THE WALK WITH MOTT
In the days that immediately followed the freshman parade and the
burlesque game of baseball with the rival class, the work before Will
Phelps and his room-mate settled more deeply into its regular grooves.
The novelty of the new life was now gone and to Will it almost seemed
that ages had passed since he had been a member of the household in
Sterling. His vision of the hilltops from his bedroom window became
longer and he could see in his mind far behind the towering barriers of
the hills into the familiar street and well-remembered rooms of his
father's house. The foliage on the hillsides now had assumed its
gorgeous autumn dress and wherever he looked the forests seemed to be
clad as if they were all on dress parade. The sight was beautiful and
one which in after years was ever present with him; but in those early
days of his freshman year in Winthrop, it seemed somehow to impress him
as a great barrier between his home and the place where he then was.
However, he never referred to his feeling to any one, not even to
Foster, and strove manfully to bear it all. He was working well, but in
his Greek he was finding increasing difficulty. This he acknowledged in
part was due to his own neglect in the earlier years of his preparatory
course, but boy-like he attributed most of his lack of success in that
department to "Splinter," for whom he came to cherish a steadily
increasing dislike. The man's personality was exceedingly irritating to
the young freshman and his dislike for the professor was becoming
intense--a marked contrast to his feeling for his teacher in mathematics
for whom he entertained a regard that was but little short of adoration.
His knowledge evidently was so great, and his inspiring personality in
the classroom was so enjoyable that Will soon found himself working in
that department as he never before had worked in his brief life.
Already, the boys were referring to him as a "shark," and the praise of
his classmates was sweet. But in Greek--that was an altogether different
affair, he declared. Splinter was so cold-blooded, so unsympathetic, and
sarcastic, he appeared to be so fond of "letting a fellow make a fool of
himself in recitation," as Will expressed it, that he found but little
pleasure in his work. And Will had already suffered from the keen shafts
of the teacher's merciless ridicule. One day, when in fact he had spent
an additional hour in the preparation of his lesson in Greek, though the
results he had achieved left him still troubled as he thought of the
recitation, he had been called upon to translate and make comments upon
a portion of the lesson of the day. He could feel as well as see, or at
least he fancied that he saw, the drawing down of Splinter's lips that
presaged an outburst of sarcasm. Will had been permitted to go through
his task without interruption and then the professor had said dryly,
"That will do, Mr. Phelps. That is what one might term 'making Greek' of
it. It certainly is justice neither to the Greek nor to the English." A
partly suppressed titter had run through the class at the biting words,
and with face flushed scarlet Will Phelps had resumed his seat, feeling
that in all the world there could not be found another man so thoroughly
despicable as Splinter. And his feeling of dislike had increased with
the passing days. He had come not only to detest the man, but the Greek
as well. If he could have followed his own desire he would have
abandoned the subject at once and substituted something in its place,
but Will understood fully his father's desire for him to become
proficient in that department and how useless it would be for him to
write home for the desired permission. In sheer desperation he began to
devote additional time to his study of Greek, until he felt that he was
almost neglecting certain other studies in his course that in themselves
were far more enjoyable. But his progress under Splinter seemed to be in
no wise advanced, and soon Will was cherishing a feeling that was
something between a hopeless rage and an ungovernable detestation.
One break had occurred, however, in that both he and Foster had joined
one of the Greek letter fraternities--the Phi Alpha. Both freshmen were
now taking their meals at the fraternity house and in the good
fellowship and the presence of his fellow-members he found a measure of
relief from the homesickness that was troubling him and his difficulties
with the detested professor of Greek. It was also a source of some
comfort to him to learn that his own feeling for Splinter was one that
was commonly held by all the students who had been under him; but though
his misery may have loved the company, his problem still remained his
own and appeared to be as far from solution as ever.
Not long after Will and Foster had joined the Phi Alpha fraternity,
Peter John had dropped into their room one evening and quickly
discovered the neat little badge or pin that each boy wore on his vest
directly over his heart.
"Hello!" exclaimed Peter John; "you've joined the Phi Alpha, have you?"
"Yes," replied Will quietly, striving then to change the topic of
conversation, for the subject was one not to be cheapened by ordinary
remarks.
"It's about the best in college, isn't it?" persisted Peter John.
"That's not for us to say," laughed Will.
"I haven't joined any fraternity yet," said Peter John. "My father told
me I'd better wait and perhaps he'd come up to Winthrop a little later
and then he'd tell me which one to join."
Will and Foster glanced at each other, but neither spoke. In fact there
was nothing to say.
"If you feel sure the Phi Alpha's the best, I might write home to my
father and perhaps he'd let me join now," suggested Peter John. "He
thinks that whatever you two fellows do is about right."
As only about half the students in Winthrop were members of the Greek
letter fraternities, and as those who were elected were chosen because
of certain elements in their characters or lives that made them
specially desirable as companions or comrades, the election was
naturally looked upon as an especial honor and many of the entering
class had been eagerly awaiting the invitation for which all longed.
Peter John Schenck's unique personality and his sublime self-assurance
had been qualities, if no other defects had been apparent, that would
have debarred him, but he was so sublimely unconscious of all this--"Not
even knowing enough to know that he didn't know, the worst form of
ignorance in all the world," Foster had half angrily declared--that not
for a moment did he dream that his membership was something perhaps
undesirable of itself.
"I might write home and ask him," suggested Peter John when neither of
his classmates responded. "I think I like the Phi Alpha pretty well
myself."
"I wouldn't do it," said Foster. "How are you making out with Splinter?"
he added, striving to change the subject.
"Oh, Splinter's all right."
"Glad you think so," said Will bitterly.
"Some of the fellows think he's hard, but he's all right if you know how
to handle him," declared Peter John pompously. "I'll put down a good
mark for him."
"Good for you, Peter John!" laughed Foster. "Wait till he puts down your
mark."
"I'll get an 'A' in Greek."
"I hope you'll give me a part of it then," said Will. "Did you ever see
such a fellow?" he said to Foster when their visitor had departed.
"I never did. I don't mind him myself, but for his own sake I wish he
could learn something. I don't believe he'll ever do it though."
"I'm afraid he'll be taught some things that are not in the course of
study."
"Do him good," remarked Foster, as he turned once more to his work.
The following day was Saturday, and in the afternoon there were no
recitations. Will had promised Mott that he would go for a long walk
with him, and promptly after luncheon the sophomore appeared. For some
reason which Will could not explain, Mott appeared to have taken a
decided fancy to him, and had paid him many special attentions. There
was little about him that was attractive to Will, but somehow he found
it difficult to avoid him. He certainly was a well dressed handsome
young fellow, and was prominent in college chiefly because of his
success in athletics, for already he had the reputation of being one of
the swiftest runners in college. But in the college vernacular he was
commonly referred to as a "sport," a term for which Will instinctively
had little liking, and less for the young man himself. However, he had
found it difficult to avoid him, and somewhat reluctantly he had
consented to take the long walk to a distant village with him on the day
to which reference has been made.
For a time after the two young men had departed from Winthrop, and had
made their way up the road that led along the steep hillside, the
exhilaration of the bracing air and the superb view had made Will keenly
alive to the beauties of the surrounding region. A soft halo covered the
summits of the lofty hills, and the quiet of the valley was almost as
impressive as the framework of the mountains. Mott too had been
exceedingly pleasant in all that he had said, and Will was almost
beginning to feel that he had misjudged his companion, and that his
reputation was worse than the fellow himself.
They had now left the hillside road and were once more in the valley and
not far from the village they were seeking.
"I hear you're quite a fair sprinter," suggested Mott, as they
proceeded.
"I do a little," assented Will, laughing lightly as he spoke.
"Where did you run?"
"On the high school team."
"What high school?"
"Sterling."
"Run against the other schools in the league?"
"Yes," replied Will, wondering how it was that Mott happened to know of
the existence of the league.
"How did you come out?"
"Oh, I happened to win. There wasn't very much to run against, you see."
"What time did you make?"
"Ten, two."
"Going to run here?"
"Going to try to."
"I find this taking long walks is good for me," said Mott. "It keeps my
muscles in trim and gives me wind."
This, then, was the object which Mott had in view in inviting him to
take the walk, Will hastily concluded. He wanted to find out all he
could learn about his ability as a runner, and in spite of himself Will
was flattered by the evident interest and attention. They were now
within the confines of the village, and excusing himself for a moment
Mott left Will, but when he returned it was evident from the odor about
him that the sophomore had been to some speakeasy. Will had known of
Mott's habits, and the fact that he had left him and gone alone to
secure his drink argued that the fellow was not altogether bad.
There was not a long delay in the village, and the return by a different
road from that by which they had come was suggested by Mott, and Will
had acquiesced. They had not gone far, however, before Mott discovered a
farmer approaching with a team and a heavy but empty farm wagon, and
quickly suggested that they should ride, and as Will at once agreed, his
companion hailed the passing man.
"Hi, grandpa! Will you give us a ride?" he called.
Without a word the farmer, who was an old man, halted his team and
permitted the boys to clamber up into the wagon.
"This is more like it," said Mott, forgetful of the benefits of walking,
as the horses started.
"It's not half bad," replied Will, as he glanced at the old man who was
driving. A straw hat covered his gray head, and his untrimmed gray beard
as well as his somewhat rough clothing could not entirely detract from
the keen twinkle in his eyes.
"I fancy," said Mott, addressing the driver, "that the beauties of this
country have added much to your longevity?"
"My which?" demanded the farmer sharply.
"Your longevity."
"I never had no such complaint's that. I've had the rheumatiz, but
that's all that ever bothered me any."
"You are to be congratulated," murmured Mott.
"Guess that's so. See that buryin' ground over there?" inquired the
driver, pointing as he spoke to a quaint little cemetery by the
roadside.
"Yes," replied Mott. "Probably most of the people died of longevity."
"It don't tell on th' gravestones. Jest got a new gravedigger."
"How's that?"
"Third we've had inside o' a year. Had one fur nigh onto forty year, but
he up an' died."
"Longevity?" gravely inquired Mott.
"Like enough; though some folks thought 'twas softenin' o' th' brain;
but my 'pinion is he never had any brains to get soft. Still he were a
good digger, but the man we got next was no good."
"What was the trouble with him? More longevity?"
"No; he buried everybody with their feet to the west."
"Isn't that the proper thing?"
"No, 'tisn't!"
"Why?"
"Any fool knows ye ought t' be buried with yer feet t' the east."
"Why's that?"
"So't ye can hear Gabriel's trumpet better when he blows, an' can rise
up facin' him an' be all ready t' go when he calls."
"I hadn't thought of that."
"Like 's not. Some folks don't. We've got another digger now, an' he
knows."
For a time conversation ceased, and the farmer drove briskly along the
country road. When an hour had elapsed, Mott said, "I don't see that
we're getting anywhere near Winthrop."
"Winthrop? Is that where ye want t' go? Students there, maybe?"
"Yes."
"Well, we've been goin' straight away from Winthrop all the time. Ye
didn't say nothin' 'bout it, an' I didn't feel called upon t' explain,
for I supposed college students knew everything."
"How far is it to Winthrop?" inquired Will blankly.
"'Beout ten mile," responded the farmer, his eyes twinkling as he reined
in his team.