"I JUST HATE TO STUDY."
Mr. Meadows's remarks in regard to the famous exploring expedition,
about to be sent across the Western plains, were received with
tremendous applause, and Binney Gibbs at once became an object of envy
to every boy in the school--to say nothing of the girls. What a chance
to have offered one just for doing a little hard study! If the other
boys had known of it, how they, too, would have studied! Binney Gibbs
would have been obliged to work harder than he had for his position!
Yes, sir! ten times harder!--only think of it! Indians and buffalo and
bears, and the Rocky Mountains, and all the other enchanted marvels of
that far-away region. Why, just to contemplate it was better than
reading a dime novel!
While these thoughts were racing through the minds of his companions,
and while they were cheering and clapping their hands, the lucky boy
himself was talking with Mr. Meadows, and telling him how much he should
like to join that expedition, and how he hoped his father would let him
do so.
Mr. Gibbs left his seat in the audience and stepped up to the platform,
where he talked for a moment with Mr. Meadows. Then he spoke to Binney,
and then, as he faced the school, they saw that he had something to say
to them.
It was that he was proud of his son--proud of the honor shown to the
school and to Brimfield through him--and that he should certainly allow
Binney to accept the offered position.
So it was settled; and all the boys cheered again. To Glen Eddy it
seemed that he would be willing to forego all the other good things that
life held for him if he could only have the prospect of one such year of
adventure as was promised to Binney Gibbs. For the first time in his
life he was genuinely envious of another boy.
It was that same day, after everybody else had gone, that he had the
talk with Mr. Meadows, in which the latter told him he must go back a
whole year on account of not having studied; though, if he had, he might
have been offered--And then came the interruption. Glen was too
heart-sick and miserable to wait and ask what the offer might have been.
Besides, he thought he knew, and the thought only added to his distress
of mind, until it really seemed as though no boy could be much more
unhappy than he.
Mr. Matherson knew how the boy stood in school, for the principal had
thought it his duty to inform him; and that evening he and Glen had a
long and serious talk.
"It's no use, father; I just hate to study!" exclaimed Glen, using the
same words that had caused Mr. Meadows to look grave earlier in the day.
"I fancy we all hate a great many things that we have to do in this
life," replied the master mechanic, "and you have certainly had a
striking example to-day of the value of study."
"Yes, that's so," admitted Glen, reluctantly, "and if I had known that
there was anything of that kind to be gained, perhaps I might have tried
for it too."
"If I had been given your chance to study when I was young," continued
the other, "and had made the most of it, I would have a better position
to-day than the one I now hold. As it is, I have had to study mighty
hard, along with my work, to get even it. I tell you, my boy, the
chances come when you least expect them. The only thing to do is to
prepare for them, and be ready to seize them as they appear. If one
isn't prepared they'll slip right past him--and when once they have done
that, he can never catch them again."
"But aren't there working chances just as well as studying chances,
father?"
"Of course there are, and the study must always be followed by
work--hard work, too--but the first is a mighty big help to the other.
Now I will gladly do all that I can to help you on with your studies, if
you will study; but if you won't, you must go to work, for I can't
afford to support you in idleness, and I wouldn't if I could."
"Well, I'll tell you what, father," said Glen, who was more inclined to
take his own way than one proposed by somebody else, "if you can help me
to the getting of a job, I'll try the work this summer, and when it
comes time for school to open again, I'll decide whether it shall be
work or study."
"All right, my boy, I'll do what I can to get you a place in the mill or
in Deacon Brown's store, whichever you prefer."
Now that a definite kind of work was proposed, it did not seem so very
desirable after all, and Glen doubted if he should like either the mill
or the store. Still he did not say so, but asked for a day longer in
which to decide, which was readily granted him.
At about the same time that evening, Binney Gibbs was saying to his
father, with a self-satisfied air,
"Isn't it a good thing that I have stuck to my books as I have, and not
wasted my time playing ball, or swimming, or doing the things that Glen
Matherson and the other fellows seem to consider so important?"
"Well, yes," replied Mr. Gibbs, a little doubtfully, "I suppose it is.
At the same time, Binney, I do wish you were a little stronger. I'm
afraid you'll find roughing it pretty hard."
"Oh, yes, I suppose physical strength was the most important thing when
you were young, father; but nowadays its brain-work that tells,"
answered Binney, with a slight tone of contempt for his father's
old-fashioned ideas. Binney was not a bad-hearted fellow--only spoiled.
The next day Glen did not feel like meeting any of his young companions.
He wanted to think over the several problems that had been presented to
him. So he wandered down to the river, where a fine new railroad-bridge,
in the building of which he had been greatly interested, was now
receiving its finishing touches. As he walked out towards the centre of
the graceful structure, admiring, as he had a hundred times before, the
details of its construction, its evident strength and airy lightness, he
saw the engineer who had charge of the work standing, with a roll of
plans under his arm, talking with one of the foremen.
Glen had visited the bridge so often that the engineer knew him by
sight, and had even learned his name, though he had never spoken to him.
He was, however, especially fond of boys, and had been much pleased with
Glen's appearance. Several times he had been on the point of speaking to
him, but had been restrained by the diffidence a man is so apt to feel
in the presence of a stranger so much younger than himself. It is a fear
that he may do or say something to excite the undisguised mirth or
contempt that so often wait upon the ignorance of youth.
Without suspecting these feelings in him, Glen had been strangely
attracted towards the engineer, whose profession and position seemed to
him alike fascinating and desirable. He wished he could become
acquainted with him, but did not know how to set about it. He, too, was
diffident and fearful of appearing in an unfavorable light before the
other, who was evidently so much older and wiser than he. But he did
long to ask this engineer a great many questions.
Now he stood at a respectful distance and watched the young man, whose
name he knew to be Hobart, and, wondering whether his position had been
reached by study or work, wished he could think of some good excuse for
speaking to him.
The floor of the bridge on which they were standing was about
twenty-five feet above Brim River, the deep, swift stream that it
spanned. Glen had swum and fished in it, and boated on it, until he knew
its every current and slack-water pool. He knew it as well as he did the
road to the village, and was almost as much at home in the one as on the
other.
In order to consult a note-book that he drew from his pocket, Mr. Hobart
laid his roll of plans on a floor-beam, at his feet, for a moment. Just
then a little whirling gust of wind came along, and in an instant the
valuable plans were sailing through the air towards the sparkling
waters, that seemed to laugh at the prospect of bearing them away far
beyond human reach.
The engineer tried in vain to clutch them as they rolled off the
floor-beam, and uttered an exclamation of vexation as they eluded his
grasp.
As he looked around to see what could be done towards their recovery, a
boyish figure, without hat, jacket, or shoes, sprang past him, poised
for an instant on the end of the floor-beam, and then leaped into space.
Like a flash of light it shot downward, straight and rigid, with feet
held tightly together, and hands pressed close against the thighs. A
myriad of crystal-drops were flung high in the air and glittered in the
bright sunlight as Glen, striking the water with the impetus of a
twenty-five-foot fall, sank deep beneath its surface.