A BOY WITHOUT A BIRTHDAY.
"It's no use, Glen," said the principal of the Brimfield High School,
kindly, but with real sorrow in his tone. "Your marks in everything
except history are so far below the average that I cannot, with justice
to the others, let you go on with the class any longer. So unless you
can catch up during the vacation, I shall be obliged to drop you into
the class below, and we'll go all over the same ground again next year.
I'm very sorry. It is a bad thing for a boy of your age to lose a whole
year; for this is one of the most important periods of your life. Still,
if you won't study, you can't keep up with those who will, that's
certain."
The boy to whom these words were spoken was a squarely built,
manly-looking chap, with brown curling hair, and big brown eyes. He was
supposed to be seventeen years old, but appeared younger. Now his cheeks
were flushed, and a hard, almost defiant, expression had settled on his
face.
"I know you are right, Mr. Meadows," he said, at length. "And you have
been very kind to me. It's no use, though. I just hate to study. I'd
rather work, and work hard at almost anything else, then I would know
what I was doing; but as for grinding away at stupid things like Latin
and geometry and trigonometry and natural philosophy, that can't ever be
of any earthly use to a fellow who doesn't intend to be either a
professor or an astronomer, I can't see the good of it at all."
"No, I don't suppose you can now," replied the principal, smiling, "but
you will find even those things of use some time, no matter what you may
become in after-life. I will try and talk with you again on this subject
before I go away; but now I must leave you. I hope for your sake,
though, that you will think better about studying, and not throw away
your chance to do so now, while it is comparatively easy. To win success
in life you must study some time, and if you had stood anywhere near as
high as Binney Gibbs I might have managed to offer you--"
"Excuse me, Mr. Meadows, but I must speak with you just a moment," here
interrupted a voice, and put an end to the conversation between the
principal and the boy who had allowed his distaste for study to bring
him into disgrace.
As he walked away from the school-house, carrying all his books with
him, for the term was ended and the long vacation had begun, the flush
of mortification, called to his cheeks by Mr. Meadows's remarks, still
reddened them. He felt the disgrace of his position keenly, though he
had told the other boys, and had tried to make himself believe, that he
did not care whether he passed the examinations or not. Now that he had
failed to pass, he found that he did care. What was it that Mr. Meadows
might have offered him? It couldn't be _that_, of course; but if it
should have been! Well, there was no use in crying over it now. Binney
Gibbs had been honored, and he was disgraced. It was bad enough to
realize that, without thinking of things to make it worse. He was
thankful when he reached home and had closed the front door behind him;
for it seemed as though everybody he met must know of his disgrace, and
be smiling scornfully at him.
He was a sensitive chap, was this Glen Eddy; for that was his name, and
he was the same one who, as a baby, was rescued by Luke Matherson from
the railroad wreck so many years ago. Most people called him Glen
Matherson, and on the school register his name was entered as Glen Eddy
Matherson; but, ever since his last birthday, when Luke had told him
that he was not his real father, and had fully explained their relations
to each other, the boy had thought of himself only as Glen Eddy.
The master mechanic of the Brimfield Mills, for such Luke Matherson now
was, had meant to keep the secret of the boy's life to himself, at least
for some years longer. Glen had, however, heard rumors of it, and had on
one occasion been taunted by an angry playmate with the sneer that he
was only a nobody who didn't belong to anybody, anyhow.
Glen had promptly forced this tormentor to acknowledge that he did not
know what he was talking about; but the taunt rankled all the same. A
few days afterwards, which happened to be the one that was kept as his
seventeenth birthday, he told his father of it, and asked what it meant.
Then Luke Matherson, greatly troubled, but seeing that the secret could
not be kept any longer from the boy, told him what he knew of his
history. He ended with, "It is fifteen years ago this very day, Glen,
that the terrible wreck took place; and, as you were then thought to be
about two years old, I have called this your birthday ever since."
The boy was amazed and bewildered. No idea that the one whom he had
always called "father" was not such in reality had ever entered his
head; but now that the truth was told him, it seemed strange that he had
not always known it instinctively. He had known that Mrs. Matherson was
not his own mother, for he was five years old when she assumed that
position, and of course he had always known that the two children were
not his own sisters, though he loved them as dearly as though they were.
But now to find out that he did not really belong to anybody was hard.
Who were his real parents? Were they alive? Could he find them? were
questions that now began to occupy the boy's mind most of the time.
One of the strangest things about this state of affairs was to discover
that his birthday was not his birthday after all. It seemed as though
some foundation on which he had rested in absolute trust of its security
had suddenly been swept from under him, and left him struggling in a
stormy sea of uncertainty.
The idea of a boy without a birthday! Who ever heard of such a thing?
How the other fellows would stare and smile if they knew it! Glen had
been so proud of his birthday, too, and it had been made so much of at
home. His favorite dishes were always prepared for the meals of that
day, his tastes were consulted in everything that was done, and his
father always made a point of giving him a more valuable present then
than even at Christmas. Why, on the last one, the very day on which the
boy first learned how unreal the whole thing was, his father--no, his
adopted father--had given him the dearest little silver watch that ever
was seen.
Many times since learning such a sad lesson in the uncertainties of
life, Glen had pulled this watch from his pocket, simply to assure
himself of its reality, and that it was not a make-believe like his
birthday.
But for his natural force of character and sweetness of disposition,
Glen would have been a spoiled boy; for Luke Matherson had never been
able, since the moment he first saw him lying helplessly on the floating
car seat, to cross him in anything, or deny him whatever he asked if it
lay in his power to grant it. With his own children Mr. Matherson was
rather strict; but with the orphan lad who had shared with him the
greatest peril of his life, he could not be.
Thus Glen had grown up to be somewhat impatient of restraint, and very
much inclined to have his own way. He was also a brave, generous boy,
and an acknowledged leader among his young companions. Was he not the
best swimmer, the fastest runner, the most daring climber, and expert
horseback-rider in Brimfield? Was he not captain of the baseball nine?
and did not all the fellows admire him except one or two, who were so
jealous of his popularity that they sought to detract from it?
One of those who were most envious of him was Binney Gibbs, son of the
wealthy owner of the Brimfield Mills. He was taller than Glen, but was
no match for him in anything that called for muscle or pluck. It was he
who had flung the taunt of Glen's being a nobody at the boy. Binney had
never been noted for his studious habits until both he and Glen entered
the High School at the same time. Then, realizing that he could not
excel at anything else, he determined to beat the other at his studies.
To this end he strained every nerve with such effect that he not only
outranked Glen in his own class, but, by working all through two long
vacations, gained a whole year on him. So now, while poor Glen was
threatened with being turned back from the second class, Binney Gibbs
had just graduated at the head of the first, and was ready to enter
college. And the worst of it all was that everybody believed him to be a
whole year younger than Glen, too.
To be sure, Binney was pale and thin, and no stronger than a cat. Why,
he couldn't even swim; but what of it? Had he not beaten the most
popular fellow in town away out of sight in this scholarship race? To
crown his triumph another thing had happened to make Binney Gibbs the
envy of all the boys in Brimfield, but particularly of Glen Eddy.
On that last day of school the diplomas had been awarded, and Binney's
had been handed to him the first of all. As he was about to return to
his seat, amid the loud applause of the spectators, Mr. Meadows asked
him to wait a minute. So Binney stood on the platform while the
principal told of a wonderful exploring expedition that was being fitted
out at that moment, to go across the plains through the almost unknown
territories of New Mexico and Arizona to California. It was to be the
most famous expedition of the kind ever sent into the far West; and, as
it was to be partly a government enterprise, all sorts of political
influence was being used to obtain positions in it. It was to be
commanded by a noted general, who was an old friend of Mr. Meadows.
"Now," said the principal, "the general writes that he will give a
position in this party to the boy who stands highest in my school this
year, or, if I cannot recommend him, or he does not choose to accept it,
to any other whom I may name." Here Mr. Meadows was interrupted by
prolonged applause.
When it had subsided, he continued. "There is no question as to which
pupil of the school ranks highest this year. He stands before you now,
with his well-earned diploma in his hand [applause], and it gives me
great pleasure to be able to offer to Master Binney Gibbs a position in
the exploring-party that will start from St. Louis two weeks from
to-day, under command of my friend General Lyle. I hope that he may be
induced to accept it, and that his parents may permit him to do so; for
I cannot imagine a more fascinating or profitable way of spending a year
at his time of life."