A RARE INTERVIEW
Instantly Will Phelps was overwhelmed with confusion. His face flushed
crimson and his knees shook under the excitement which quickly seized
upon him. The opprobrious title by which the Greek professor was known
among the students and by which he was commonly spoken of by them had
slipped from his tongue almost unconsciously. He stood staring stupidly
into the professor's face, while visions of expulsion and future
difficulty flashed into his troubled mind.
"I beg your pardon, professor," he managed to ejaculate at last. "I did
not mean to say that. The word slipped out before I knew it. I am very
sorry for it, for I certainly did not intend to be disrespectful in any
way."
"You insulted me!" exclaimed the professor in a rage that under other
circumstances would have seemed almost ludicrous to Will. It was like
the anger of an infuriated canary bird or of some little child.
"Then I want to apologize," said Will quietly. "As I said, I certainly
did not intend to do anything of the kind."
"But you did," persisted the outraged teacher. "You most assuredly did."
"Can't you believe me when I say it was not intentional?"
"That does not excuse it, but I fawncy the tendency among the young
gentlemen of the college is to bestow appellations upon the various
members of the faculty that are not warranted."
"I have heard some of them spoken of in that way, but I don't think the
fellows meant either to be disrespectful or unkind," said Will eagerly.
"No, I fawncy it may in part be due to the thoughtlessness of youth and
I would not be unduly harsh with you after your ample apology. Then you
have been accustomed to hear me myself referred to as Splinter, have
you?"
"I--yes--that is--" stammered Will.
"Precisely. Now what in your opinion is the basis upon which the
students have added such a derisive epithet to my name?"
Will was silent, though in spite of his efforts the expression of his
face betrayed somewhat the feeling of blank amazement which possessed
him.
"I fawncy I can trace its derivation," said the professor simply.
"Doubtless when I first became a member of the faculty the appellation,
or, let me see, is it an appellation or a cognomen, as you commonly have
heard it?"
"Yes, sir," Will managed to respond.
"It is, then, as I fawncied, and doubtless was bestowed upon me as
indicative of my lack of avoirdupois. And it was not entirely unnatural
that they should do so, for at the time when I came to Winthrop I was
very slight, very slight indeed. The appellation, or cognomen, was
without doubt given in recognition of that fact, a custom not unknown,
among the classical nations and one prevalent among the Hebrews and even
among the Indians of America. The history of names would provide an
exceedingly interesting field of study for you, Mr. Phelps."
Will bowed but did not speak, for he was afraid to interrupt or to
divert the childlike man from the channel in which his thoughts appeared
to be running.
"Such a name once given," resumed the professor, "would doubtless cling
to one long after physical changes had been made that would no longer
afford an accurate basis for the nomenclature. But I was very slight,
very slight indeed, Mr. Phelps, when I first came here some seventeen
years ago, or, to be exact, seventeen years and four months, that is,
four months lacking a few days. Why, I believe I weighed only one
hundred and seventeen pounds at the time."
Will strove to be duly impressed by the fact, but as he looked at the
man who was somewhat above six feet in height and whose body did not
give many tokens of having increased materially in breadth or thickness
since the time to which the professor referred, he found it extremely
difficult to repress the smile that rose to his lips.
"Yes," resumed the professor quickly, "I have increased in weight since
that time but the appellation still clings and doubtless will as long as
I remain in Winthrop."
"How much do you weigh now, professor?" The moment Will asked the
question he regretted it, but the temptation was too strong to be
resisted.
"I cannot say exactly," said the professor in some confusion, "but my
weight has very materially increased. If I recall aright, the last time
when I was weighed I had added two and three-quarters pounds. It is
true it was in the winter and doubtless heavier clothing may have
slightly modified the result. But still I can safely affirm that I am
much heavier than I was at the time when I joined the Winthrop faculty."
"Do you find that you feel better now that you are more corpulent? I
have heard it said that addition to the body is subtraction from the
brain. Do you think that is so, professor?"
"It is true, most assuredly. All classifical literature confirms the
statement you have just made."
"Then you don't believe in athletics, do you, professor?"
"Assuredly not. Most assuredly not."
"But didn't the ancient Greeks have their racecourses? Didn't they
believe in running and jumping and boxing and I don't know what all?"
"That is true, but the times were very different then. They had not in
the least lost the sense of the poetry of life. They were not so crassly
or grossly materialistic as the present age undoubtedly is. Every grove
was peopled with divinities, every mountain was the abode of the unseen.
Why, Mr. Phelps, the Greeks were the only people that ever lived that
looked upon mountains as anything but blots or defects."
"Is that so?" inquired Will in surprise.
"It certainly is. It is true that since the days of the poet Gray there
has been a tendency among English-speaking people to affect a veneration
for the mountains, but it is, I fawncy, only a faint echo of the old
Greek conception and is a purely superficial product of an extremely
superficial age and people."
"Didn't the Hebrews have a feeling like the one you tell of? Isn't
there a psalm that begins 'I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from
whence cometh my help'? Didn't they describe the high hills that were
round about Jerusalem?"
"Ah, yes. That is true," assented the professor in some confusion. "I
had not thought of it in that light precisely. You have given me a new
insight to-day, Mr. Phelps. I shall at once go over my data again. I am
grateful to you for acceding to my request to remain to-day."
"But, professor," persisted Will, "what about my work in Greek? I've had
a tutor ever since you told me to get one and I've been working hard
too. Today I didn't do very well, but I was so excited about the fever,
for Peter John--I mean Schenck--is one of the fellows to come down with
it, you know, and we've been telephoning and telegraphing home--"
"Ah, yes. But you heard my remarks to-day concerning the necessity of
increased work in Greek as a preventive, did you not?"
"I did. But, professor, I'm willing to work. If I'm to be shut out of
the exam--I mean the examination--as you seem to think I will, anyway, I
don't see any use in my trying any more."
The expression on the professor's face became instantly harder as he
said, "I fawncy the effort to curry favor with the various members of
the faculty is not very popular with the student body."
"Do you think I'm trying to 'boot-lick'?" demanded Will quickly.
"I look upon that term as somewhat objectionable, but I fawncy in the
vernacular of college life it is one that is quite expressive."
"I'm not trying to boot-lick you or any other professor!" retorted Will,
now feeling angry and insulted as well. "I didn't stay here to-day
because I wanted to. You yourself asked me to do it. And I asked you a
perfectly fair question. I knew I hadn't been doing very well, but after
I saw you I've been trying, honestly trying, to do better. And all the
encouragement you give me is to say that if I work harder I may almost
come up to the passing mark."
"Pardon me, Mr. Phelps, but you are the one to change your record, not
I. All I do is merely to jot down what you have been doing. I do not do
the work--I merely record it."
For a moment Will Phelps was almost speechless with anger. He felt
outraged and insulted in every fibre of his being. He hastily bade the
professor good-morning, and, seizing his cap, rushed for his room, a
great fear being upon him that unless he instantly departed he would say
or do something for which he would have a lifelong regret.
As he burst into his room he found Foster already there, and, flinging
his books savagely across the room, Will seated himself in his
easy-chair and glared at his room-mate.
"Why? What's wrong? What's happened, Will?" demanded Foster, in
astonishment.
"Oh, I've just had another delightful interview with old Splinter. He's
the worst I ever struck yet!"
"Did you strike him, Will?" inquired Foster, a smile of amusement
appearing on his face.
"No, but I'd like to! His soul would get lost in the eye of a needle!
He's the smallest specimen I have ever run up against. He may know
Greek, but he doesn't know anything else. I never in all my life saw--"
"Tell me about it, Will," interrupted Foster.
Thus bidden, Will related the story of his interview with his professor
of Greek. When Foster laughed as he told of Splinter's description of
his marvelously increased corpulence, Will did not join, for the
ludicrous side now was all swallowed up in his anger. And when his
room-mate scowled as he heard of the professor's insinuation that the
young freshman was trying to "boot-lick," Will's anger broke forth
afresh. "What's the use in my trying, I'd like to know?" he demanded.
"I've never tried harder in my life than I have for the last three or
four weeks. And what does old Splinter have to say about it? 'Oh, I'm
doing better and if I keep on I'll _almost_ come up to the passing
mark!' I tell you, it isn't fair! It isn't right! He's just determined
to put me out!"
"Perhaps he thinks he's bound to stick to the marks he's given you
before."
"Yes, that's it. But think of it, Foster. Here I am doing better and
putting in my best work. And the old fellow acknowledges it too, for he
says so himself. But what does it all amount to? He doesn't give me any
credit for what I've been doing lately. No, he's just tied up to the
marks I got at the beginning of the year. What fairness is there in
that, I'd like to know? That's the way they do in State's prison, but I
didn't suppose old Winthrop was built exactly on that plan. I thought
the great point here was to wake a man up and inspire him to try to do
better and all that sort of thing. And I _am_ doing better, and I know
it, and so does he, but his soul is so dried up and withered that he
can't think of anything but ancient history. He hasn't the least idea of
what's going on here to-day. I'll bet the old fellow, when he has the
toothache, groans in dactylic hexameters and calls for his breakfast in
the Ionic dialect. Bah! What's all the stuff good for anyway? I haven't
any reason for trying any more."
"Yes, you have."
"I have? Well, what is it?"
"Your father, if nothing else."
Will instantly became silent, for Foster's words only seemed to call up
before him the vision of his father's face. He was the best man that had
ever lived, Will declared to himself, and his conviction had been
strengthened as he had seen the relations between many of his college
mates and their fathers. How he would be grieved over it all. And yet
Will knew that never an unkind word would be spoken. It was almost more
than he could bear, he thought, and his eyes were glistening when he
arose from his seat to respond to a knock on the door. As he opened it
he saw standing before him his own father and the father of Peter John
Schenck, and with a yell of delight he grasped his father's outstretched
hand and pulled him hastily into the room.