baseball practice and meal time, he was to be found in his room, bent
over his text books and lecture notes. And late at night, as I would
retire, I could see his windows over in Warburton Hall shining brightly
long after the rest of the building was darkened.
On one of these occasions I could not resist the temptation to run over
for a few moments and break in on his loneliness; so, slipping on my
coat, I crossed the quadrangle, and ascended to his room.
“Hullo, Harry,” he said, opening the door for me. “What are you doing
out of bed at this hour of the night?”
“Well, to tell the truth, Ray, I came over here to ask you the very
same question. I saw this one solitary light burning, and I was drawn
to it like a bug on a summer night.”
“Come in and sit down,” he answered heartily. “I was pegging away at
mathematics, and you know how I hate it. I was just wishing that some
one would stroll in and vary the monotony when I heard your step.”
“How are you making out with your preparation?” I asked, sitting down
on the sofa.
“Very well. I am losing no time――at it every minute, and I think I
will win my place. Mathematics is all that troubles me. You know they
examine us on the past two years’ work, and I find myself dreadfully
rusty in my Junior year studies.”
“I pity you heartily,” I answered, “and I know how you feel, for I am
looking forward already to my own examinations three weeks from now.
Why, that looks like a trigonometry,” I added, pointing to the book
that lay on the desk before him.
“It is,” he answered. “I am brushing up my Junior year work, and, as I
said, I find myself very rusty.”
“Well, I’m not,” I said, rising quickly, “for that is just what I am
studying now. Here, let us tackle it together. I can help you along
faster, for I have it all fresh in my mind. Besides, it will serve me
for preparation for my own examination.”
“Will you do that?” asked Ray.
“Why, certainly. I don’t want to waste your time talking. Let us put
our heads together, and I will help you finish up your Junior year
work.”
“All right, Harry, that’s a capital idea. Make up your mind to stay
here tonight, and we will do up the whole thing while we are at it.
Throw off your coat, and draw up your chair. Here is a pencil and some
paper.”
I joined him at the desk, and we were soon deep in our work. So
absorbed were we that we scarcely noticed the flight of time. It was
therefore with a start of surprise that I looked at the clock as we
finished our work.
“Well, who would have thought it!” I exclaimed. “I wouldn’t have
believed that I had been here more than two hours, and yet look at the
time. It is nearly four o’clock.”
I rose and went to the window. Off in the east, the first gray streaks
of dawn were appearing. Over our work we had sat the night nearly
through. Ray was leaning back wearily, his hands behind his head, his
eyes closed.
“See here, Ray,” I suddenly exclaimed, “have you been at your books
this late every night?”
He did not answer me. Approaching him and looking more closely into
his face, I discovered that he had fallen sound asleep, sitting
bolt upright in his chair. This, in itself, was answer enough to my
question. I shook him gently by the arm. He started and looked up.
“I said it was very late, Ray. Didn’t you hear me?”
“Why, no,” he answered. “I didn’t hear another thing after you closed
the book.”
“Ray, you must be careful,” I said. “Four o’clock is bad enough for one
night, but it doesn’t pay to repeat it, as I am sure you have. You will
make yourself sick, and then you won’t be any good, either for playing
baseball or speaking honorary orations――you notice I put playing
baseball first,” I added with a laugh.
“Oh, don’t you fear. I won’t get sick,” he answered. “I own I am
tired, for I have been keeping late hours――or _early_ hours you might
call them, for a week, but then I had to in order to get in shape for
examinations. All I need is some sleep and I will be as fresh as ever.
This is Friday night; after tomorrow these late hours will be over,
and then I can get plenty of rest.”
“Well, see that you do, for you evidently need it,” I said. “Come on
and get to sleep now without more delay.”
“Oh, by the way,” said Ray, as he rose and picked up a letter from the
floor. “Here is a matter that I was just going to speak about when you
suggested working together. It is a letter from Berkeley which Tony
Larcom handed to me this afternoon. He has been writing the Park men
about the date for the deciding game. Tony, according to my suggestion,
has urged as late a day as possible. They have examinations over there
almost the same time that we do, so they seemed to be quite agreeable
to a delay. There has been some little correspondence concerning the
matter, and this is their final letter, in which they agree to the date
suggested by Tony; that is, the 21st of June.”
“Why, that is the day before Commencement,” I said.
“Yes,” answered Ray, “and all the better on that account. It will mean
a large crowd of visitors and friends. This, of course, will swell the
receipts of the Baseball Association, and will give us a strong and
enthusiastic backing. There will be a great many graduates here to
rejoice with us if we win the championship.”
“It will be a great day, and we must not fail to do ourselves proud,” I
responded. “Tell me frankly, Ray, which would you rather do: win the
championship, or secure the valedictory oration?”
“Now don’t try to catch me that way,” laughed Ray. “I shall not express
any preference. I want _both_, and I intend to get both if possible.”
“All right, old fellow,” I answered as we retired. “I sincerely hope
you will.”