THE MOTIVE
Before proceeding to narrate the complications which beset Roy Henning's
path during his last year at St. Cuthbert's, and the many curious
cross-purposes of which he may be said to have been the victim, we shall
endeavor to give some idea of the motive which actuated him in retiring
from the arena of college sports.
It must be remembered that Roy Henning, in the previous year, was a fast
friend of Claude Winters, Hunter, Selby, Clavering, and Stapleton. The
companionship of these boys had helped as much to form his character as
had the careful work of the professors. Under his friends' influence he
had gradually lost much of his bashfulness. By the time that Winters and
his other friends had graduated, he could conduct himself with an amount
of ease and composure. He no longer blushed and squirmed immoderately,
like a small boy, when addressed by a stranger or by one in authority.
He could now speak to a Father or even the President without wishing to
fall through the floor. Roy was much improved, yet the influence which
his companions of the previous year had exercised over him had taken a
somewhat peculiar turn.
As far as he knew, not one of his last year's friends, now graduated and
gone, had any aspirations to study for the sacred ministry of the
priesthood. Their joyous piety, nevertheless, and their cheerful
goodness had been the means, entirely unknown to themselves, of making
Henning entertain a profound veneration for the ecclesiastical state.
From often contemplating how eminently suited, both in talents and in
virtue, were many of his companions for this state, Roy had passed
from admiring them to the thought of the feasibility of embracing that
state himself. The more he thought of this, and the more frequently he
examined himself, the more enamored of the lofty idea he became; so
that at the expiration of the previous year's term he had fully made
up his mind to enter the priesthood should he secure the sanction of
his spiritual director.
Before he left college for vacation he had a long interview with the
white-haired, holy old chaplain, from which he received great
encouragement, but was told to keep his intention a secret from all
save his parents. He took the admonition literally and obeyed it
exactly, so that he left St. Cuthbert's in the previous June without
his most intimate acquaintances so much as dreaming that he
entertained such exalted ambitions and aspirations to a dignity than
which there is none greater on earth.
It was not remarkable that his companions should never imagine such
things of him. Was he not the recognized leader of all sports and
games? Who had a merrier shout? No one's laugh rang more musically
across the playground. How should boys--mere boys, after all--imagine
that graver thoughts and sublimer ambitions were coexistent with merry
pranks, resounding cheers, or harmless escapades. Well, boys, college
boys even, are gifted with only a limited prescience, and none
suspected the great plan of life which was now continually in Roy's
mind.
He did not broach the subject to his father until the vacation months
were drawing to a close, and it was time to think about returning to
St. Cuthbert's. The Hennings spent the summer months in the lake
region. One beautiful calm, warm evening in August, Mr. Henning was
sitting on the broad veranda of his cottage, watching in quiet content
the silver pathway which the full moon made across the water, and
marveling how the light made the sails of the yachts appear now black,
now silver as the vessels tacked about. Roy, who for several days had
been watching his opportunity to have a private talk with his father,
saw that it had now come. He took a seat near his father.
"Where are Mama and the children, Roy?"
"They are down on the beach, Father, throwing sticks into the lake for
Fido to swim after. The dog is almost crazy with the delight of the
game."
"Why are you not down there too? You seem to be moping lately, my boy.
Is anything the matter? Are you quite well?"
"Quite, thanks. I am not moping, but the fact is, Father, I have
something I wish to talk to you about, and as the rest won't be back
for some time, perhaps this is a good opportunity to tell you what I
have to say."
"Dear me! what a lot of mystery! Say on, son. I am all attention. Let
me see: how old are you? Nineteen next month, eh? You'll be graduated
next year at St. Cuthbert's, will you not?"
"I hope so," replied the boy modestly.
"That's right. Well, I suppose you want to talk about the choice of a
profession. It is quite time you made a choice, you know."
"That is precisely what I wish to speak about."
"Ah! Well, go on. I am willing to listen to your ideas, reserving, of
course, the right of veto, Is it to be the law, or medicine, or the
army? Perhaps 'tis the navy? I have influence enough to get you into
Annapolis, if you wish to follow the sea."
"It is none of these you have mentioned, sir," said Roy, nervously,
and the next moment he blurted out awkwardly, "I want to enter the
priesthood!"
"The priesthood!" said Henning senior, with an intonation that
expressed various emotions. "H--um!" And he remained a long time
silent.
The light from the sitting-room fell on Mr. Henning's face. Roy watched
the florid features of his father. His closely-cropped white hair and
side-whiskers worn in the style once designated "mutton-chop," the
short-trimmed mustache, and clean-shaven, well-rounded chin, all showed
distinctly in the strong light of the reading lamp, which sent a flood
of light out across the veranda. Roy thought that his father's face was
unusually flushed. It appeared almost purple in the artificial light,
and the son became anxious, momentarily fearing that the suddenly
communicated intelligence might have caused a rush of blood to the head.
The family physician not long before had told Mrs. Henning that her
husband was quite liable to an attack of apoplexy.
Roy could not guess what was passing within the mind of his father,
who remained silent a long time. Nothing was heard except the nervous
tapping of Mr. Henning's eyeglasses on the arm of the rocker.
The boy knew that his father was irascible, and he was more or less
prepared for a storm. He waited for what he thought several minutes--in
reality less than forty seconds--for his father to speak. No sound was
heard save the nervous tap-tap-tapping on the arm of the chair. Roy
twirled his cap and shifted his weight from one foot to another.
Then, as it often does, the unexpected occurred. Mr. Henning arose
from his chair, and without noticing his son, or saying a word,
retired into the house, leaving the surprised boy on the porch.
The young man was perplexed at this turn of affairs. Had his father
flatly refused he could have pleaded and coaxed. Had he stormed, the
boy knew enough of his parent to be aware that the end he desired
would most probably be attained--when the storm blew over.
Roy left the porch in a dazed sort of way. He had never seen his
father act so peculiarly. Wanting to be alone to think over the
affair, he sauntered off to a secluded part of the large lawn.
* * * * *
"Hi, Roy, is that you? Where have you been? I have been searching for
you everywhere. Put on your dancing pumps and come over to our villa. We
are going to have a carpet dance. All the tables and chairs have been
put out on the lawn, and we are going to have a jolly time. Come on."
The speaker over the hedge was Andrew Garrett, Roy's cousin, whose
father had rented the adjoining villa for the summer. Garrett was on
the road, seated in a stylish dogcart. He held a pair of white ribbons
over a mettlesome horse whose silverplated harness ornaments shone
brightly in the moonlight.
"You must make my excuses----" began Roy.
"Eh! what? Oh! come! that won't do. My sisters have netted a lot of
girls, many of whom are already there, and the cry is 'still they
come.' We haven't enough partners for them. I am not slow at this kind
of affair, but, you know, a fellow can't make himself ubiquitous. Run
and put on your dancing-shoes, and if you spoil them in the dew
coming home, I'll buy you another pair to-morrow."
"The puppy!" thought Roy, and the ugly word was on the tip of his
tongue, but he checked himself in time, and said:
"I am sorry indeed to disappoint you, but I have more important things
to think about to-night. I really can not come. You must make my
excuse to auntie and your sisters."
"Oh! hang it all, man; we haven't enough dancers!"
"I am sorry, but to-night----"
"Sorry!----" We regret to say that Garrett used an expression not at
all becoming to the lips of a Catholic young man.
"You won't come, then?"
"I can not, to-night."
"You won't, you mean!"
"I did not say that."
"But you mean it. Well, I can go up the road and get the Meloche boys,
and the Poultneys, and others. Mark my words, Roy; I'll get even with
you for this. You'll be sorry for it yet. It's a mean trick. Get up,
Nance."
And he gave the mare a vicious cut, which sent her rearing and racing
up the dusty country road, giving the ill-tempered boy all he could do
to prevent the spirited animal from running away with him.
A week later, Roy Henning was surprised to learn that Andrew Garrett
was to be a student at St. Cuthbert's the coming term. His first
effort at "getting even" with his cousin was attempted as we have seen
in the preceding chapter, when Henning made the unwelcome announcement
of his retirement from college sports.