Phillip struggled into an old coat, performed Maid’s toilet――removed
her collar and rubbed her neck――and took up a book. But study didn’t
appeal to him, and presently he turned the volume face down in his
lap, stretched his legs in front of him, clasped his hands back of
his head and reviewed the evening. For the first time since he had
reached Cambridge he felt that he really belonged there; that he was
a part of the college. Yesterday he had been a separate atom circling
around the outer rim of things, occasionally touching other atoms for
a space, only to be borne off again. To-day he had suddenly been drawn
into the vortex; had jostled and overlapped others of his kind, and
had, in fact, become a particle in the coherent body. He was sensible
of a certain elation that bordered on excitement; he wanted to tell
some one about it. To that end he lighted a pipe, seated himself at the
table, drew paper and ink to him and wrote steadily for an hour. The
letter was inscribed, “Dear Little Mamma and Margey,” and in it he set
forth all that had happened since his last writing on Friday. He told
of the theatre party of the previous evening, of attending church that
morning, and then of John North’s appearance on the scene and their
walk.
“I wish you could see North,” he wrote. “He’s a fine fellow
every way. He’s over six feet high, I reckon, with very broad
shoulders. I feel pretty small alongside him. But of course it
isn’t his size that makes you like him so right away, though
I reckon that has something to do with it, but the way he
looks and what he says and the way he does things. I can’t
explain just what I mean, although I know myself. He’s mighty
good-looking; awfully manly and honest; that kind of handsome,
you know. He has nice dark eyes that always seem as though they
were smiling at you, and a straight nose and a square chin that
makes you feel that you wouldn’t care to have him right angry
at you. He has a funny, quiet way of talking, and you can’t
help feeling that if you were in a fix he’s just the fellow
you’d like to have come along. And of course he’s awfully
smart, only he isn’t the sort of man that tries to make you
know it. That’s where he’s different from Guy Bassett. He’s not
as handsome as Bassett, but you like his looks better somehow.
“Talking about looks, mamma, he saw your photograph and those
of father on my mantel when he was here, and Margey’s, too.
He said ‘we Ryersons’ were a good-looking lot and――but Margey
mustn’t see this or she’ll get conceited――that my sister was a
beauty. It sounds kind of cheeky, but it really wasn’t, the way
he said it.”
Phillip described the walk to the extent of three pages and promised
to send a book of views which showed some of the places they had seen.
Then,
“I met his roommate, David Meadowcamp; isn’t it a funny name?
He’s almost as funny as his name, too. But he was awfully nice,
as I was sure he would be if he was North’s friend. He was all
sprawled out on a Turkish couch thing when we went in and North
woke him up and introduced me. I was a bit uncomfortable at
the queer way he looked me over, just as though I were a horse
he was thinking of buying, but he shook hands and was very
pleasant and kind.
“He and North had a sort of ‘scrap,’ as they say here, just in
fun, you know. I didn’t understand what it was about exactly,
but I had to laugh to see them falling over the chairs and
things, for Meadowcamp is just about as big as John North and
heavier, I reckon. Meadowcamp told North that he had seen an
article in the Sunday paper on the care and feeding of infants,
or something like that, and that he had cut it out and saved
it for him to read, and North looked kind of queer and threw a
book at Meadowcamp and then they had it, and Meadowcamp finally
got North back of the couch and sat on him and made him make
all kind of funny speeches of apology, and made him apologize
to me for ‘misbehaving in the presence of an honoured guest.’
“They have splendid rooms and the study is full of jolly things
to look at. The walls are just covered all over with rugs and
pictures and there are book-cases that come half-way up them
filled with expensive books. And North said I was to help
myself whenever I wanted. He showed me the pictures when he
found I was staring at them, and said that a lot of them were
originals by a fellow named Remington who does Indian drawings
in the magazines. They were great. And there were a lot of
water-colours and oil paintings and a lot of steins――those
German beer mugs, you know――hanging on hooks. And I counted
fifteen ‘shingles,’ too. A shingle is a framed paper, like the
diplomas, saying that you belong to a club or society. They
must belong to a lot.
“They took me to dinner at their boarding-place which is
called The Inn. North said that some of the fellows at their
club table weren’t there because it was Sunday. Some go home
if they live near here. There were eight of us at table and I
was introduced to every one. They are all seniors and so of
course I felt rather young and insignificant at first. But
everybody acted just as if I was one of them and after awhile
I forget about being a freshman and talked back. North told
them that I was from Virginia and was in college preparing for
the Presidency, and Meadowcamp asked me to make him Secretary
of State when I was elected, and that started them to forming
a cabinet. North wanted to be Secretary of Agriculture because
it was a nice, restful position, but Meadowcamp said no, they
would have a new portfolio and make him Secretary of Education.
North seemed to think that was very funny and so did everybody
else, but of course I didn’t know what the joke was. We had a
fine dinner and the walk had made me hungry and I ate like
a woodchopper. North says I should go to The Inn and join a
general table there. I think I will, because the place that
Chester Baker recommended is much more expensive and I just
can’t stand the restaurants any longer. I had two helpings of
beef and two of rice and two of pudding. And after dinner we
sat around a long while and smoked and talked about football
and theatres and lots of things that I didn’t know much about.
When the fellows said good-night they most all asked me to come
and see them. I asked North if he thought they really meant it
and he said they did and that I should go. And so I reckon I’ll
have to, although I’m a bit scared.
“When we went back to Little’s――that’s where North and
Meadowcamp room――we pulled easy-chairs up together and North
put a little table with pipes and cigars and tobacco in the
middle and we smoked and talked some more. North said I was to
talk fast so as to keep Davy――that’s Meadowcamp――awake. They
asked me a lot about Virginia and Elaine, and I told them about
the horses and the fox hunts, and Meadowcamp says he is going
to come down and spend the summer with me. But of course that
was just a joke. And I am to be sure and always go to their
room every Sunday night and whenever else I have time. And
North is going to see about my getting board at The Inn. It
is six dollars a week, but he says you can’t get good food in
Cambridge for any less, unless you go to Memorial or Randall,
and that if I go there I’ll end by starving to death.
“I said good-night at nine o’clock and came back to my room.
North said I mustn’t go so early, but I noticed that Meadowcamp
was nodding and reckoned he wanted to get to bed. Maid had a
fine time to-day when we went to walk and chased sparrows and
things all the time. Cambridge is beautiful now and the leaves
are beginning to fall. I wish you and Margey could see how
lovely it is. But I get kind of homesick sometimes for you all
and Elaine. Please tell Bob to ride Ruby twice a week and to
look after her feet well. I will write again soon. With heaps
of love,
“PHIL.”
Phillip found his days fully occupied. He attended chapel every
morning, at first from a sense of duty, but afterward because he liked
it and felt somehow better prepared for what the day was to bring. One
morning he encountered Guy Bassett on the steps and gave voice to the
surprise he looked:
“Good-morning; I didn’t expect――――” He paused confusedly. Guy smiled.
“Didn’t expect to see me here?” he asked. “I fear you’re a Pharisee,
Ryerson. I’m usually at prayers. I find it rather interesting; not
exciting, you understand, but mildly interesting. And then, I think I’m
better for it all the rest of the day.”
“Yes,” said Phillip, “so do I.”
“I’ve paced it off and have found that the distance from my room to
chapel and from chapel to my boarding house is just over the half-mile.
Half a mile is about the proper distance for a morning walk. I tried
going to the Common and back at first, but as that involved viewing
that extremely hideous soldiers’ monument I had to give it up. After
that the chapel was really the only objective point that was the
right distance. Besides, I fancy it lends one a certain amount of
distinction.”
When Phillip, in the course of a conversation with Chester, incidentally
mentioned having been to morning prayers, the latter was genuinely
astonished.
“But you have to get up so early!” he exclaimed. “And then I should
think you’d feel frightfully lonely.”
“Well, seeing that the place is generally pretty well filled――――”
“Really? I shall have to try it some morning when I can’t sleep.”
“Bloody Monday Night” was a dire disappointment to Phillip. After
marching about the yard arm in arm with Chester and Guy for the better
part of half an hour, cheering defiantly for his class, the subsequent
shoving and jostling, in which the most glorious thing that befell him
was the loss of his cap, was distinctly unsatisfying. He went home
feeling rather aggrieved, in the mood of one who has seen an ideal
shattered.
There was another visit to the theatre about this time. He and Chester
witnessed the performance of a sensational melodrama, which Chester
subsequently re-enacted for his benefit on the platform of the Boylston
Street Station of the subway, to the intense interest of several score
of dignified citizens of Cambridge and the Back Bay. Phillip paid
his half of the expenses without questioning, having discovered that
Chester’s theatre parties were invariably Dutch treats. And about the
same time Phillip awoke to the fact that there was a well-developed
skeleton in his closet which, for want of a better name, might have
been called Pecuniary Embarrassment. Expenses came thick and fast. He
purchased a new suit of brown tweed cut in the prevailing mode, with a
short jacket having a stunning plait and belt, and a pair of trousers
surprisingly generous at the back. A dress suit followed this, and
some shirts in blue and pink and green effects, a crimson cap and
several pairs of wonderful socks. Then he made the startling discovery
one morning that he was the only fellow at a recitation who wore high
shoes. At noon he went to a shop on the avenue and purchased a pair of
low ones with very extended soles. He caught a violent cold the first
day he wore them――which happened to be wet and raw――but persisted and
suffered in the cause of fashion for a week. When he had to stay in his
room for the whole of one day and take medicine, he consoled himself
with the knowledge that, even as an invalid, he was attired in the mode.
He joined the Union, bought an H. A. A. ticket and rented a locker
at the Newell Boat Club. As he had nothing with which to grace the
locker he purchased a pair of rowing-trunks and a shirt and promised
himself a place in a freshman crew. Meanwhile he had joined a freshman
club table at The Inn and was living very satisfactorily. But six
dollars a week, payable monthly, caused the skeleton to rattle noisily.
His connection with the table had come about as the result of an
advertisement in the _Crimson_. He had interviewed the fellow who
was getting it up and had learned the names of those who had already
joined. He had conferred with John North, and the latter had advised
him to cast in his lot with the freshmen rather than to go to the
general table, where, as John delicately explained, freshmen weren’t
popular. The Inn was not particularly handy to his rooms, but John
insisted that the walk there and back several times daily would do him
good.
There were nine other fellows at the table and, with the exceptions of
Phillip and a man named Kingsford, all had prepared at the same school
and were naturally somewhat clannish. But when a week had passed the
two outsiders were accepted by the others, rather patronizingly, to
be sure, but still unreservedly, and Phillip found himself amongst a
congenial and thoroughly nice set. It did not occur to him to feel
any surprise at his admission any more than when Chester Baker had so
unconventionally scraped acquaintance in the Yard. But later on he
discovered that he would never have been privileged to fill the vacancy
had not his friendship with John North served as a guarantee. Kingsford
had been admitted simply because he was one of the Marlborough Street
Kingsfords and must of necessity be desirable, on the principle that
the King can do no wrong.
During that first week of polite ostracism Phillip and Everett
Kingsford got to know each other thoroughly. Phillip felt uncomfortable
at times when the conversation at table veered to subjects outside
his experience and emphasized his aloofness, but Kingsford found only
amusement in the situation.
“It’s funny,” he confided one day, “how those chaps think that no one
who hasn’t been to school at Milton can be quite correct. They put
up with me because they have been brought up to consider a Boston
Kingsford one of the elect, but it’s easy to be seen that, try as they
may, they can’t help looking down on me a bit. And the most amusing
thing about it is the really generous and charitable way in which they
all strive to conceal it.”
Despite the fact that his waking hours were pretty well filled, Phillip
pined for other fields in which to win distinction. At Chester’s advice
he had become a subscriber to the _Crimson_, and every morning he read
the calls for candidates for one thing and another and tried to find
some line of action that appealed to him. For a week he was undecided
whether to try for the Rifle and Pistol Club, the Lacrosse Team or the
Pierian Sodality. Later he gave up thoughts of the latter because the
only instrument he could play was a jewsharp, and he discovered that
for some reason jewsharps were not included in the orchestra. Inquiries
elicited the disappointing information that if he joined the Lacrosse
Team he could not hope to take part in a game before midspring, and he
relinquished the idea of gaining glory in that sport. That left only
the Rifle and Pistol Club under consideration, and it is probable that
he would have tried there had he not found a notice one day calling for
candidates for the Shooting Club. Phillip rather prided himself on his
ability with the shotgun, and so attended a meeting in Claverly one
Wednesday night and was duly enrolled as a member.
He had not given up hope of gaining a place in one of the crews,
but John had advised against it for the present and so he put off
the attempt. He joined a class at the gymnasium and went there every
Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons and did strange things with
chest weights, dumb-bells, Indian clubs, ladders and bars, and had
aches in all sorts of out-of-the-way corners of his body. But he
measured and remeasured his chest and biceps and found, to his delight,
that he was rapidly increasing the girth of both.
Squad E had not yet been called to the field, and Phillip realized that
his chance of playing on the Freshman Football Team that year was not
worth considering. Guy Bassett had been taken onto the second squad and
was distinguishing himself there. But Chester, like Phillip, was quite
out of it and they bemoaned their fate together.
The freshman reception came off, and Phillip and Chester went to
Saunders Theatre and heard much excellent talk and shook hands with
a great many persons whose names they could not recall afterward and
whom they were practically certain never to meet again. Later, in the
transept, they came across Guy Bassett wearing an expression of lively
interest. He was in conversation with an earnest and thin-faced man
whose clothes looked several sizes too large for him. As they passed
Guy called to them and introduced his companion. They didn’t understand
his name; it sounded like “Mr. Mumumum.” Later they learned that Guy
didn’t know it himself.
“We have been talking about the Christian Club,” said Guy, “and――――”
“Christian Association,” corrected the earnest man gently.
“Of course; very stupid of me――Association I should have said. It’s
very interesting; in fact, quite astonishing, I refer to the good that
the Association has accomplished here in college.” Guy laid a hand on
Chester’s shoulder and addressed him with large enthusiasm. “And I’ve
been telling――er――this gentleman how deeply interested you both are
in――er――that sort of thing, you know, and I want you to hear him tell
about it. That is,” turning to the earnest one, “if you have time.”
“Yes, indeed; I shall be happy to explain something of our work,”
replied the other eagerly. “I am delighted to find any members of
the――ah――entering class who are interested in the subject of spiritual
betterment and christian endeavour.” He positively beamed. Chester
strove to break away from Guy’s detaining grasp and Phillip looked
blank.
“Awfully kind of you,” exclaimed Guy. “You’ll find both these chaps
earnest and――er――eager, I am sure, to take practical interest in the
Association. Mr. Baker, especially, is the man for you, and I truly
hope that you may be able to prevail upon him to take up the Bible
study work. I’m very glad to have met you, sir, and hope to do so again
frequently.” He shook hands with the other. “I will consider the matter
and let you hear from me. Good-night, sir; good-night.”
He favoured Chester and Phillip with a satyr-like grin and hurried away
after refreshments. Twenty minutes later his victims followed, murder
in their eyes, but both Guy and the refreshments had disappeared.
“Phil, have you the slightest idea what we promised that fellow?” asked
Chester wearily as they crossed Broadway.
“No; only I remember you told him you’d be on hand next Sunday.”
“Did I? I daresay. Great Scott, how he can talk! If I don’t get even
with Guy for this I’m――I’m――I’ll――――” But words failed him and he
stumbled into Thayer without saying good-night.
Phillip’s Sunday evenings with John and David Meadowcamp had now become
regular institutions, and he looked forward to them with real pleasure.
He saw John frequently during the week, but their various meetings, at
Soldiers’ Field, in the square or at The Inn were short and hurried.
But another custom which Phillip had formed was destined to result
in less good. On Saturday nights he and Chester visited Guy in the
latter’s rooms, where they smoked many more cigars and cigarettes
than was good for them and drank beer from mugs which had music boxes
secreted in them――a harmless enough dissipation if it had ended there.