HICKS' PRODIGIOUS PRODIGY
"Has anybody here seen our Hicks?
_H-i-c-k-s_!
Has anybody here seen our Hicks?
If you've seen him, answer, 'Yes!'
He's tall and slim, and he wears a grin,
And his banjo-thumping is a sin.
Has _anybody_ here seen our Hicks--
Hicks--and his old banjo?"
Captain Butch Brewster, big Beef McNaughton, the Phillyloo Bird--that
flamingo-like Senior--and little Theophilus Opperdyke, the timorous boner
whom Bannister College called the "Human Encyclopedia," roosted on the
sacred Senior Fence, between the Gymnasium and the Administration Building.
A gloomy silence, like a somber mantle, enshrouded the four members of '19,
as they listened to a rollicking parody on, "Has Anybody Here Seen Kelly?"
chanted by some Juniors in Nordyke, with T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., as the
object of solicitude. Nor did the melancholy youths respond to the queries
hurled down at them from the dormitories' windows:
"Say, Butch Brewster, where is that crazy Hicks?"
"Beef, ain't our Hicks a-comin' back here no more?"
"Hello, Phillyloo, any word from our Hicks yet?"
"Ahoy there, Theophilus, where is Hicks, the Missing?"
The seven-thirty study-hour bell was ringing, its mellow chimes sounding
from the Administration Building tower. From the windows of the dormitories
gleams of light shot athwart the darkness. Over in Creighton Hall, the
abode of Freshmen, a silence reigned, but in Smithson, where the Sophomores
roomed, Nordyke, home of the Juniors, and Bannister, haunt of the solemn
Seniors, pandemonium obtained. In these dorm. rooms and corridors that
night, just as in the class-rooms, or on the campus, and Bannister Field
that day, there was but one topic. Whenever two students met, came the
query inevitable:
"Where is Hicks? Isn't Hicks coming back this year?"
The Freshmen, bewildered, quite naturally, at the furore made over
one missing student, asked, "Who is Hicks?" Seeking information from
upper-classmen they received innumerable tales, in the nature of Iliad
and Odyssey, concerning T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.; they heard of his campus
exploits, such as his originating The Big Brotherhood of Bannister, and
they laughed, at recitals of his athletic fiascos. They were told of his
inevitably sunny nature, his loyal comradeship, his generous disposition,
and as a result, the Freshmen, too, became intensely interested in the
all-important campus problem: "Where is T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.?"
Little Theophilus Opperdyke, whose big-rimmed spectacles, high forehead,
and bushy hair gave him an intensely owlish appearance, sighed
tremendously, stared solemnly at his class-mates, and became the author of
a most astounding statement: "I--I can't study," quavered the "boner,"
he whose tender devotion to his books was a campus tradition, and whose
loyalty to his firm friend, the blithesome Hicks, was as that of Damon
to Pythias, "I just _can't_ care about my studies, without Hicks here!
Somehow, it--it doesn't seem like old times, on the campus."
"I should say not!" ejaculated the Phillyloo Bird, sepulchrally, his
string-bean length draped with extreme decorative effect on the Senior
Fence, "Life at old Bannister without T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., is about as
interesting as 'The Annual Report of the Department of Agriculture!'
Prexy thought he started the college on its Marathon three days ago, but
Bannister will not be officially opened until Hicks stands by his window
some study-hour, twangs that old banjo, and shatters the campus quietude
with a ballad roared in his fog-horn voice!"
Big Butch Brewster, enshrouded in melancholy, instinctively gazed up at the
windows of the room T. Haviland Hicks, Jr. had reserved on the third floor
of Bannister Hall, the Senior dorm., as if he fully expected to behold
the missing youth materialize. There, in lonely grandeur, waited the
sunny-souled Senior's vast aggregation of trunks, crates, and packing
boxes, together with Hicks' baggage brought down from Camp Bannister. The
bothersome banjo had disappeared at the same time the youthful Caruso
imitated the Arabs, folding his figurative tent, and stealing away.
"It's a strange paradox," boomed Butch Brewster, finding that no Hicks
appeared at the window, "but for three years Bannister has stormed at Hicks
for bothering us during study-hour, or at midnight, with his saengerfest,
and now I'd give anything to see him up there, and to hear that banjo, and
his songs! It is just as if the sun doesn't shine on the campus, when T.
Haviland Hicks, Jr., is away!"
Bannister College had been running for three days "on one cylinder," as
the Phillyloo Bird quaintly phrased it, on account of the gladsome Hicks'
mysterious absence. Not a word had the Head Coach, Captain Brewster, the
football squad, or any of the collegians received from the blithesome
youth, since the _billet-doux_ he left with old Hinky-Dink at Camp
Bannister. Old students, returning to the campus for another golden year,
invaded Hicks' room in Bannister, ready to enjoy the cozy den of that
jolly Senior, but they encountered silence and desolation. No one had the
slightest knowledge of where the cheery Hicks could be; they missed his
singing and banjo strumming, his pestersome ways, his cheerful good nature,
his cozy quarters always open house to all, and his Hicks' Personally
Conducted tours downtown to Jerry's for those celebrated Beefsteak Busts.
A telegram to Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., in Pittsburgh, sent by the
worried Butch Brewster, had brought this concise response:
No knowledge of Thomas' whereabouts. He should be at Bannister.
"Queer," reflected Beef McNaughton, shifting his bulk on the protesting
fence. "We know Hicks will be back, for all his luggage is stowed away
in his room, and we are sure he is giving us all this mystery just for a
joke--he dearly loves to arrange a sensational and dramatic climax--but
we just can't get used to his not being on the campus. When Theophilus
Opperdyke can't study, it's high time the S.O.S. signal was sent to T.
Haviland Hicks, Jr."
"That is not the worst of it," growled Captain Butch Brewster, his arm
across little Theophilus' shoulders. "The football squad misses Hicks,
Beef. For the past two seasons he has sat at the training-table, his
invariable good-humor, his Cheshire cat grin, and his sunny ways have kept
the fellows in fine mental trim so they haven't worried over the game. But
now, just as soon as he left Camp Bannister, the barometer of their spirits
went down to zero and every meal at training-table is a funeral. Coach
Corridan can't inject any pep into the scrimmages, and he says if Hicks
doesn't return soon, Bannister's chances of the Championship are gone."
"As Theophilus says," responded the gloomy Beef, "we just can't get used
to his not being here. We miss his good-nature, his sunny smile, the jolly
crowds in his cozy quarters--why, the campus is talking of nothing but
Hicks--and I don't know what Bannister will do after Hicks graduates--shut
down, I suppose!"
"Well, you know," grinned the Phillyloo Bird, his cadaverous structure
humped over like a turkey on the roost, "our Hicks hath sallied forth on
the trail of a full-back, a Hercules who will smash the other elevens to
infinitesimal smithereens! He told the squad to just leave it to Hicks,
so don't be surprised if he is making flying trips to Yale, Harvard, and
Princeton, striving to corral some embryo Ted Coy. Remember how Hicks often
fulfills his rash prophecies!"
"A Herculean full-back--_Bah_!" fleered Butch, for all the campus knew of
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s, extremely rash vow to unearth a "phenom." "The
truth of it is, fellows. Hicks has failed to locate such a wonder as Coach
Corridac outlined, for there ain't no such animal! He doesn't like to
come back to Bannister without having made good his promise, without that
Gargantuan giant he vowed to round up for the Gold and Green."
Just then, as if to substantiate Butch's jeering statement, a youth wearing
the uniform and cap of The Western Union Telegraph Company and
advancing across the campus at that terrific speed always exhibited by
messenger-boys, appeared in the offing. Periscoping the four Seniors on the
fence, he navigated his course accordingly and pulling a yellow envelope
from his cap, he queried, in charmingly chaste English:
"Say, kin youse tell me where to find a feller name o' Brewster, wot's
cap'n o' de football bunch?"
"Right here, Little Nemo," advised the Phillyloo Bird, solemnly. "Hast thou
any messages from New York for me? John D. Rockefeller promised to wire me
whether or not to purchase war-stocks."
The Phillyloo Bird, at this stage of his monologue, was interrupted by a
yell that would have caused a full-blooded Choctaw Indian to turn pale.
This came from good Butch Brewster, who, having signed for the message,
and imagined all manner of catastrophes, from world-wars, earthquakes,
pestilence and loss of wealth, down to bad news from Hicks, after the
fashion of those receiving telegrams but seldom, had scanned the yellow
slip. Never before, or afterward, not even when the luckless Butch fell in
love, and T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., assisted Cupid, did the pachydermic Butch
act so insanely as on this occasion.
"Whoop-_eee! Yee-ow! Wow-wow-wow_!" howled the supposedly solemn Senior,
tumbling from the Senior fence and rolling on the campus like a decapitated
rooster. "Hip-hip-_hooray_! Ring the bell, Beef, get the fellows out, have
the Band ready, Oh, where is Coach Corridan? Read it, Beef, Theophilus,
Phillyloo. Oh, Hicks is _coming_ and he's got--"
It is possible that little Theophilus, who firmly believed that big Butch
Brewster had gone emotionally insane, would have fled for help, but at that
juncture members of the Gold and Green football squad, with Head Coach
Patrick Henry Corridan, appeared, marching funereally toward the Gym.,
where a signal quiz was booked for seven forty-five. Beholding the
paralyzing spectacle of their captain apparently in paroxysms on the grass,
Hefty Hollingsworth, Biff Pemberton, Monty Merriweather and Pudge Langdon
hurled themselves on his tonnage, while Roddy Perkins sat on his head, and
wrested the telegram from his grasp,
"Call up Matteawan," shouted Roddy, unfolding the slip, "Butch is getting
barmy in the dome, he--Oh, Coach, fellows--_great joy_! Just heed."
James Roderick Perkins, as excited as a Senator about to make his first
speech, read aloud the telegram, on which the heedless Hicks had triple
rates:
"BUTCH:
"Coming 8.30 P. M. express today. Discharge entire eleven--got whole team
in one. Knock out partitions between five rooms. Make space for Thor, the
Prodigious Prodigy! Leave it to Hicks!
"T. HAVILAND HICKS, JR."
"_Hicks is coming_!" shrieked the Phillyloo Bird, soaring down from the
Senior Fence like a condor. "He will be here in less than an hour; he sent
this wire just before his train left Philadelphia. Money is no object, when
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., wants to mystify old Bannister."
"'Discharge entire eleven,'" quoth Butch Brewster, having somewhat subdued
his frenzy. "'Got whole team in one--knock out partitions between _five_
rooms--make space for Thor, the Prodigious Prodigy!' Now, what in the world
has that lunatical Hicks done? Who can Thor be?"
Tug Cardiff, Buster Brown, Bunch Bingham, Scoop Sawyer, little Skeet
Wigglesworth, Don Carterson, and Cherub Challoner, not having given their
brawn to the subduing of Butch, now kindly donated their brain, in all
manner of weird suggestions. According to their various surmises, T.
Haviland Hicks, Jr., had lured the Strong Man away from Barnum and Bailey's
Circus, had in some way reincarnated the mythical Norse god, Thor, had
hired some Greco-Roman wrestler, or by other devices too numerous and
ridiculous to mention, had produced a full-back according to Coach
Corridan's blue-prints and specifications.
Big Beef McNaughton, seized with an inspiration that supplied
locomotive-power to his huge frame, lumbered into the Gym., and soon
appeared with monster megaphones, used in "rooting" for Gold and Green
teams, which he handed out to his comrades. Then the riotous squad, at his
suggestion, sprinted for the Quad., that inner quadrangle or court around
which the four class dormitories, forming the sides of a square, were
built; anyone desiring an audience could be sure of it here, since the
collegians in all four dorms. could rush to the Quadrangle side and look
down from the windows. In the Quadrangle, under the brilliant arc-lights,
the exuberant youths paused,
"One--two--three--let 'er go!" boomed Beef, and the football squad, in
_basso profundo_, aided by the Phillyloo Bird's uncertain tenor, and
Theophilus' quavery treble, roared in a tremendous vocal explosion that
shook the dormitories:
"Hicks is coming! Hicks is coming! Everybody out on the campus! Get ready
to welcome our T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.! Hicks is bringing Bannister's
full-back--a _Prodigious Prodigy_!"
Windows rattled up, heads were thrust out, a fusillade of questions
bombarded the squad in the Quadrangle below; from the three upper-class
dormitories erupted hordes of howling, shouting youths, and soon the Quad.
was filled with a singing, yelling, madly happy crowd. The Bannister Band,
that famous campus musical organization, following a time-honored habit of
playing on every possible occasion, gladsomely tuned up and soon the
noise was deafening, while study-hour, as prescribed by the Faculty, was
forgotten.
"Everybody on the campus, at once!" Butch Brewster, Master-of-Ceremonies,
boomed through his megaphone, having aroused excitement to the highest
pitch by reading Hicks' telegram. "Old Dan Flannagan's jitney-bus will soon
heave into sight. Let the Band blare, make a _big noise_. Let's show Hicks
how glad we are to have him back to old Bannister."
It is historically certain that Mr. Napoleon Bonaparte returning from Jena
and Austerlitz, Mr. Julius Caesar, home at Rome from his Conquests, or Mr.
Alexander the Great (Conqueror, not National League pitcher) never received
such a welcome as did T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., from his Bannister comrades
that night. To the excited students, massed on the campus before the Gym.
awaiting his arrival, every second seemed a century; everybody talked at
once until the hubbub rivaled that of a Woman's Suffrage Convention. Thomas
Haviland Hicks, Jr., was actually returning to old Bannister; and he was
bringing "The Prodigious Prodigy," whatever that was, with him. Knowing the
cheery Senior's intense love of doing the dramatic and his great ambition
to startle his Alma Mater with some sensational stunt, they could hardly
wait for old Dan Flannagan's jitney-bus to roll up the driveway,
"Here he comes!" shrieked, little Skeet Wigglesworth, an excitable Senior,
who had climbed a tree to keep watch. "Here comes our Hicks!"
"Honk--Honk!" To the incessant blaring of a raucous horn, old Dan
Flannagan's jitney-bus moved up the driveway. The genial Irish Jehu, who
for over twenty years had transported Bannister collegians and alumni
to and from College Hill in a ramshackle hack drawn by Lord Nelson, an
antiquated, somnambulistic horse, had yielded to modern invention at
last. Lord Nelson having become defunct during vacation, Old Dan, with
a collection taken up by several alumni at Commencement, had bought a
battered Ford, and constructed therewith a jitney-bus. This conveyance was
fully as rattle-trap in appearance as the traditional hack had been, but
the returning collegians hailed it with glee.
"All hail Hicks!" howled Butch Brewster, beside himself with joy,
"Altogether--the Bannister yell for--_Hicks_!"
With half the collegians giving the yell, a number shouting
indiscriminately, the Bannister Band blaring furiously, "Behold, The
Conquering Hero Comes," with the youths a yelling, howling, shrieking,
dancing mass, old Dan Flannagan, adding his quota of noises with the
Claxon, brought his bus to a stop. This was a hilarious spectacle in
itself, for on its sides the Bannister students had painted:
HENRY FORD'S "PIECE-OF-A-SHIP," _THE DOVE_! ALL RIDING IN THIS JIT DO
SO AT THEIR OWN RISK! TEN CENTS FOR A JOY-RIDE TO COLLEGE HILL! YES,
IT'S A _FORD_! WHAT DO YOU CARE? GET ABOARD!
On the roof of "The Dove," or "The Crab," as the collegians called it when
it skidded sideways, perched precariously that well-known, beloved youth,
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr. He clutched his pestersome banjo and was vigorously
strumming the strings and apparently howling a ballad, lost in the
unearthly turmoil. As the jitney-bus stopped, the grinning Hicks arose, and
from his lofty, position made a profound bow.
"Speech! Speech! Speech!" A mighty shout arose, and Hicks raised his hand
for silence, which was immediately delivered to him.
"Fellows, one and all," he shouted, a mist before his eyes, for his
impulsive soul was touched by the ovation, "I--I am _glad_ to be back!
Say--I--I--well, I'm glad to be back--that's all!"
At this masterly oration, which, despite its brevity, contained volumes of
feeling, the Bannister students went wild--for a longer period than any
political convention ever cheered a nominated candidate, they cheered T.
Haviland Hicks, Jr. "Roar--roar--roar--_roar_!" in deafening sound-waves,
the noise swept across the campus; never had football idol, baseball hero,
or any athletic demigod, in all Bannister's history, been accorded such a
tremendous ovation.
"Fellows," called T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., climbing down from his precarious
perch, "stand back; I have brought to Bannister the 'Prodigious Prodigy.'
I have rounded up a full-back who will beat Ballard all by himself. Behold
the new Gold and Green football eleven, 'Thor'!"
From the grinning Dan Flannagan's jitney-bus, like a Russian bear charging
from its den, lumbered a being whose enormous bulk fairly astounded the
speechless youths; Butch Brewster, Beef McNaughton, Tug Cardiff, Bunch
Bingham, Buster Brown, and Pudge Langdon were popularly regarded as the
last word in behemoths, but this "Thor" dwarfed them, towered above them
like a Colossus over Lilliputians. He was a youth, and yet a veritable
Hercules. Over six feet he stood, with a massive head, covered with tousled
white hair, a powerful neck, broad shoulders, a vast chest. To a judge of
athletes, he would tip the scales at a hundred and ninety pounds, all solid
muscle, for that superb physique held not an ounce of superfluous flesh.
"Hicks," said Head Coach Patrick Henry Corridan, gazing at the mountain of
muscle, "if _size_ means anything, you have brought old Bannister an entire
football squad! What splendid material to train for the Big Games, why--he
will be irresistible!"