DEERING OF DEAL
[Illustration: LOGO]
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO
DALLAS · SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
[Illustration: “DON’T HAVE A FIT, DEERING, IT’S ONLY MACLAREN”]
DEERING OF DEAL
OR
THE SPIRIT OF THE SCHOOL
BY
LATTA GRISWOLD
“_Toujours fidèle et sans souci_”
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1914
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1912
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1912.
Reprinted July, 1913, July, 1914.
PRESS OF T. MOREY & SON
GREENFIELD, MASS., U. S. A.
To
JOHN GLENOE WRIGHT
LEE HALL JONES
ROBERT GROSVENOR
LUCIUS SCOTT LANDRETH, JR.
HARRY L. FENNER
SAMUEL M. SHOEMAKER, JR.
in warm friendship and in memory of
many happy days at school
FOREWORD
The Author desires to state that none of the characters in this story,
either boys or masters, are portraits. The incidents are entirely
fictitious, and Deal School, though it shares certain topographical
features with the school with which the Author is connected, exists
only in his imagination.
ST. GEORGE’S SCHOOL,
NEWPORT: _18 April, 1912_.
[Illustration: MAP OF DEAL SCHOOL]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. DEAL SCHOOL 1
II. A HAZING BEE 10
III. “PAX” 24
IV. MICHAELMAS TERM 35
V. THE BOXFORD GAME 47
VI. AFTERMATH 61
VII. LOVEL’S WOODS 71
VIII. A MIDNIGHT LARK 87
IX. AN ENDING 107
X. FINCH 120
XI. THE DISCOMFITURE OF DUCKY THORNTON 130
XII. A GATING AND A GAME 146
XIII. THE NIGHT OF THE BONFIRE 159
XIV. THE SPECTACLE 169
XV. TONY PLAYS THE PART OF A GUARDIAN ANGEL 188
XVI. A RIFT IN FRIENDSHIP 204
XVII. LEAVE-TAKING 216
XVIII. THE HEAD PREFECTSHIP 232
XIX. THE RESULT OF THE PROTEST 250
XX. FINCH’S HOUR 267
XXI. SELF-SACRIFICE 284
XXII. THE CHAPEL 294
XXIII. THE LAST TERM 306
ILLUSTRATIONS
“Don’t have a fit, Deering, it’s only Maclaren” _Page 99_
_Frontispiece_
Map of Deal School ix
FACING PAGE
Like a flash he slipped off his coat and cast it full in
Chapin’s face 22
“After due consideration Captain Maclaren and I have decided to
play Deering at left end in to-morrow’s game.” 50
Tony dodged ... and raced on with a clear field 158
He opened the drawers and thrust malicious disturbing hands
among the contents 210
Tony was putting his questions now rapidly and with intention for
he had become suspicious 254
With terrible effort he got to the surface again 292
“You will certainly be coming up to college next year?” 306
“Tall, eager, a face to remember,
A flush that could change as the day;
A spirit that knew not December,
That brightened the sunshine of May”
Fresh breezes blow and touch their favorite hill,
The waters quiver in the mellow light,
Wafts Paradise her fragrance o’er the marsh,
The Campus gleams with crimson and with white.
Fair banners flutter in the flowing winds,
And hopes are gleaming from the eyes of youth;
Old songs, from hearts that throb with loyal blood,
Arise, and echo with the ring of truth.
Bright laughter, merry shouts attune the air,
And over all the place is cast the gleam
That early summer lends unto the hours,
The passing hours that flow as doth a dream.
Fleet eager boys the base attain; the ball
In ambient air speeds like a fleeing bird;
Swift hands and sure arrest its vagrant flight,
As from a hundred throats hurrahs are heard.
Dear scenes! as pensive through them wandering,
The shadows lengthen in the slanting light;
Mists float across the golden campus, gleam
As light of stars in stilly depths of night.
Then faces in the wreathes of mist appear,
Dear faces that we loved in long ago
Shine brightly; voices murmur in the air,
Beloved voices that we used to know.
Fades far the dreamy present, fades the day,
With its enduring hopes and passing fears;
Old Boys surround us; and the heart is glad
For all the friendliness of vanished years.
DEERING OF DEAL
CHAPTER I
DEAL SCHOOL
If one chanced to examine the catalogues of Kingsbridge College for the
past hundred years it would be found that in most of them is recorded
the name of some dead and gone Deering—a name famous in the annals of
the South—who came up from Louisiana, “marched through the four long
happy years of college,” as the old song has it, with an arts degree
to his credit; or, perchance, marched out at the end of one or two of
them with nothing to his credit at all. Kingsbridge was a tradition in
the Deering family, southern though it was—a tradition that was hardly
broken, even when in 1861 Victor Deering and a hundred other chivalrous
youths threw their text-books out of the windows and enlisted in the
armies of the Confederacy. Victor’s father, Basil, too, was in the war,
and laid down his arms at Appomattox as a brigadier-general—brevetted
for gallantry on the field of action. For a while it seemed that
no Deerings would go to Kingsbridge, but time at length healed the
old antagonisms, and when it became a question where young Anthony,
Victor’s boy, should go to college, there was no longer any question
that Kingsbridge should be the place.
Preparing for Kingsbridge, before the war, had meant going first for
three or four years to Deal School, another Cæsarean seat of learning,
almost as well known as the college itself. The warm-hearted old
general had as fond memories of the school-topped, wind-swept hill
above the rocks of Deal, as he had of the meadows and hills about
Kingsbridge. There were a great many family counsels held in the old
house on the bayou; some prejudices pocketed; some feminine qualms
appeased and tears dried; and a great deal of correspondence was
exchanged between the Head Master of Deal and the old General, who
ruled his family to the third and fourth generation.
And so at length on a bright crisp September morning, when he was about
fifteen years old, Anthony Deering found himself getting out of the
little way-train that runs from Coventry to Monday Port across the
Cæsarean flats, and enquiring diligently for a hack to drive him out to
Deal School. He had made the journey up from New Orleans alone, without
a quaver until he came to his journey’s end. He was a day late for
the opening of school, so that he was the only passenger to alight at
Monday Port.
A vociferous cabman offered him the services of a dilapidated fly and
a bony horse. He looked about for better, but not finding them, he
pulled his belt a trifle tighter, swallowed the lump in his throat, and
quieted the man by thrusting his bag into his hand. Then he jumped into
the crazy vehicle, and shouted in a high voice, “Deal School!”
Tony had never been to Monday Port before, but he had heard a great
deal of it from his mother, who had spent gay summers there in
her girlhood, before the war. It had once been a favorite resort
for Southerners, but after their exodus, was taken up by Northern
people, and for a decade or so was one of the most popular Cæsarean
watering-places. The town occupied a long stretch of level country
between the sea and a range of low-lying sandhills. Its streets were
pretty and clean, shaded for the most part by maple trees, with modest
cottages on either side, and here and there more pretentious modern
“villas,” representing almost every conceivable style of architecture.
Tony was not much interested in Monday Port, however, and he eyed these
pleasant homes with a rueful glance, which gave an odd expression to
his attractive young face; for despite the shadows in his gray-blue
eyes and the frown on his dark brows, it was evident that he was
anything but a surly or fretful lad. There was a sparkle in the depths
of the shadow; lines of cheerfulness behind the frown; the glow of
health in his cheeks.
At last the old horse dragged the fly listlessly out of the shady
street and they came into an open space, which fronted on a broad sheet
of water flowing down with a fine sweep to the sea. A long bridge led
across Deal Water to a straight white road which cleft a clean path
through the rising meadowland. Eastward the wide expanse of green
was edged by a line of tawny sands, where the turf swept down to the
bluffs. Beyond lay the sea, sparkling like a great splendid jewel. Tony
loved the sea, and a thrill went through him as he saw it again now
after a long time. A load seemed lifted from his heart, though there
was still some wistfulness for the sleepy bayou and the old plantation
and the dear familiar faces. He remembered how so many Deerings before
him had crossed that great still pond on their way to school, and had
known that restless sea during happy boyhood.
“Is that the school?” he cried to the driver, springing up as he caught
sight of a pile of buildings which crowned a hill-top at the end of
the long white road ahead of them. There seemed to be a great many of
these buildings, standing shoulder to shoulder, long and low for the
most part, but one higher than the rest, marked by a tapering spire.
The rays of the morning sun glinted on the windows so that they seemed
ablaze with light. A fresh breeze was blowing off the ocean. There was
the smell of seaweed in the air and of herby autumnal flowers. Here and
there a field was stained literally purple with Michaelmas daisies,—a
vivid contrast to the deep green of the meadows.
Tony could scarcely contain himself as the fly crawled up the steep
road. Then, just as they reached the summit, a few paces before
they turned into the school drive, another splendid view opened to
them unexpectedly. On the other side of the school grounds the hill
descended much more precipitously toward a point of rocky land which
jutted into the sea; to the east the land bent with an enormous curve,
embracing a wide beach about a mile in length; then, turning sharply
again, rose into hilly land, thickly wooded, rocky-shored, which
crowded about the great inlet, somewhat misnamed the Strathsey River.
Across the morning haze gleamed the shores of a broad peninsula known
as Strathsey Neck. In the midst of the river,—or bay, for it was
really that,—a pile of rocks jutted from the waters, on which was
situate a lighthouse, marked in the charts as Deigr Light.
Tony was a little bewildered by the unexpected impelling beauty of the
situation. The cab turned into the school driveway then, and at the end
of a graveled elm-shaded avenue, he saw a low long building of gray
stone—of Tudor architecture, he learned afterwards—approached by a
broad flight of stone steps.
A maid-servant met him at the door, surmised that he was the new boy,
and said, “I will show you at once to the Doctor’s study.” They passed
through a large hall, which Tony just could see was attractive, with
its black oak paneling and the great open fireplace at the farther end,
and then he was ushered into a cheerful pleasant-looking room, his hand
was heartily clasped, and a gruff kindly voice bade him welcome.
Tony looked up, and saw a pair of sharp blue eyes, set deep under
shaggy gray brows in a firm strongly-lined face, under a mass of thick
gray hair, looking enquiringly into his. It was a kindly, inquisitive
glance, as though their owner were wondering what manner of boy this
was. Doctor Forester was growing old now, but he was still in the prime
of his activity as a vigorous and effective head master. He looked
down upon the fair copper-colored head of the boy, and into his frank
gray-blue eyes, which looked back fearlessly.
“Ah, Deering, I am glad to see you. I am sorry you are late, however,
for it is not the best way to begin,” he said, speaking with a
sharp accent, and in quick phrases, which Tony was to learn were
characteristic.
“I know, sir, but my grandfather—”
“Your grandfather, my boy, used to get caned once a week by old
Doctor Harvey for the same incorrigible offense. But I understand the
situation. You are not to blame. You are to have a room in Standerland
Hall and sit at Mr. Morris’s table in the dining-room. Stop here a
moment, while I send for a boy to show you about. Then you can get your
books, and go into class the last morning period. We are going to try
you in the Third. The master-in-charge will assign you a seat in the
schoolroom.” The doctor touched a bell on his desk. “Send Lawrence to
me, please,” he said to the servant who answered it; and then turning
to Deering again, “Well, my boy, how is your grandfather? Has he told
you that we were at Kingsbridge together? He was a senior when I was a
freshman. He rescued me one night at a hazing-bee. Those were good old
days—never the like of _them_ again! I am glad they are sending you
north to school and college. Ah, Lawrence! come in, come in. Lawrence,
this is Anthony Deering. He is to be in your form and hall. Take him
about a bit—that’s a good fellow—introduce him to the masters—and
report to Mr. Morris before the last period. Good-bye now. Come to the
Rectory to tea this afternoon, Deering, and we can have some talk
about the General.”
The Doctor said all this very rapidly, and almost before Deering and
Lawrence had finished their embarrassed greeting, he had turned to his
desks and was busy with his papers.
James Lawrence—or Jimmie, as he was always called—was a slender,
dark-haired handsome youth. He had a frank countenance, an engaging
smile, black hair, and beautiful dark eyes. He recovered his
self-possession in a moment and looked Tony over critically, as he
waited for the Doctor to finish speaking. “Very good, sir,” he said, at
length. “Come along, Deering, and I’ll show you where you are to room.”
“You may think the old gentleman is in the clouds,” he said, as they
turned into a long corridor leading from the Doctor’s study, “but we
have to wake up early in the morning to fool him—not that we don’t,
you know!—but he is keen enough to make it mighty interesting. Why I
have got twenty-five distinct directions about you already. You are
to sit next me at table, for instance, and poor old Teddy Lansing is
transferred to Mr. Williams.”
“Will he mind?” asked Tony, a trifle anxiously.
“Well, you’ll find out if he does mind. Teddy’s a noisy brute. There!
that’s the way into the schoolroom,” he interrupted himself to say,
“you’ll wish you could forget it in a week or so. Take a tip, watch
Kit Wilson and me; we’ll show you a trick or two. But you are so
beastly new.... See that animated broomstick toddling along? That’s old
Roylston, the Latin master; you’ll meet him too soon for your comfort;
we won’t stop now, despite the Doctor’s instructions. Give him a wide
berth, and don’t bluff him.”
By this time they had got outside the Old School on the terrace, with
the wonderful outlook over bay and sea. Tony began to make some remark
about the view.
“Oh, the view!” exclaimed Lawrence, “You’ll get used to that too.
That’s Lovel’s Woods over yonder,” he said, pointing to a stretch of
thickly-wooded hilly land by the Strathsey shore, “rather useful in the
winter term. You’re in Standerland, eh? That’s that long crazy gray
stone building over the quad. Lucky dog to get a room, say I. Bill
Morris is the master—a decent sort; an old boy, strong therefore with
the doctor. Thank heaven and the Head that you’re going to be under
Bill. No, we aren’t going over there now. You’ll have to scamper over
there to wash up before dinner. I’ve got a page of Cæsar to do before
last period, so let’s toddle to the schoolroom. Bill’s in charge, and
he’ll smooth things over. Wait for me after school and I’ll pilot you
in to grub.”
They had brought up now at the entrance to the Schoolhouse, which
was connected with the Old School by a cloister and formed the north
side of a great quadrangle. To the west lay Standerland House and the
Chapel, a pure Gothic structure with a beautiful tower and spire,
and the Rectory, the Head Master’s residence, between. Eastward lay
the Gymnasium and the Refectory or dining-hall, the latter on a line
with the Old School. North of the Schoolhouse was another quadrangle,
flanked by Standerland and the Gymnasium, with Montrose and Howard
Houses on its northern side. Beyond that still lay the playing-fields.
All this Jimmie barely had time to indicate, as the two boys ran up
a wide flight of steps, traversed a broad corridor, and entered the
schoolroom, where he introduced Tony to the master-in-charge.
Tony could never remember what was said by either of them; he felt
as if the gaze of the hundred pair of eyes, belonging to the hundred
boys bent over their desks, was burning into his back. There was a
vague sort of comfort in the pleasant tones of Mr. Morris’s voice, and
somehow he came back to consciousness a little later, and found himself
seated at a desk, with a brand new copy of the _Gallic Wars_ open
before him, and his lips pronouncing over and over in a meaningless
sort of way—“_Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres_....”
Thus Deering’s school days at Deal began.