HOCKEY AT BROADWOOD
Kilts must have forgot. For although Dan waited, the summons from the
Office didn’t come; and what might have resulted in a very serious
piece of business for both Dan and Gerald brought no disagreeable
consequences. More than that, the episode actually benefited Gerald,
and in more ways than one. It brought him and Dan closer together,
increasing their companionship; it cleared the air, Gerald wisely
deciding to wipe out old scores and start again with a clean slate; it
worked an immediate change in the boy’s attitude toward Mr. McIntyre in
particular and school authority in general; and it brought about a more
sympathetic relationship between Gerald and mathematics.
I don’t mean to imply that Gerald at once became the star student in
his algebra class. He never reached any such pinnacle of success. He
never succeeded in viewing algebra with Mr. McIntyre’s enthusiastic
eyes. But he put his mind on it with good results and soon found that
it was not the dreadful bogy he had fancied. Perhaps the fact that he
had discovered his instructor to be human and likable and sympathetic
had a good deal to do with his success, and lots of times when he
would have gladly thrown aside his algebra in despair he pegged away
at it from the mere desire to please Kilts and show him that he was
not ungrateful. And the instructor showed that he understood and was
pleased. If the truth were known, Kilts gave more credit to the boy who
worked hard for his D than to the boy who, with a natural aptitude for
mathematics, secured his B with scant labor. But Kilts showed Gerald no
favors when it came to marks. No one who knew Kilts would have expected
it. Nor did Gerald. Gerald knew that his D’s--and very occasional
C’s--were his deserts, neither more nor less. But with algebra no
longer haunting him like a nightmare, his other studies came easier,
and Gerald began to think that perhaps, after all, there was a place
for him in the school life.
Dan had, you may be certain, given an account of Gerald’s attempted
escape from his troubles to Alf and Tom. The comment of each was
typical. Alf, with his impatience for all things weak and futile,
immediately dubbed Gerald “a silly ass.” Tom, big-hearted and
sympathetic, declared that he had showed grit if not judgment.
“Of course it was a foolish thing to do,” he said, “but lots of chaps
wouldn’t have had the courage to do it. They’d have just sat around and
been miserable and unhappy.”
“That’s all right,” said Alf, “but if Faculty had caught him it would
have been all up. It was the craziest thing I ever heard of. Somebody’s
got to pump some sense into that kid, Dan.”
“Oh, he won’t cut up that way again,” Dan replied. “I think it’s done
him good. And old Kilts acting the way he did helped a lot. Gerald had
got it into his head that Kilts and Collins and the whole Faculty were
sitting up nights trying to devise ways to make trouble for him. Now he
thinks that Kilts is just about right, and that has given him hope for
the rest of them. I’m not sure, but I think Gerald’s going to settle
down now and take things easier.”
“Sure to,” said Tom. “It’s like Cæsar Augustus.”
“Who’s he?” asked Dan and Alf in a breath.
“He _was_ a dog. Now he’s a dog-angel. I had him when I was just a
youngster.”
“Listen to the doddering, decrepit old idiot,” observed Alf in an aside.
“He was just a puppy when I got him; about three months old. Don’t ask
me what sort of a dog he was, for no one ever knew. In fact, it was
such a mystery that no one ever dared to guess. Well, Cæsar Augustus
used to trouble about the cat when he first came. The cat was an old,
experienced codger and used to sit on the kitchen windowsill, where
the cook kept her geraniums, and blink and purr all day long. Cæsar
Augustus lived under the stove, except when I dragged him out by the
nape of the neck and poured milk down his throat. For we just had to
make him eat. He’d sit there with his head sticking out and watch the
cat for hours, and tremble and whine and get thin and pine away. You
see, that cat worried him silly. He couldn’t understand her; didn’t
know what she was made for, what she was good for or anything else.
That went on for about a month. Then, driven to desperation one day,
Cæsar Augustus crawled out from under the stove and went for the cat.
Cook and I rescued him after he’d made about six trips around the room
with the cat on his back. We washed the blood off, smeared his wounds
with mutton tallow and fed him raw steak to heal his sorrow. Sorrow! He
didn’t have any! He was happy as a lark, rolled over and played, ate
his steak as though he’d been living on it for years, and was a changed
dog. Never had an unhappy moment afterwards.”
“Well,” laughed Alf, “and what’s the moral--the lesson to be derived
from your charming tale?”
“The moral,” replied Tom, “is; When anything troubles you take a fall
out of it. It may hurt for a while, but you’re a lot better for it
afterwards.”
“And you think Gerald’s like Cæsar Augustus?” asked Dan.
“Sure. The whole scheme of things here was troubling him. He didn’t
understand authority; didn’t know whether it could bite or not. So he
had a show-down. Now he knows where he stands. He will come out from
under the stove now; you see if he doesn’t.”
“Oh, you’re an idiot,” said Alf. “The trouble is with him, Dan, he
thinks he’s a blooming philosopher. But he may be right--for once.
I don’t know. Anyhow, you tell Gerald to come over Saturday for his
boxing lesson.”
“Well, but there’s no reason why you should be bored with him every
week, Alf. If he wants any more lessons I’ll attend to him. I don’t
know anything about it, but he will be just as satisfied, I dare say.”
“You think so, do you?” asked Alf indignantly. “Let me tell you that
that kid is going to be a boxer. Why, he knows more about using his
hands now than half the fellows in school. Don’t you worry about my
being bored, old man. In a month or so I’ll have to go my hardest to
keep him from knocking my head off!”
“Why doesn’t he get to know more fellows?” puzzled Tom.
“I don’t know, really,” Dan answered. “He’s sort of quiet until you
know him real well, but I should think he’d get acquainted better. He
meets a good many fellows every day in class and around school. I don’t
believe he has more than a nodding acquaintance with any of the fellows
at his table. I don’t know what the trouble is.”
“He isn’t a good ‘mixer,’” said Alf. “What we’ll have to do is to
take him in hand, fellows. Look here, Dan, bring him up to Cambridge
Saturday night for the debate, and we’ll introduce him to a few
fellows. And Tom can have him over to Oxford now and then. The rules
won’t let us introduce him more than once a month, but if Tom takes him
to one meeting and we take him to another that’ll be twice.”
“I’d like to get him into Cambridge,” said Dan, “but the election
doesn’t come until May, does it?”
“No,” answered Tom. “But while you’re about it, why don’t you try and
get the poor chap into a decent society? If you like, I’ll propose him
for Oxford.”
A howl arose from the others, both of whom were members of Cambridge,
and in a moment Gerald’s welfare was lost sight of in a good-natured
but fierce discussion of the relative merits of the rival debating
societies.
Gerald was quite pleased at the idea of accompanying Dan and Alf to one
of the Saturday night meetings of the Cambridge Debating Society, and
thoroughly enjoyed the proceedings when he went. The two societies had
rooms on the top floor of Oxford Hall. Actually, there was not much
to choose between them, although the members of each could flaunt all
sorts of arguments in favor of their own particular choice. Cambridge
had of late years won a majority of the Inter-Society Debates, held
in December and June of each year. But Oxford fellows made light of
that claim to superiority and pointed out with pride that Oxford was
the older society by a dozen years. Also, they were sure to tell you,
Oxford had a real combination billiard and pool table! Whereupon, if
you owed allegiance to the Light Blue, you scoffed and declared that
the table was so old and its legs so weak that fellows had to hold it
in their laps while they played on it!
Secret organizations were prohibited at Yardley--although now and
then faint whispers of such organizations were wafted about--and so
almost every fellow sooner or later accepted an invitation from Oxford
or Cambridge. While they were supposed to be debating clubs, and in a
measure justified the title, they were in reality far more social in
character. The rooms of each society were comfortably furnished and the
fellows met there during the day, but especially in the evenings, to
chat, read, or play games. The debates took place on Saturday evenings,
and it was to one of these that Gerald was taken.
On this occasion the subject in discussion was the elective system in
colleges. It seemed something of a shame to Gerald that the presidents
of the principal universities were not present, for he was certain
some very brilliant things were said on both sides. Personally his
sympathies were with the contestants who spoke in favor of the system,
but that was because he had been introduced to Oliver Colton, last
Fall’s football captain, by Dan before the meeting, and Colton was the
most brilliant speaker for the affirmative side.
After the debate was over and the Judge, Doctor Frye, professor of
physics, had rendered his decision in favor of the negative side, the
chairs were pushed aside and the gathering became purely social and
very informal. There was an impromptu concert by several members of
the Musical Club, but those who didn’t want to listen didn’t have to,
although Gerald thought them very impolite for talking while the music
was going on. He was introduced to some of the fellows, not many,
for Dan and Alf didn’t want to appear to be forcing the boy on their
acquaintances. But Gerald met some four or five chaps who were worth
knowing, and they were each quite as polite and interested as the
occasion demanded. On the whole, he had a very pleasant evening and
began to look forward eagerly to the time when he might join Cambridge.
But a week later he found himself in a quandary. For Tom Dyer took him
to a meeting of Oxford, and Gerald had just as good a time--perhaps a
little better, since Tom devoted every moment of his time to putting
him at his ease and entertaining him; and Tom was so big and jolly
and sympathetic that Gerald, who had theretofore been somewhat in awe
of him, fell a captive at once. Here, too, he met new fellows. Joe
Chambers, to whom he had never been introduced but who always spoke to
him, it being part of Joe’s policy to know everyone, was especially
kind and invited him around to his room. And lest Joe might forget the
invitation, Tom took Gerald around there the next afternoon. There
were three other fellows on hand when they arrived and Gerald, partly
by keeping still and not appearing “fresh” or assertive, made a good
impression on them. But, as I have said, this visit to Oxford left him
in a quandary. He told Dan that he didn’t know which society he liked
best and was so troubled about it that Dan comforted him by pointing
out that he still had three months in which to make up his mind and
that it was really idle to bother his head about it now.
Meanwhile February wore away with its rough winds and clouded skies,
and Gerald’s period of probation came to an end, not in time, however,
to allow him to get back his place on the Clarke Hall hockey team. But
if he couldn’t play he could look on and shout, and he did both during
the three matches played. Clarke held her own during the first two
contests and was picked by the School at large to win the championship.
But her pride met a fall when she faced Dudley in the deciding game,
for Dudley romped away an easy winner, much to Gerald’s sorrow.
The ’Varsity Hockey Team won and lost about equally. The team got to
be something of a joke that year, and it was a common thing to hear a
fellow shout to another; “Oh, Jim, come on and let’s go down and see
the hockey team lose!” Just what the matter was no one seemed to know,
although there were plenty of theories advanced.
The players were quite as good as those of the year before, when
Yardley had won seven games out of nine played, and her schedule was
no more difficult. The captain was popular and worked hard. But the
fellows got injured in the most unlikely ways just before a game, or a
strange demoralization would seize upon the team at some critical point
in a contest, or one of the stars would lose his temper for no good
reason and get sent off by the referee just when his services were most
needed.
Dan had had hopes of trying for the team at first and Alf had
encouraged him. Alf played point on the team and was one of the
steadiest of the seven. But a few days on the river had convinced Dan
that he was too poor a performer on runners to make the hockey team,
this year at least. He was very uncertain on his skates and was more
often losing his balance or denting the ice than really skating. In the
end, Alf was forced to admit that it would be as well for him to wait
another year before trying for the team.
The final game was with Broadwood Academy and was played on the rival’s
rink at Broadwood. Dan and Gerald and Tom were among the sixty-odd
boys who accompanied the team. Broadwood has been Yardley’s principal
rival for many years. To reach Broadwood from Wissining you cross
the carriage bridge beyond the station and, keeping to the right,
take the county road which runs inland and westward toward the hills.
The academy lies some three miles from the depot at Greenburg and is
perched on the slope of a long, wooded hill, with fields and farm below
it and acres of forest behind. It is a comparatively new school and its
buildings are handsome and up-to-date. Broadwood usually has about two
hundred and thirty students, and a large proportion of her graduates
enter Princeton.
The Yardley contingent traveled thither in two big “barges,” and
had a merry time of it. The team went to the gymnasium to change
their clothes, and the rest of the party wandered around the grounds
sight-seeing. It is part of the Yardley creed to pretend to find no
good in Broadwood, and so even the best of the buildings received
disparaging criticisms. Of course, if there happened to be Broadwood
fellows within hearing distance the criticisms were subdued; good taste
demanded that much. But when their remarks could not be overheard the
Yardley visitors indulged in sarcasm and disparagement to their hearts’
content.
“What’s this hovel?” asked Joe Chambers as the party drew up in front
of Knowles Hall, the finest building of all. Someone supplied the
desired information.
“Knowles Hall?” said Joe. “Well, Knowles ought to try again. Looks
like a cross between a circus tent and a Turkish mosque. Get on to the
lanterns in front, fellows! Aren’t they the limit?”
“Don’t make light of them,” begged some one.
“What is it, anyhow? A dormitory or a recitation hall?” asked Joe.
“Search me,” answered Paul Rand. “There’s a Broadwood fellow over
there. Let’s ask him. He probably Knowles Hall about it.”
While the laughter elicited by this witticism was still convulsing the
crowd, four Broadwood fellows came through the doorway and descended
the steps, viewing the sightseers with surprise and curiosity.
“Well, it’s certainly a beautiful building,” said Joe loudly and
earnestly.
“I never saw a finer one,” agreed Rand. “But then, Broadwood is full of
beautiful things.”
“It’s a real privilege to live here,” continued Joe. “No wonder we see
so many, many happy faces!”
The Broadwood youths frowned suspiciously as they passed, and one of
them let fall a remark about “fresh guys.” But Yardley only chuckled.
“I think it’s a very fine building,” ventured Gerald in a puzzled tone
to Tom Dyer. Tom laughed.
“It is,” he whispered, “but you’re not supposed to say so!”
The party passed on to view the gymnasium and one of the fellows
expressed a desire to see the trophy room.
“I’ve heard a lot about the Broadwood trophy room,” he explained. “They
say there’s a fine collection of croquet balls and checkers in it!”
While this joke was being passed around, the two hockey teams emerged,
and the Yardley crowd followed them down to the rink, an expanse of
ice secured by flooding the tennis courts. That game was a farce in
more ways than one. In the first place the ice was rotten and before
the game was five minutes old the surface was badly cut up and covered
with loose ice and slush. Broadwood showed herself more accustomed to
such conditions than her rival, and wasn’t greatly bothered. On the
other hand, Yardley, used to thick, hard ice of the river, floundered
about, as Tom said, like hens in a snow bank. Then, to make matters
worse, Yardley was outplayed from the first whistle, and it was only
the really phenomenal work of her goal-tender that prevented her from
being literally swamped in the first half.
The Yardley contingent lined one side of the rink and waved its
blue flags and cheered nobly, but the green of Broadwood was in the
ascendant to-day. The first half ended with the score three to one for
Broadwood, a score that didn’t begin to show the real superiority of
the Green. Alf perched himself on the barrier beside Dan and Gerald and
Tom, rueful and weary. Dan helped him into his sweater.
“Fine, isn’t it?” asked Alf with a grin.
“What’s the matter?” ventured Gerald anxiously.
“Oh, they’re playing all around us. And look at the ice! Did you ever
see such a mess? Why, you can’t slide the puck at all; you’ve got to
lift it every time. And your skates just sink into the ice. Still,
we couldn’t lick them, anyway, to-day. Those forwards of theirs are
dandies, every one of them. Their goal isn’t much, I guess, but the
trouble is we can’t break through to try him.”
“You made one goal, though,” said Dan encouragingly. Alf shrugged his
shoulders.
“It was just luck,” he said. “I’ll bet we don’t score again!”
If Dan had accepted the wager he would have lost. Yardley became
utterly demoralized in the last half; every fellow played for himself
and team work was quite forgotten. The result was that Broadwood,
amidst the cheers of her adherents, piled up six more goals, and the
disastrous contest ended with the score nine to one in favor of the
Green. Broadwood cheered Yardley and Yardley cheered Broadwood and the
visitors ran for the gymnasium. The crowd of Yardley “rooters” were
sad and subdued. Joe Chambers produced the only laugh from the end of
the game to the time they were rattling homeward in the barges when he
declaimed mournfully:
“Oh, Yardley had a hockey team;
Its fleece was white as snow.
It went to play with Broadwood;
Oh, what an awful blow!”