BAD NEWS FROM HOME AND FLIGHT
Hal, in fact, was feeling very good about this time. The winter’s cold
had given way to the rare warmth of the Eastern spring. The grass
was green, the trees were in leaf, the sun was just right--not too
warm--like his own balmy California. He was making friends among the
students, his prospects of getting into some of the big games were very
good--he was happy. He had a good chum in Hagner, whose more extended
experience with the hard knocks of the world had made him wise for his
age, and he was a good adviser for Hal.
You see Hagner had worked for everything he had gotten in the world.
He couldn’t remember when he didn’t work. When he was going to Grammar
School he sold papers at night and Saturdays. In the mornings he had to
get up early and deliver milk to the few people who could be induced to
patronize the Hagner dairy which consisted of two cows only--and whose
entire output didn’t warrant a wagon or bottles--so Hans delivered the
milk in tin pails.
One summer he worked in a barber shop, because that was the only thing
that he could find to do around the little town where he lived. When
he got into High School he gave up the milk and paper business to a
younger brother and spent his time clerking in a grocery store every
evening and on Saturdays, and made enough money that way, so that his
parents were content to let him follow out his ambition to secure an
education.
On Sundays he played baseball when it was baseball weather and in Texas
where he lived it was that kind of weather nearly all the year round.
That’s where he learned to like the game and also where he learned
the first principles of it. After he had been graduated from the High
School he went to Wahoo College, which was only fifty miles from his
home.
It was a little more than a preparatory institution, although the
course of study was broad enough so that a graduate from there could
enter Lowell without further examination. The summer before going to
Wahoo College Hagner had sold books--was a real book agent--and he made
enough money in the three months to keep him at college for a year. The
expenses at Wahoo were not large, and there was something left over
for his folks. This he did every year while at Wahoo, so that he was
able to give all of his time at school to his studies, and baseball. He
learned to love the game as nothing else in the world. He found he had
a certain naturalness which few boys possess. He seemed instinctively
to do the right thing at the right time, and this developed a great
deal of confidence in himself. His greatest ambition was to have a fine
education, but as a small boy it didn’t look as though that would ever
come. But little by little, as he did the things he had to do, he found
he was getting there.
He had gone through High School and made his own way, and at Wahoo
College he still made his own way, getting stronger and more confidence
in himself every day. He stood well in his studies and he got his good
marks by hard work and constant application.
On the little college team Hans was quite a wonder. What ability he
displayed there he thought was all natural.
As a matter of fact he studied the game of baseball as hard as he did
his Cæsar. He developed a lot of ability as a batter but he got it by
studying how to hold his bat, how to stand up at the plate, by watching
every movement of the pitcher, and keeping his eye on the ball all the
time and by learning not to be afraid of being hit.
So by the time he had arrived at Lowell he had a lot of confidence in
himself. He knew he could get out at any time and make a living as a
salesman. His confidence and earnestness were a great help to him in
that line, as they were in everything, and Hagner had gotten to the
point, even though only twenty-four, where he was absolutely sure of
himself, and he didn’t have to worry about anything but how to make
the most of his time at the University--how to get the most out of his
studies and how to have the most fun as time offered.
For this reason he was a good deal of help to Hal who had never had
to hustle for himself, although, as he knew, his folks had pinched and
saved in order to give him this first year at Lowell. His folks had
been sending him the funds he absolutely needed every month, with a
little pocket money besides, which Hal spent carefully. He was getting
into the habit of being economical and Hagner’s self-reliance and
confidence spurred him on.
They would talk these things over among themselves often. Hal knew that
if he was to be at Lowell the next year he would have to rely on his
folks again or else win one of those scholarships.
“Better work for the Scholarship,” said Hans. “It don’t pay to owe
anybody, even if it is your own folks. From what I have learned it is
pretty hard for them to send you this money every month, anyhow. I
don’t think I would have worked nearly so hard at school if I had been
spending some one else’s money. It hasn’t been easy work for me to sell
books every summer, but I’ve done it. I don’t like the work very well,
and now that this chance of a scholarship is in sight, I am going to
work my toes off if necessary, to land one of them; I think I’ll get
it, too, if I don’t break my leg or something.”
“That’s a fine thing for you, of course,” responded Hal, “because you
have a regular position on the team right now, and there’s no one to
take it away from you, while I am only a substitute pitcher and general
utility man, who probably won’t get a chance to play in any of the big
games at all.”
It was plain that Hal became discouraged from the talk. But he felt
absolutely certain that he could jump in and take the laurels away
from any pitcher they had, if he could only get in enough games to get
accustomed to the big crowds and the surroundings. But the season was
coming along and Black and Radams were doing the twirling and doing it
well, too.
Then, unexpectedly, one morning there came a letter from home that
Hal’s father had been taken sick and they had to use a little of the
money from Hal’s college fund to tide them over and Hal would have to
get along with about half his allowance for a month, anyhow.
This was a shock to Hal. Not so much the money part, but his father’s
sickness. He hated to think of his father being sick and he not at
home. Then he thought of the money, and his first idea was to get
on a train for California. Yes! That’s what he would have to do. He
couldn’t think of staying at Lowell any longer, spending his father’s
hard-earned money. What he ought to be doing was what Hans had done.
He should learn how to earn money and when he had done that, get his
education.
He felt this was a decision that should be acted on at once. He decided
to pack up right away. He didn’t stop to think he didn’t have anything
like the amount necessary to pay his fare home. Hans wasn’t in his
room and wasn’t to be back until three o’clock, so he thought in his
excitement that he would pack hurriedly and get out without seeing
anybody. He did so.
He wasn’t going to be dependent on his folks or anyone else for another
day. He left a note for Hans. This was at noon. He hunted up a time
table and found that the train for Boston to catch the through train
for the West left at three o’clock. He would buy his ticket and go. He
had no thought of changing his mind. He went to the depot to get his
ticket. All at once, he realized that he hadn’t any money. What was he
to do now? It was one o’clock already. Hal’s mind worked quickly. How
could he get two hundred dollars? Quickly he ran over in his mind the
things he had that he might raise some money on. There was only one
thing that was worth anything like that sum. At first he couldn’t think
of parting with that. It was his watch.
He had never told the story of the watch in Lowell to anyone but Hans.
The previous winter while swimming in the lake at home in California,
a rowboat in which there had been a man and two little girls, was
suddenly capsized. Hal was a regular “fish” in the water, just as
natural there as in anything that he understood at all, and he swam to
the rescue. He caught one of the little girls and held her up with one
hand while he righted the boat, and he then put her in.
By that time the man, who was the father of the little girls, had the
other one safe, but he was a big man and fat and couldn’t swim very
well, so Hal helped them both into the boat again, jumped in himself
and rowed them back to the shore near the hotel where they were
stopping. They were tourists from the East and wanted to reward Hal,
but he didn’t think he had done anything so great, so he ran away. That
was the last Hal heard of it, until a month later a package came by
express addressed to him. He opened it and found a letter and a very
fine gold watch with two large diamonds in the case.
The letter was from the father of the two little girls. He said he had
found out who Hal was and begged him to accept the watch in token of
the sender’s gratitude for the rescue of the little girls. They were
twins and exactly alike--so were the diamonds in the case. Hal hardly
ever wore the watch and so very few knew he had it. Now he decided to
pawn it if he could borrow enough on it to get to California.
He had never been in a pawnshop in his life and he was nervous.
Besides, his time was getting short. He rushed out of the station
and asked the first person he met (it was Crossley, although in his
excitement Hal couldn’t have told whether the man was black or white)
where there was a pawnshop. Crossley didn’t answer, because Hal hadn’t
stopped for an answer and Crossley himself was hurrying. He was already
talking to the policeman on the corner. The policeman told Hal there
was a pawnshop in the other end of town, but that most of the students
who had to raise money that way went to Boston. Hal started out to the
pawnshop the policeman told him about, but when he got there he found
it closed.
By the time Hal got back to the station it was five minutes of three.
He had decided to go into Boston and try to raise the money there on
the watch; then he would go right on home from here. He checked his
trunk, and just then the train drew into the station and he got aboard.
Meantime Hans had arrived back at the house thirty minutes before he
was expected. He straightened things around in his room, put his books
away and after a minute or two found Hal’s note. The note just said
that he had bad news from home, his father was sick, and they couldn’t
send him his allowance. He was going. He was sorry he couldn’t see Hans
again, but he was discouraged and said he would write. Would Hans tell
Hughie the circumstances, etc.? He was leaving Boston on the afternoon
train.
Hans knew the train left at three. He pulled out his watch and saw it
was fifteen minutes of three. It took sixteen minutes to get to the
station on the car. The train might be on time.
The note hadn’t sounded quite right to Hans. Hal ought not leave the
University without first registering out at the office of the college.
He thought there might be something else. Above all he didn’t want
Hal to go to California without seeing him again. He was very fond of
his chum. He thought of these things as he was gliding down the front
steps. To catch that train he would have to beat the car. That meant to
do it on foot.
Hans started to run. Every block put behind him was like a stolen base
to him. By running every block he managed to catch the last car of the
train just as she pulled out. There he stopped long enough to catch his
breath for he knew they couldn’t get off now since it was an express to
Boston without stop.
[Illustration: Every block was like a stolen base to Hans.]
Hans walked into the car. His first glance showed him a blue hat and
suit that looked like Hal’s, and as he came up to the seat he was just
about to slap him on the back with a “Hello! Hal!” when he saw the
fellow had on blue glasses. He stopped, then saw that the face wasn’t
Hal’s and went on through the train, glad that he hadn’t slapped a
stranger’s back in his best college style.
Up in the car next to the smoker he found Hal. He was sitting by the
window resting his chin on his hands and in his hand he held the letter
from his mother which he was rereading.
“You look mighty glum for a fellow that’s going home,” said Hans,
tapping him gently on the shoulder. “What’s up?”
Hal looked up in surprise at the familiar voice and turned to look at
Hans.
“Thought you were not going to be back until three,” remarked Hal. “I
am glad you got back in time to catch the train, though, because I
hated to leave without bidding you good-by.”
“Had to run all the way to the station to catch it. Thought I’d better
see you before you left for good. Would like to know the real reason.
Don’t look well to leave a college like Lowell without some explanation
to the office. What’s the trouble, anyhow?” burst out Hans, in the
short quick sentences which he used when he was much interested.
“This,” said Hal, handing him the letter. Hans read it over and then he
read it again. “Awfully sorry your father is sick, Hal,” he said, “but
I don’t see anything about wanting you to come home. Why, this letter
don’t even say that he is very sick. Don’t see any reason for going
home on that kind of a letter.”
“Well, but don’t you see,” broke in Hal, “they had to break into the
college fund to pay the extra bills and I must get along on less. I
don’t mind that, but this is the first time I knew that all my folks
have saved up in all these years was to go for my start in college,
and when I think of a fellow like you, Hans, who has made his own money
and think that I am here spending my parents’ savings, I can’t stand it
another minute, so I’m going home to learn how to make enough to pay my
own way through college.”
“And spoil your parents’ greatest happiness,” said Hans. “Let me tell
you something. My folks were poorer than yours. They were so poor they
couldn’t think of educating their children. Their greatest happiness
was in work and seeing others work with their hands. They couldn’t
realize what education would do. They had no way of realizing it.
Somehow or other I got the ambition to have an education. In order to
do that I had to earn enough money to pay into the family what I could
have made working daytimes.
“This was only after I was old enough to work for others. So I worked
early in the morning and late at night and made up to the folks the
time I spent at school. Now your parents know the value an education
will be to you. Your father is a Lowell graduate and they have been
saving this money for years in order to spend it on your first year at
Lowell, trusting to luck that some way will be found to let you go on.
It’s been their one great happiness and they’d probably feel mighty bad
to see you turn up at home without their sending for you.
“All you ought to be thinking of is how to get the most out of it
this year and get ready to make the burden lighter for the next year.
Winning one of the Scholarship Prizes would do it of course, but there
are other ways.”
“You put it up to me in a different way than I had thought of it
before,” said Hal. “If I thought I could earn some money working
nights, I think I’d try it.”
“If you think that way about it, I’ll see what I can do. We’ll go round
to the employment department of the University in the morning and see
if they haven’t something to do for a poor and needy student to help
him earn his way, especially one who is utility pitcher on the Varsity.
Meantime I guess we had better send a telegram to your folks asking if
your father is better or worse. We can have an answer by morning.”
“I think that would be a good idea,” said Hal, very much cheered by
his talk with Hans and his suggestions. “Come to think of it, though,
as you say, if he was sick enough to make them want me, they would
telegraph, anyhow, I suppose.”
“By the way,” said Hans. “Where did you expect to get the money to get
home on?”
And then Hal told him his idea about pawning his watch, of his effort
to do so before he started for Boston, and that he had intended to do
it in Boston.
“I wouldn’t do that ever until I had to,” remarked Hans. “Anyway not
to go home on. If you can pawn it for enough to get to California on,
you can pawn it for enough to keep you going at school for the rest of
the term. I wouldn’t do it until I had to, though. It’s a bad practice
to get into, although I never was in a pawnshop in my life, and hope I
never have to go.”
“I wonder how much they would loan me on the watch,” said Hal. “Suppose
we try it and see when we get to Boston. Just to see what it is worth,
anyhow.”
“All right,” said Hans, and just then the brakeman called out Boston
and in a minute or two the train stopped. Neither had ever been in
Boston before except to pass through on his way to the University.
They thought they might as well take in a show in the evening and take
the twelve o’clock train back to the University, which would land them
there about two o’clock in the morning. They were walking up to the
platform to go out through the depot when they met Arthur Delvin of the
Varsity going through the station.
“Hello, fellows,” said Arthur. “What are you doing in the city? By
George, I am glad to see you! Want you to come up to the house for
dinner and then we’ll take in a show. Wait for me in the station, will
you? I have to go out and find a cousin of mine who is coming in and
going right away again, and I have to see that she gets started right.
She’s on this train. I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes.” And off he
went.
There was nothing to do but wait and the boys decided that if they were
going to see some of Boston, Arthur would be as fine a fellow as any to
show them around, and they went into the station to wait.
Meantime Hal had been wondering what his watch was really worth and as
he walked to the door of the station he saw a sign “Pawnbroker” with
three gold balls over the door. This was just like the place he saw at
the University town earlier in the day, and looking around for Hans
who was sitting on a bench absorbed in a newspaper, he quietly slipped
across the street into the pawnbroker’s shop, and pulling out his watch
said to the pawnbroker:
“How much will you loan me on this?” He wondered if that was the way
people generally talked when they tried to pawn things.
[Illustration: “How much will you loan me on this?”]
The man took the watch and looked at it carefully. He examined the
diamonds with a magnifying glass, he opened the case and examined the
works, then he laid it down on the counter and said “Four hundred
and fifty dollars.”
Hal wondered if he had heard rightly. “How much did you say?” he asked.
“Four hundred and fifty dollars,” answered the man. “She’s worth a
thousand.”
“Thanks,” said Hal, picking up the watch and putting it in his pocket.
“I just wanted to know how much it was worth.”
“Come in any time,” said the man, as Hal went out of the door.
Outside he drew a long breath, took out his handkerchief to wipe the
perspiration from his forehead, and started across the street. As he
did so, a young fellow who had been standing in the shadow of the
doorway stooped down and picked up an envelope which had fallen out of
Hal’s pocket when he took out his handkerchief, looked at it, gave a
start and went on down the street.
[Illustration: “As he did so a young fellow stooped down and picked up
an envelope which had fallen out of Hal’s pocket.”]
Hal went into the depot, and as he hadn’t been gone five minutes in
all, Hans hadn’t missed him. Hal told him where he’d been, also what
the pawnbroker had said, and as he named the amount Hans’ eyes opened a
good deal wider, for he had no idea the watch was so valuable.
Presently Arthur came up and the boys told him frankly how they
happened to be in town, and asked him to say nothing about it, which he
agreed to, as Hal had now decided to go back to school. Arthur said he
had come to town on the morning train to do some shopping.
So they went home with Arthur, and having some one who was familiar
with the city to pilot them, they weren’t worried about that. Mr.
and Mrs. Delvin were glad to have a couple of Arthur’s team mates to
dinner, and they went to a vaudeville show, which was a new experience
for Hans. They enjoyed the evening immensely and after a two-hour
ride on the train got home pretty tired, but none the worse for the
experience.