THE DAWN OF A NEW YEAR
On their arrival at Denver Van and Bob were met by Mr. Blake, and a
delay in the train admitted of a passing greeting between Mr. Powers
and Van's father; afterward the heavy express that had safely
brought the travelers to their journey's end thundered on its way
and the boys were left on the platform. Mr. Blake regarded each of
them keenly for a moment before speaking; then he extended his hand
to Bob, saying:
"The highest compliment I can pay you, young man, is to tell you you
are like your father. Mrs. Blake and I are very grateful to you for
what you've done for our son."
"I'm afraid--" protested Bob.
Mr. Blake cut him short.
"There, there, we won't discuss it," said he. "I simply wish you to
know that both of us have appreciated your friendship for Van. He is
a scatter-brained young dog, but he is all we have, and we believe
in time he is going to make good. Eh, son?" Despite the words he
smiled down at the lad kindly.
"I hope so, Father."
"With a wise friend at your elbow it will be your own fault if you
do not," his father declared.
Summoning a porter to carry the luggage the trio followed him to the
train which was to take them to the small town outside of Denver,
where the Blakes resided.
Here they found Van's mother--very beautiful and very young, it
seemed to Bob; a woman of soft voice and pretty southern manner who
seemed always to appear in a different gown and many floating scarfs
and ribbons. Bob felt at a glance that she would not be the sort of
person to pack boxes of goodies and send to her boy; she would
always be too busy to do that. That she was, nevertheless, genuinely
fond of Van there could be not the smallest doubt, and she welcomed
both boys to the great stone house with true Virginian hospitality.
To describe that western sojourn would be a book in itself.
Bob wrote home to his parents volumes about his good times, and
still left half the wonders of his Colorado visit untold. There was
the trip up Pike's Peak; a two days' jaunt to a gold mine; a
horseback ride to a large beet farm in an adjoining town; three
weeks of real mountain camping, the joy of which was enhanced by the
capture of a good sized bear. In addition to all this there were
several fishing trips, and toward the close of the holiday a tour to
the Grand Canyon.
It was a never-to-be-forgotten vacation crowded with experiences
novel and delightful.
"I wonder, Van, how you can ever be content to leave all this behind
and come East to school," remarked Bob to his chum when toward the
last of September they once more boarded the train and turned their
faces toward Colversham.
"Oh, you see, Dad was born in the East, and he wanted me to have an
eastern education," explained Van. "He laughs at himself for the
idea though, and says it is only a sentimental notion, as he is
convinced a western school would do exactly as well. He has lived
out here twenty years now, and yet he still has a tender spot in his
heart for New England. It is in his blood, he declares, and he can't
get it out. Notwithstanding his love for the East, however, Mother
and I say that wild horses couldn't drag him back there to live."
"I suppose you wouldn't want to come East, either," Bob said.
"Not on your life! Give me lots of hustle and plenty of room!"
replied Van emphatically. "But I like the East and the eastern
people, and I'll be almighty tickled to get back to Colversham and
the fellows--to say nothing of Tim McGrew."
"You'll take up football again this fall, of course," said Bob.
"We'll both duff right in with the practice squad as soon as the
boys get out; it seems to me there is no earthly reason why each of
us shouldn't land somewhere on the eleven this year."
Weeks afterward Bob thought with a grim smile of the remark.
How different that fall term proved to be from anything he had
expected!
Colversham was reached without disaster and back into the chaos of
trunks, suit-cases, and swarming arrivals came the western
travelers. From morning until night a stream of boys crossed and
recrossed the campus and the air was merry with such characteristic
greetings as:
"Ah, there, Blakie! How is the old scout?"
"Snappy work, Bob Carlton! I say, you look pretty kippie. Where did
you swipe the yellow shoes?"
"Just wearing them temporarily until I can step into yours as stroke
of the crew!" called back Bob good-naturedly.
A shout went up from the boys who had heard the sally.
For nearly a week the school grounds were a-hum with voices. Then
things began to settle down into the regular yearly routine. In
spite of the stiff program ahead Van managed to spend some part of
each day, if only a few moments of it, with Tim McGrew. How much
there was to tell! Three months had worked marvels in the little
fellow and it was a pleasure to see how his strength was returning.
"The doctor thinks there's a chance I may walk yet, Mr. Blake!"
exclaimed the child. "He doesn't promise it, mind; he just says
maybe things won't turn out as bad as we thought at first. I heard
him tell Ma that perhaps later if I was to be operated on maybe I'd
pull through and surprise everybody. Think of it! Think what it
means to know there is even a chance. Wouldn't it be wonderful if I
should walk again some time?"
Catching the glow in the wistful face Van's own beamed.
"You'll have us all fooled yet, Tim," he cried, "and be prancing
round here like a young Kentucky colt--see if you don't."
The lads chuckled together.
Van was bubbling over with high spirits when he left Tim that
afternoon and there was nothing to herald the approach of the
calamity that fell like a thunderbolt upon him. It was late at night
when the illness developed that so alarmed Bob Carlton that it sent
him rushing to the telephone to call up the head master. From that
moment on things moved with appalling rapidity. Van was carried from
the dormitory to the school hospital and at the doctor's advice Mr.
Carlton was summoned from New York by telephone. Within an
incredibly few hours both he and his wife arrived by motor, and
their first act was to wire Van's father.
The boy was very ill, so ill that in an operation lay the one
slender chance of saving his life. The case could brook no delay.
There was not sufficient time to consult Van's father, or learn from
him his preferences as to what should be done. To Mr. Carlton fell
the entire responsibility of taking command of the perilous
situation. He it was who secured the famous surgeon from New York;
who sent for nurses and doctors; who made the decision that meant
life or death to the boy who lay suffering on the cot in that silent
room.
How leaden were the hours while the lad's existence trembled in the
balance!
Mr. Carlton paced the floor of the tiny office, his hands clinched
behind him and his lips tightly set. If Van did not survive his
would be the word that had sent him to his end. Should the worst
befall how should he ever greet that desperate father who was even
now hurrying eastward with all the speed that money could purchase?
What should he say? What could he say, Mr. Carlton asked himself. To
lose his own child would be a grief overwhelming enough; but to have
given the order that hurried another man's only boy into eternity--that
would be a tragedy that nothing could ever make right.
"I have done the best I knew," muttered Mr. Carlton over and over to
himself. "I have done toward his son precisely as I would have done
toward my own. Had I it all to decide over again I could do nothing
different."
Yet try as he would to comfort himself the hours before he could
have tidings from the operating room dragged with torturing
slowness. Bob, crouched in a chair in the corner of the room, dared
not speak to his father. Never had he seen him so unnerved. There
was no need to question the seriousness of the moment; it brooded in
the tenseness of the atmosphere, in the speed with which his heart
beat, in the drawn face of the man who never ceased his measured
tread up and down the narrow room.
And when the strain of the operation was actually over there was no
lessening of anxiety, because for days following the battle for life
had still to be waged. Would human strength hold through the combat?
That was the question that filled the weary hours of the day and the
sleepless watches of the night.
Mr. Carlton, ordinarily so bound up in business affairs that he
never could leave town, now gave not a thought to them. Instead he
took up his abode in the dormitory with Bob that he might be close
at hand, and here he eagerly checked off the successive hours that
brought nearer that man who was racing against Fate across the vast
breadth of the country.
How would they meet, these two who had been so long divided by a
gulf of years and bitterness? Would his former friend feel that the
decisions he had made were wise, or would he heap reproaches upon
him for putting in jeopardy a life over which he had no jurisdiction?
With dread Mr. Carlton strove to put the thought of the coming
interview out of his mind.
"I have done as well as I knew," he reiterated. "Would that it had
been my own boy instead of his!"
Over and over he planned to himself what he would say at that
crucial meeting. He would explain as nearly as he could the precise
conditions that he felt justified him in assuming the immense
financial responsibilities he had heaped up for his former friend.
If the lad lived it would be worth it all; but if he did not it
would all have gone for naught. Would not any father rather have had
his child alive, invalid though he was, than to have lost him
altogether?
The meeting when it came was quite different from anything Mr.
Carlton had outlined. It was after midnight when the special arrived
at the dim little station, and even before the train came to a stop
its solitary passenger sprang impatiently to the platform.
There was no need for James Carlton to make certain who it was;
every line of the form was familiar. He strode to the traveler's
side.
The hands of the two men shot out and met in a firm clasp.
"The boy?"
"He is alive, Asa."
"God bless you, Jim!"
Van Blake faced the great crisis, fought his way courageously
through it, and won.
Slowly he retraced his steps up the path to health again, and as
soon as he was able to be moved he and his father and mother
together with the Carltons went to Allenville and opened the old
farmhouse for Christmas.
What a Christmas it was!
What a day of rejoicing and thanksgiving among young and old!
Tim McGrew and all his family were brought down for a holiday, and
there was a royal tree decked with candles and loaded with gifts;
there was a pudding which could nowhere have been matched; a
southern plum-pudding made by Van's mother; there were carols sung
as only those to whom they meant much could sing them; and there was
joy and peace in every heart.
"Next summer it must be Colorado for you all, Jim," cried Asa Blake
as he stood with his hand on the shoulder of his old partner. "We'll
make this New Year the happiest of our lives. Tim shall go too; and
if money can buy surgical skill he shall make the journey hither on
his own two feet. Here's to the new year, Jim!"
"The new year, Asa, and may God bless us every one!" echoed Mr.
Carlton, softly.