_In which Clarence tells his story and gets the Reverend Rector
to take a hand against the Bright-eyed Goddess._
“Suppose,” suggested the College President, as Clarence with a sigh of
satisfaction came to an end of his meal, “you tell us your story.”
“It is a long one.”
“Wait till I come back,” implored the Infirmarian. “I want to hear it.
I’ve been infirmarian in boarding college a great many years, but I’ve
never yet seen any sick boy quite so healthy and with such an appetite
as Clarence.”
“Thank you for the compliment, Brother. I often feel like apologizing
for that appetite of mine.”
“Clarence,” said the Rector as the Infirmarian went off with the empty
dishes, “have you any relations, besides your father and mother,
living?”
“Just stacks of them, sir.”
“Where are they?”
“There are some in England; a lot of them, on my mother’s side, in
Ireland—and oh, yes, I’ve a cousin and his family in New York.”
“Do you know the address of any of them?”
“I really don’t. You know I’ve been at Clermont Academy, a boarding
school in New York State, since I was eleven, and I’ve lost track of all
of them pretty much.”
“What about your cousin in New York City?”
“I do not even know where he lives. You see, he just came to this
country from Ireland a month ago. He brought his family along, and they
were still looking for a house when I last saw them three weeks ago.”
“Anyhow, they’re in New York City?”
“I think that’s pretty certain.”
“Very good,” said the Rector, taking out a small memorandum book and
making a note.
“Well, let’s have that story,” cried the big Infirmarian, as he
re-entered. He was eager as a small boy waiting his turn for the pie to
come down the table.
Clarence began with his departure from McGregor, the climb up and beyond
Pictured Rocks, his long ride on the river, his encounter with the
gypsies, his friendship for Ben, his long talks and walks with Dora, his
troubles with Pete and his shrewish wife, his frequent swims in the
river.
“And,” he continued, “when I made up my mind to get away somehow or
other, I was hard as nails; I could swim for any length of time, it
seemed to me, without losing my wind or my strength; and I could eat
like a horse.”
“We all know that,” said the Infirmarian.
“And how did you manage to escape?”
“It came about just the way I wanted. Yesterday afternoon we pitched
camp at a place right opposite a long island. I went in swimming and
began to brag purposely to Ezra about what I could do. I let him know
that I thought I could beat him. As a matter of fact, I really think I
can. Ezra bit. He challenged me to race him to the island. That was just
what I wanted. The old hag, Pete’s wife, came over and cursed me, just
before Ben gave us the signal to go. But I didn’t mind that. Curses,
like chickens, come home to roost, you know.
“Well, at Ben’s word we plunged into the water, and I kept under till I
thought I’d burst. When I came up, I was some distance down stream; and
all the way over I kept drifting down. Of course, it looked as if it
were not done on purpose—at least I think it did. By the time Ezra was
within a few yards of the island almost straight across from where he
had started, I was away down near the end of the island, almost or quite
half a mile away. Then I began to pretend I was trying to swim upstream
and couldn’t do it. When within five yards or so of the very end of the
island where there were lots of willows and bushes, I started to
splashing wildly as though I had lost my head. I turned towards the
shore, gave one last look, and shouted, ‘Help! help!’ I’ll never forget
what I saw in that moment. In front of the tent, Pete’s wife was
standing with her hands—clawlike old talons—stretched out, palms down,
as though she were trying to force me under water; near the edge of the
river, Dora, in her white dress, was kneeling, and I could guess she was
praying for me.”
Clarence paused a moment.
“Do you know,” he said gravely, “I feel now as I felt all last night, as
though her prayers kept with me like an army of little angels. Tennyson
says, ‘More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.’ I
knew the line over a year ago. Now I know the meaning. Anyhow, after
giving that yell for help, I let myself sink and then, under the water,
I got to those willows which I forgot to tell you were partly under
water. It seemed to me as I felt my way from trunk to trunk that I’d
explode if I didn’t get air. I’ve stayed under water many a time; but I
never stayed under so long before. When I did come to the surface, I
came up cautiously, came face upward, so as to get just my eyes, my
mouth, and, because I couldn’t help it, my nose out of water. It was all
right. Between me and the gypsies was that clump of willows and I was in
a little bay surrounded on three sides by trees and bushes. I lay on my
back just long enough to get my breath, and kicked myself down till I
came near the end of the inlet. Then I took a deep breath, and dived so
as to get out beyond the island in the main current. The dive was a
success. When I came up, I lay on my back with only my nose sticking out
of the water and let the current carry me along until it grew dark.”
“What were the gypsies doing?” asked the Brother Infirmarian.
“I don’t know. I suppose they took it for granted I was drowned. You
see, I wasn’t such a bad actor, and I did my part all right; and
besides, they are very superstitious and believe that Pete’s wife has
all kinds of power. She told them I was to drown, and that made it
doubly certain to them. From what I know of them, I guess Ben came over
and searched for my body half the night.”
“And what did you do when the dark came on?” asked the Rector.
“I reversed myself and began swimming. After a while I got awful chilly;
so I went to the bank and went through all sorts of Delsarte movements
to get warm. This took me from fifteen minutes to half an hour. Then I
went in again and swam and floated till I felt I was freezing. I took to
the shore again, and ran and jumped as long as I could, and that’s the
way it went on the whole night. It was the longest night ever. Every
minute got me hungrier and chillier. I didn’t notice the hunger so much;
but it seems to me that I’d never, never be warm again. Oh, wasn’t I
glad when the dawn came, and didn’t I pray for a hot sun. When the sun
did rise, I saw that I was getting near a big town, and I looked about
for some place to land. Somehow, I couldn’t quite make up my mind.”
“Why not?” asked the Rector.
“I didn’t like the way I was dressed. Bathing suits are all right for
the water, but for company—I may be all sorts of an idiot, but I’m not
as nervy as the average summer girl. No decent boy is.”
“Oh, Lord!” gasped the Rector.
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Go on, my boy.”
“Well, I got past the city which, I saw on a sign at a boat landing, was
Prairie du Chien, and—no, not quite past. A little after swimming under
the bridge, I saw a building—a great big building that looked like a
college. It was just beyond the railroad tracks, and it had a beautiful
grove of trees just below the building itself. Right on the shore was a
lot of weeds that had been cut and been lying there long enough to dry.
There was nobody in sight, and so I slipped ashore and covered myself up
in the weeds, and tried to get warm. I was there a long time; and it was
a long time before I began to get anyways warm. Oh, it was delicious
that feeling of warmth coming back slowly but surely. Really, I’d have
gone to sleep, only something else began to go wrong.”
“Did the jiggers get you?” asked the Brother.
“No; it wasn’t ants or jiggers or bugs of any kind. It was my little
‘tummy.’ The warmer I got, the hungrier I got. If I had a thousand
dollars then, I’d have handed it over gladly for a hunk of bread. After
a while, I forgot I had ever been cold, but I was famishing. So I threw
off the weeds, put on my bathing suit, and started for that building. I
was afraid of my life of being seen by women-folks, so I crawled and
walked and crawled. It was slow work. Well, anyhow, I got to the fence
leading into those grounds and was just climbing over when down from the
building came running and dancing a whole raft of little girls!”
“You struck St. Mary’s Academy, a boarding school for girls,” said the
Brother, sympathetically. The Rector’s face was buried in his
handkerchief. He was not weeping.
“One little devil—Oh, excuse me—one little double-pigtailed,
blue-ribboned thing in the lead saw me and let out a yell. That got me
going, and I jumped off that fence and sprinted for the river at the
rate of one hundred yards in 9-4/5 seconds—at least, that’s what I
thought I was doing, and the screams of all those girls behind me helped
me to keep up my clip to the end. I’m sure they thought I was a
burglar.”
“Anyhow,” said the Rector consolingly, “they won’t know you again.”
“I should say not. After this I intend paying visits in regulation
costume. Well, then, I got into the river, clean blown. I was too tired
to swim; so I just lay on my back, and paddled now and then with my
feet. The cold got me again in a few minutes; my teeth began to chatter.
Oh, it was awful. And then—then I swam and afterward began to lose all
feeling, and then I lost consciousness and—I got here.”
“Oh, most lame and impotent conclusion,” said the Rector eyeing the boy
sharply. “You’ve left something out.”
“So I have, Father, but I don’t think I have any right to tell the last
part.”
The Rector looked puzzled.
“Very well,” he said presently. “Even as it is, it is a wonderful story.
In fact, it’s a twentieth century romance. What was the last name of
that child Dora?”
“Well, I declare!” said the youth. “It never occurred to me to think she
had another name. All I know is that she came from near Dayton, Ohio.
Oh, what an ass I am.”
“You might sing that opinion of yourself to the air of ‘My Country, ’tis
of Thee,’” suggested the Infirmarian. “We call it the Siamese national
hymn.” And he warbled slowly and solemnly to the well-known national
air, the words, “O Vatana Siam.” “It will do you lots of good when you
feel rather foolish.”
Just then, and while Master Clarence began assuring himself in liquid
notes of what an awful ass he was, there came a timid knock at the door.
“Come in,” cried the Infirmarian.
“Is Father Rector in there?” came a much agitated voice, as the door
opened a few inches without revealing who was without.
“Excuse me,” said the Rector, leaving the two to sing as a duet “O
Vatana Siam.” Every note of it and the entire sentiment filled Clarence
with pure joy.
Despite their long drawn and pathetic warbling, the two within caught
the sounds of earnest voices without. After singing the air with the
self-same words nearly a dozen times, and coming at length to the
invariable ending “_Vatana Siam_” in the enunciation of which Clarence
succeeded in outdoing all his previous efforts, the door suddenly
opened, and the Rector entered, bringing with him, very red and very
confused, Master John Rieler.
“Behold!” he cried, “your preserver, Clarence!”
“Whoop!” cried the singer, jumping forward and almost throwing himself
into Rieler’s arms. “You’ve told on yourself, have you?”
“I had to,” said John, shaking Clarence’s two hands. “When I got back to
class I began to worry. It wasn’t the going out of bounds, and it wasn’t
the swim. I guess that finding of you in the water got on my nerves. I
wasn’t scared at the time; but the more I got thinking of it afterwards,
the more scared I got. It seemed so odd. And then I had a lot to explain
to the teacher, and I couldn’t do it. Anyhow, I couldn’t eat any
supper.”
“Oh, I say!” protested the Infirmarian, who happened to be well
acquainted with Master Rieler’s efficiency as a trencherman.
“It’s so, all the same. Honest to goodness!” protested the youth, his
eyes and features expressing depths of astonishment at himself. “I just
actually couldn’t eat.” He paused a minute and added wistfully. “I could
now.”
The Rector had put on his face of Indian immobility.
“John Rieler,” he said gravely, “there are two things to be considered
in your conduct this morning. First, there is your going out of bounds
and taking a swim without permission. Secondly, there’s your saving
Clarence Esmond from drowning. For the first, you are to be punished.”
“Father Rector,” protested John earnestly. “I’ll not do it again. I’ll
never jump bounds any more this year. I missed Holy Communion this
morning, and it was a mistake. Right after supper, only a few minutes
ago, I went to Confession, and I hope I’ll never miss a single day’s
Communion till further notice.”
“Your punishment,” continued the Rector slowly and impressively—
“Oh, Father,” broke in Clarence in great alarm.
“Your punishment,” repeated the Rector, looking severely at Clarence,
“will be not to go in swimming on any account, on any pretext, with or
without companions, from the first of December till the first of April.”
“All right, Father,” said John, humbly. He was filled with a sense of
the terrible penalty exacted of him till he noticed Clarence’s ecstatic
grin. Then his mind fell to considering the dates, and he grinned also.
“As for saving Clarence’s life,” the Rector went on, “I don’t see well
how I can reward you properly.”
“I’m worth one thousand dollars, cold,” said Clarence.
“Exactly,” said the Rector, “and the fact of your being alive does not
depreciate your value entirely.”
“No, not entirely,” assented the Brother, as though yielding a point.
“Anyhow, I should like to reward you, John. Now, is there anything
occurs to you I can do for you?”
“I’m awful hungry,” said John modestly.
“Appetite,” observed the Rector, “waits on a good confession. Brother,
can’t you set this boy up to something extra?”
“Beefsteak and onions, cornbread, buttered toast?” cried the Infirmarian
interrogatively.
Master Rieler had no need to express himself in words. His face showed
glad assent.
“Come and join me, Clarence,” begged the hero of the day as he seated
himself later to the “spread.”
“Thank you; I’ve had a good meal already,” answered Clarence, “but I’ll
take just a little to keep you company.”
His taking “a little” had such an effect upon the Infirmarian that after
watching Clarence’s performance for a few minutes he could no longer
contain himself.
“Look here, Clarence! If you go on, you’ll swell up and bust.”
“I’m not swelling so’s I can notice it,” returned Clarence cheerfully.
Before leaving, Father Rector said:
“Now, boys, I’m going to my room, and when you have finished your
supper, I want you, John, to bring Clarence to see me. You will wait for
him outside my door. Then I’m going to see the Prefect of Discipline and
have you excused from studies tonight, so you can show Clarence around.”
There came a babble of enthusiasm from both boys.
“And besides, while Clarence is our guest, you, John Rieler, are to be
his host.”
“Oh, thank you, Father,” said John.
“Do you mean to say, Father Rector, that I may stay here tonight?” asked
Clarence.
“Yes, my boy”—here the Rector’s voice and face, despite himself, gave
hint of a great pity; “you are to be my guest till we’ve got everything
fixed to see that you are placed in proper care.”
“Isn’t he a trump!” cried Clarence as the Rector left.
“Trump! I should say he is.”
When Clarence was ushered by the proud young host to the Rector’s room,
he was bade to sit down.
“Well, Clarence, while you were sleeping, I was quite busy on your case.
The hotel-man from McGregor was here and identified you.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, and I’ve sent out for all sorts of information.”
“But, why don’t you wire my father?”
“The trouble is, Clarence, we don’t know where he is.”
“He’s at the Metropole Hotel, Los Angeles,” said Clarence. “The
hotel-man could have told you that.”
“No, Clarence,” said the Rector trying to speak casually, “the train did
not get there yet.”
“Was it delayed?”
“Yes. In fact, there was a bad wreck. Some of the cars tumbled into the
water.”
“And did anything happen to my mother and father?”
“I hope not. The only thing, my boy, we know is that they are missing.
Anyhow, they are not listed among the injured or the dead. Here, sit
down and look over this account in the paper.”
The Rector discreetly placed himself in such a position that he could
not see the boy’s face. Clarence read, and after a few lines could not
go on; tears blinded his eyes. For ten minutes, while the Rector busied
himself writing letters, the boy wept, although making pretense of
reading.
“This is awful, Father,” Clarence at length said.
“Have hope, Clarence. God has taken wonderful care of you today.”
“Indeed, He has.”
“Trust Him, and keep on hoping. As to all details, leave them to me. If
there’s anything to be found out, I’ll get hold of it. In the meantime,
you are the guest of Campion College. Here’s some change—pocket money.
You know, you’ll have to treat John Rieler. And tomorrow you’ll be
fitted out with what clothes you need. God bless you, my boy.”
“Father, you’re too good. Say, won’t you bless me—give me a priest’s
blessing—the kind I’ve read about in books.”
“Certainly, Clarence.”
The boy fell on his knees, and over him stretched the Rector’s hands in
a fervent benediction.
As Clarence went down the stairs with John, he said: “Say, John Rieler,
I got some bad news and I felt sick all over. And do you know what
happened? The Rector blessed me, and now I could stand anything.”