"ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL"
"Oh, what we'll do to Ballard
Will surely be a shame!
We'll push their team clear off the field
And win the football game!"
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., one night three days after the first big game, that
with Hamilton, a week following Thor's great awakening in the Latham game,
sat in his cozy room, having assumed his favorite position--chair tilted
back at a perilous angle and feet thrust atop of the radiator. The
versatile youth, having just composed a song with which to encourage
Bannister elevens in the future, was reading it aloud, when his mind was
torpedoed by a most startling thought.
"Land o' Goshen!" reflected the sunny-souled Senior, aghast. "I haven't
twanged my ole banjo and held forth with a saengerfest for a coon's age! I
surely can do so now without arousing Butch to wrath. Thor has awakened,
Hamilton is walloped, and Bannister will surely win the Championship!
Everything is happy, an' de goose hangs high, so here goes!"
Holding his banjo _à la_ troubadour, the blithesome Hicks, who as a Senior
was harassed by no study-hours or inspections, strode from his room and out
into the corridor, up and down which he majestically paced, like a sentinel
on his beat, twanging his beloved banjo with abandon, and roaring in his
foghorn, subterranean voice:
"Oh, the way we walloped Hamilton
Surely was a shame!
And we're going to win the Championship--
For we'll do Ballard the same!
"And Bannister shall flaunt the flag
For at least three seasons more;
Because--no team can win a game
While the Gold and Green has Thor!"
On Bannister Field, three days before, the Gold and Green had crushed the
strong team from "old Ham" to the tune of 20 to 0; Thor's magnificent
ground-gaining, in which he smashed through the supposedly impregnable
defense of the enemy, was a surprise to his comrades and a shock to
Hamilton. Time and again, on the fourth down, the ball was given to
Thorwald, and the blond Colossus, with several of old Ham's players
clinging to him, plunged ahead for big gains. So now with a monster
mass-meeting in half an hour, the exultant Bannister youths pretended to
study, but prepared to parade on the campus, cheer the eleven and Thor,
and arouse excitement for the winning of the biggest game, a victory over
Ballard, a week later.
From the rooms of would-be studious Seniors on both sides of the corridor,
as Hicks patrolled it, came vociferous protests and classic criticisms,
gathering in force and volume as the breezy youth's foghorn voice roared
his song; that heedless collegian grinned as he heard:
"R-r-rotten! Give that Jersey calf more rope!"
"Hicks has had a relapse! _Sing-Sing_ for yours, old man!"
"Arrest Hicks, under the Public Nuisance Act!"
"_Woof! Woof_! Shoot it quick! Don't let it suffer!"
Just as T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., strumming the banjo blithely and Carusoing
with glee, reached the end of the corridor and executed a brisk 'bout-face,
he heard a terrific commotion on the stairway, and, a moment later, Butch
Brewster, Beef McNaughton, Deacon Radford and Monty Merriweather gained the
top of the stairs. As they were now between the offending Hicks and
his quarters, there seemed no chance for the sunny Senior to play his
safety-first policy; so he waited, panic-stricken, as Butch and Beef
lumbered heavily down the corridor.
"Help! Aid! Succor! Relief! Assistance!" shrieked Hicks, leaning his
beloved banjo against the wall and throwing himself into what he
fatuously believed was an intensely pugilistic pose. "I am a believer in
preparedness. You have me cornered, so beware! I am a follower of Henry
Ford, but even _I_ will fight--at bay!"
"Well, you are at _sea_ now!" growled Beef, tucking the splinter youth
under one arm and striding down the corridor, followed by Butch with the
banjo, and Monty with Deacon. "You desperado, you destroyer of peace and
quietude, you one-cylinder gadabout! You're off again! We'll instruct you
to annoy real students, you faint shadow of something human!"
"Them's harsh sentences, Beef!" chuckled T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., as that
behemoth kicked open Hicks' door, bore the futilely squirming, kicking
youth into the room, and hurled him on the davenport. "Watch my banjo,
there, Butch; have a couple of cares! Say, what'smatter wid youse guys,
anyhow? This is my first saengerfest for eons. Old Bannister has a clear
track ahead at last, the Championship is won for _sure_, and Thor, that
mighty engine of destruction to Ham's and Ballard's hopes, after much
tinkering, is hitting on all twelve cylinders. Why, I prithee, deny me the
pleasure of a little joyous song?"
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., since the memorable Latham game, when Thor had
awakened between halves, and the Prodigious Prodigy had shown himself
worthy of his title by winning the game after defeat leered at old
Bannister, had suffered a relapse, and was again his old sunny, heedless,
happy-go-lucky self. Now that John Thorwald had been startled into
realizing that he loved his college and had been saved from having to
leave, now that he played football for his Alma Mater, and Bannister's
hopes of the Championship were roseate, the blithesome Hicks had abandoned
himself to a golden existence of Beefsteak Busts downtown at Jerry's,
entertaining jolly comrades in his cozy room, and pestering the campus with
his banjo and ridiculous imitations of Sheerluck Holmes, the Dachshund
Detective. Big Butch Brewster, lecturing him for his care-free ways, as
futilely as he had done for three years past, gave up in despair.
"I might as well be showing moving-pictures to the inmates of a blind
asylum," he growled on one occasion, "as to persuade you to quit acting
like a lunatic! You, a Senior--acting like an escaped inhabitant of
Matteawan! Bah!"
Big Butch Brewster, drawing a chair up to the davenport, assumed the manner
of a physician toward a recalcitrant patient, while Beef carefully stowed
the banjo in the closet and Deacon Radford, an interested spectator, sat
on the bed. The happy-go-lucky Hicks, at a loss to account for the strange
expressions of his comrades, tried to arise, but the football captain
pinned him down with one hand.
"Seriously, Hicks," spoke Butch, "your saengerfest came at a lamentably
inopportune time! I regret to Inform you that old Bannister faces another
problem, with regard to Thor, and unless it is solved, I fear--"
"Thor has balked again?" gasped the dazed Hicks, whom Butch now allowed to
sit up, as he showed interest. "Has the engine of destruction stalled?
Why, as fast as we get him lined up, off he slides at an angle! Well, you
fellows did perfectly right to bring this baffling problem, whatever it is,
to me. What is the trouble--won't Thor play football?"
The irrepressible Hicks was bewildered at hearing that a new problem
regarding Thor had arisen, and, naturally, he at once connected it with
football, since the big Freshman had twice balked in that respect. Since
his awakening, effected by Theophilus' missionary work, his last appeal,
and Thor's letter from his father, Thor had earnestly striven to grasp the
true meaning of college life, to understand campus tradition. No longer did
he hold aloof, boning always, in his lonely room. Instead, he mingled with
his fellows, lingering with the team for the skylarking in the shower-room
after scrimmage, turning out for the nightly mass-meeting. Often, as the
youths practiced songs and yells on the campus, Thor's terrific rumble was
heard--some had even dared to slap his massive back and say, "Hello, Thor,
old man!" and the big Freshman had responded. It was evident to all that
Thorwald was striving to become a collegian, and knowing his slow, bulldog
nature, there was no doubt as to his ultimate success; hence T. Haviland
Hicks, Jr., was vastly puzzled now.
"Oh, Thor hasn't backslid!" smiled Beef. "You see, Hicks, it's this way:
Owing to Mr. Thorwald's losing the five thousand dollars, Thor, as you
know, is working his way at Bannister. Well, with his hustling, his studies
and football scrimmage, he simply does not have a minute for the other
phases of college life, for the comradeship with his fellows--"
"Here is his day's schedule," chimed in Deacon, referring to a paper: "Rise
at four-thirty A. M. Hustle downtown to tend several furnaces until seven.
Breakfast at seven. Till nine, make beds and sweep dormitory rooms.
Nine till three-fifteen P. M., recitation periods and dormitory work,
sandwiched. Then until supper, football practice, and nights study. Add
to that waiting on tables for the three meals, and what time has Thor to
broaden and develop, to take in all the big things of campus existence, to
grow into an all-round college man?"
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., wonderful to chronicle, was silent. He was
reflecting on the irony of fate; as Deacon said, now that Thor had
awakened, and earnestly wanted to be a collegian, he had no time to enter
into campus life. Glad at being able to stay at old Bannister, to keep on
with his studies, climbing steadily toward his goal, and finding a joy in
his new relationship with the students, the ponderous Thorwald had flung
himself into his hustling, as the youths called working one's way at
college, with zeal. To the huge Freshman, toil was nothing, and since it
meant that he could keep on with his study, he was content. The collegians
vastly admired his grim determination; they aided all they could with
his studies, and helped with his work, so he could have more time for
scrimmage, and yet another phase of the problem came to Hicks.
It seemed unjust that John Thorwald, after his long years of hard physical
toil, and his mental struggles, often after hours of grinding work, at the
very time when the five thousand dollars from Henry B. Kingsley's heirs
promised him a chance to study without a body tortured and exhausted,
should be forced again to take up his stern fight for knowledge. And it
was cruel that Thor, just awakening to the true meaning of college life,
striving to grasp campus tradition, and eager to serve his Alma Mater in
every way, should have so little time to mingle with his fellows. He should
be with them on the campus, on the athletic field, in the dorms., the
literary society halls, the Y. M. C. A. He should be realizing the golden
years of college life, the glad comradeship of the campus. Instead, he must
arise in the bitter cold, gray dawn, and from then until late night toil
and study unceasingly.
"It's a howling shame!" declared the serious Hicks, a heart full of
sympathy for Thor. "Just as he wakes up and is trying to understand things
at old Bannister, bang! the _Norwhal_ is blown up by a stray mine, and
down goes his dad's money. Why didn't Mr. Thorwald get the five thousand
transferred to the _Valkyrie_? Oh, if that money hadn't gone down to Davy
Jones' locker, Thor would be awakened and have time for college life, too!"
Butch Brewster started to speak when the thunderous tread of John Thorwald
sounded in the corridor. The Prodigious Prodigy seemed approaching at
double-quick time, and the youths stared at each other. However, when
Thor appeared in the doorway, a letter in hand, they gazed at him in
bewilderment, for his face fairly glowed.
"Read it, fellows, read it!" he breathed, with what, for him, was almost
excitement. "It just came! Oh, isn't that good news? Read it out, Captain
Butch. Won't we wallop Ballard now!"
Big Butch Brewster, mystified by Thor's happiness, and urged on by his
equally puzzled comrades, drew out the letter, and a glad smile coming to
his honest countenance, he read aloud:
"THE NEW YORK-CHRISTIANIA. STEAMSHIP LINE (New York Office)
"Nov. 18, 19--.
"MR. JOHN THORWALD, JR., Bannister College.
"DEAR SIR:
"We beg to state that your father, first mate on our liner, the _Valkyrie_,
three days outbound from New York to Christiania, sent a message, _via_
wireless, to our New York offices by the inbound Dutch Line's _Rotterdam_.
The _Rotterdam_ relayed the message to us, and we forward it herewith,
_verbatim:_
"'DEAR SON: Purser of my ship, the _Valkyrie_, informed me today that the
purser of the ill-fated _Norwhal_, learning of my transfer to this liner,
transferred my $5,000 to the _Valkyrie_ before he sailed to his fate. I am
sending this _via_ the _Rotterdam_, inbound, and our office will forward it
to you. Will write on arriving at Christiania. Father.'
"We are sorry for the delay in forwarding this message, but through an
accident, it was mislaid in our office for a few days.
"Yours truly,
"THE NEW YORK-CHRISTIANIA STEAMSHIP LINE,
"per J. L. G."
A moment of silence; outside on the campus the Bannister youths, preparing
for the mass-meeting in the Auditorium, started cheering. Someone caught
sight of Thor, standing now by the window of Hicks' room, on the third
floor of Bannister Hall, and a few seconds later there sounded:
"Thor! Thor! Thor! Thor will bring the Championship to old Bannister! Rah!
Rah! Rah!--Thor!"
"Oh," shouted T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., grinning happily, his arm across
Thor's massive shoulders, "'All's well that ends well,' as Bill Shakespeare
says. It's all right now, Thor. Fate dealt you a hard punch, but it served
its purpose; for it made you realize how you would regret to leave college.
Now you won't have to hustle and have all your time filled with toil and
study; you can go after every phase of campus life, and serve old Bannister
in so many ways."
John Thorwald stood, a contented look on his placid, impassive face,
gazing down at the campus below and hearing the plaudits of the excited
collegians. The stately old elms, gaunt and bare, tossed their limbs
against a leaden sky; a cold, dreary wind sent clouds of dry leaves
scurrying down the concrete walks. In the faint moonlight that struggled
through the clouds, the towers and spires of old Bannister were limned
against the sky-line. Across the campus, on Bannister Field, the
goal-posts, skeleton-like, kept their lonely vigil. On that field, in
less than a week, the Gold and Green must face the crucial test--against
Ballard's championship eleven, in the Biggest Game; and now, almost on the
eve of battle, the shackles had been knocked from him; he was free of the
great burden, free to serve his Alma Mater, to fight for the Gold and
Green, to grow and develop into an all-round, representative college man.
All of a sudden it dawned on the slow-thinking young Norwegian just how
much this freedom to grow and expand meant to him, and he turned from the
window. From below, the shouts of "Thor! Thor! Thor!" drifted, stirring his
blood, as he looked at Hicks, Butch, Beef, Monty and Deacon.
"'All's well that ends well,' you say. Hicks," he spoke slowly, his face
joyous. "That's true; but I'm just starting, fellows. I'm just _beginning_
to live my college years, not for myself, but for old Bannister, for my
Alma Mater, for I am awake, and _free_!"