THE GAMMA QUESTERS.
Parmenter recovered consciousness soon after he was carried to his
room, after being thrown so viciously by Van Loan; but when the college
physician came he declared that there was a fracture of the right
clavicle.
There was also a deep scalp wound where Parmenter’s head had struck on
a sharp edge of the stone pavement, and this required stitching and
dressing.
When the bathing and bandaging and plastering had been done, the
injured man was thoroughly exhausted, and weak from loss of blood. His
bosom friend, Charley Lee, remained to care for him through the night.
Next morning Parmenter awoke, refreshed and comfortable. By and by the
doctor came. Parmenter gave him hardly time to take off his overcoat
before he inquired,
“How long will it be, doctor, before I shall have the free use of my
arm?”
“Oh, three or four weeks,” was the reply. “These simple fractures of
the clavicle are of no great consequence. They heal up very quickly.”
Parmenter’s face fell. Three or four weeks! His injury might indeed
have been of no great consequence from the surgeon’s point of view, but
to him it was a serious matter. It was likely to block his way to the
prize stage.
At Concord College one evening of Commencement week was devoted to
the delivery of orations by Juniors and Sophomores in competition
for prizes. Six competitors were selected from each class at a trial
contest held about three months before Commencement. To be appointed
to the prize stage was a marked honor, and one which Parmenter greatly
coveted. He had worked for it for months.
The trial speaking was to take place in the college chapel on the
following Friday; and here he was, and would be for weeks, with a
broken collar-bone, and his right arm in a sling!
When Lee came back from breakfast, Parmenter exclaimed with a groan,
“It’s all up, Charley!”
“What’s all up?” asked Lee, advancing in alarm to the bed.
“Why, the prize stage! The doctor says I can’t use my arm for a month,
and here’s the trial speaking coming on next Friday!”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” replied Lee, sinking into a chair. “It is a
bad business, that’s so.” After a minute he added, “But your voice will
be all right, Fred; you can have that as clear as a bell.”
“My voice! What good is that to me? Can I make gestures with my voice?
How can a man do anything with his arm in a sling and his shoulders
bound up as if he were a mummy?”
Parmenter was excited. He felt that hitherto his success on the
platform had been largely due to the training he had had in what is
called “presence” and his skill in gestures. That effect would now be
totally destroyed.
“You might learn to use your left arm,” suggested Lee, as a forlorn
hope.
“Bah! You know better than that, Charley. I’m out, that’s all. There’s
only one redeeming feature about the whole business; and that is, that
you’ll carry off first prize now for all the trouble I shall give you.”
For a minute Lee was at a loss for an answer. He also was a candidate
for the prize stage. They had agreed that each was to strive to obtain
the honor to the best of his ability; but the rivalry was so friendly
that neither would have accepted an appointment at the expense of the
other. At the same time, it would have been a great pleasure to either
to have the other carry off the prize.
After a while Lee said, casting his eyes down on his friend’s bandaged
shoulder and plastered head:
“That was a cowardly thing for Van Loan to do, wasn’t it? Dangerous,
too. Why, just think of it! It might have cracked your skull!”
“Pity it hadn’t!” growled Parmenter. “Then there’d have been no
question about my being an idiot. As it is--well, I’ve two years in
which to get even with him. I think I can manage to make it up to him
in that time.”
After a minute he added, “Did the Freshies carry sticks this morning,
Charley?”
“Every one of ’em,” said Lee. “They all went down town last night
after the row, and what canes they couldn’t raise money enough to buy,
they begged or borrowed. They’re tremendously proud and joyous this
morning--especially Van Loan. He thinks he’s the biggest toad in the
puddle now, sure.”
Parmenter turned savagely toward the wall, and winced with the pain the
movement caused him; but he said nothing. After a little Lee reverted
to the prize-speaking contest. He had been thinking about it all the
time.
“Don’t be discouraged about that prize-speaking, Fred,” he said. “Go
ahead with it. Put it through. Never mind the gestures. They’re only a
useless ornament, anyway. Why, you know--what’s his name?--that great
orator, you remember; he never used gestures; disdained ’em; laid
himself out on voice and expression, you know, and swayed the hearts of
multitudes by his eloquent and thrilling--”
“Oh, tell that to the marines! Here, I want to get up. Give me a lift,
will you, Charley? and help me on with my clothes.”
Parmenter had no great faith in the possibility of successful oratory
without gestures, but Lee’s idea struck him as worth considering, after
all; and the more he thought about it, the more he was inclined toward
it.
He resumed the private rehearsals of his oration. He and Lee always
rehearsed together, profiting by each other’s friendly criticism; but
now Lee redoubled his efforts to make his friend’s work perfect and
successful.
It was awkward to Parmenter at first to attempt to deliver his most
telling sentences with his right arm bound to his side, so instinctive
had gesturing become to him; but diligent study, persistent practice,
and the judicious advice of his friendly critic helped him to overcome
to a great extent that one difficulty. When on the following Friday
he took his place before the judges, it was with no small degree of
confidence in his success.
On Saturday morning the list containing the names of the fortunate six
was posted on the bulletin board near the chapel entrance. Parmenter’s
name was upon it.
Lee caught sight of it first, and looking no further in the list,
started at a full run across the campus to deliver the news to his
friend.
“Fred, it’s there!” he cried, bursting into Parmenter’s room like a
whirlwind.
“What’s where?” asked Parmenter, gruffly.
“Your name--on the bulletin--prize speaking--no right arm--great
victory--whoop! Give us your hand!”
Lee made a dash for his friend’s right hand, and in another second
would have given it a vigorous shake.
“Oh, hold! halt! fire! murder! Hang it, man, that’s my cracked
shoulder!” exclaimed Parmenter, backing away.
“Fred, forgive me! Did I hurt you? No? In the joyful exuberance of my
emotion the swelling tide of feeling overran its bounds and came--”
“Oh, bother the swelling tide! I’m obliged to you for the news, though.
Here, take the other hand; that’s it! I thought I could convince ’em
that a man can speak sometimes with his right arm strapped fast to his
ribs. You’re sure there’s no mistake about it, Charley?”
“Your name is there! I saw it with my own eyes; these eyes that
otherwise had wept most bitter tears of vain regret, and poured their--”
“Bah! Stop right there! Well, I’m ready to recover now. I’m ready--say,
Charley, look here! What about yourself? You took an appointment, too,
didn’t you? Your name’s on the list, isn’t it?”
Lee stood for a moment without answering, the look of puzzled surprise
on his handsome face breaking into one of amusement, and ending in a
broad smile.
“Well, that’s one on me,” he said finally, as if partly ashamed of his
remissness toward himself. “I forgot to look.”
“Forgot to look! Why, you saw my name! You couldn’t have helped seeing
yours if it had been there.”
“Yes, but--but you see I wasn’t looking for mine--I didn’t--”
“Well, you are the--Charley Lee, you’re the best fellow in the
world--positively the very best!”
Parmenter grasped Lee’s hand again, and tears came into his eyes. It
was seldom he displayed so much emotion; but his friend’s unselfishness
touched him deeply.
“Come,” he said, quietly, “let’s go over and see about the name of
Charles Lee. It’s high time for some one to take an interest in that.”
He picked up his hat, took his friend’s arm, and they started to leave
the room; but at the threshold they met Robinson, also one of the
appointees, who told them that Lee’s name was on the list. Then there
were general rejoicings and congratulations.
Lee executed a breakdown very skillfully, landing finally on
Parmenter’s table, from which elevation he proceeded to deliver a mock
oration.
The noise and confusion drew three or four other Sophomores into the
room; and when Lee had been dragged down and quieted, the conversation
turned from the prize stage to Parmenter’s shoulder, and from
Parmenter’s shoulder to Freshman Van Loan.
“He thinks he won the fight,” said one of the young men. “He takes
all the credit to himself, every bit of it. Brags about it without
ceasing. You couldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole before the rush;
the Atlantic cable wouldn’t reach to him now.”
“Some fellow told him the other day,” added another member of the
group, “that unless he stopped his everlasting boasting, the Gamma
Questers might do him the honor to call on him.”
“What did he say to that?” asked Robinson.
“Said he’d be pleased to see ’em. Said he’d make it interesting for
’em. Said they’d better have a surgeon in readiness to wait on ’em when
he got through with ’em. Said he should particularly enjoy meeting his
friend Parmenter under such auspices.”
“Oh, he’s dead set against you, Parmenter,” cried another. “He hasn’t
forgiven nor forgotten that mud-bath yet. He says the collar-bone
business was only part payment, and that the remaining installments
will be fully as delightful as the first one was.”
For a minute no one spoke. Robinson was looking around the room,
scanning intently each man’s face. Finally he said:
“Boys, if there’s any one here who don’t believe in hazing under proper
circumstances will he have the goodness to retire?”
No one stirred.
“Excuse me, Parmenter,” continued Robinson, “we don’t want to drive you
from your room; we will go elsewhere if you wish it.”
Parmenter did not at once reply. He rose, went to the door and locked
it, closed the ventilator over the door, and returned and sat down.
Then he said, “Go on with the story.”
What took place behind that closed and locked door none but the seven
who were there, and the seven who were afterward taken into the
company, ever knew.
The time was when the raids of the Gamma Questers, as hazing parties
were called at Concord College, were of frequent occurrence. But under
the severely repressive policy of the faculty, aided by a growing
feeling among upper classmen against the barbarous and unmanly custom,
the practice had nearly died out. There were scarcely a dozen men in
the college who remembered the last instance of it.
Yet there is no doubt that a chapter of the Gamma Questers was
organized that day in Parmenter’s room; neither is there any doubt that
it selected Freshman Van Loan as an unwilling candidate for admission
and initiation.
Under the excitement and impulse of the moment Lee was the readiest to
advocate this form of retribution, and the most fertile in devising
plans to carry it out. But a few days later he came to Parmenter with a
cloud on his face and a burden on his mind.
“It’s about that Van Loan business,” he explained. “I’m half sorry
I agreed to go into it. You know how strongly father is set against
everything of this sort.”
“Do you propose to let your father know you’re in it?” asked Parmenter,
half in sarcasm.
“Why, no; but he might find it out afterward.”
“I see no necessity for his doing so.”
“Well, I believe I’d about half as soon he knew it, as to feel guilty
every time he looked at me.”
“Oh, well, do as you choose, of course. Perhaps you’d better go out.
But if you do, Henderson will back out, and Brace, and the whole thing
will fizzle out before it’s fairly begun.”
“Of course I’d hate to spoil the plans of the boys,” said Lee,
hesitatingly, “and I wouldn’t if it weren’t for--”
“I can’t see what objection there is,” interrupted Parmenter, “to
giving such a fellow as Van Loan a little piece of humble-pie to eat.
His insufferable conduct has passed all bounds, and there’s no other
effective way of letting him know it. We don’t propose to hurt him
physically, you understand, and the fellow can’t be hurt mentally. But
we can humiliate him, and he deserves it. You can get out of it if you
want to; but you’ll miss the fun, and I think after it’s over you’ll
wish you’d gone.”
Lee was silent for a minute, turning the matter over in his unstable
mind.
“Well,” he said, finally, “I don’t know; maybe I’ll go after all. I’ll
see.”
And he did go. Against his better judgment and truer instinct
he yielded to the logic of his friend and the force of his own
inclination, and joined the party.
A few nights later Van Loan was waked at midnight by a movement at his
bedside. He opened his eyes to see indistinct figures standing about
him. He knew in an instant what it all meant; but before he could raise
his head from the pillow his hands were gripped and held, and his mouth
closed with a bandage so that he could not call.
There was a moment of desperate but unavailing struggling on his part;
then, realizing the uselessness of his attempt, he quietly submitted to
the will of his captors.
They took him from his bed, dressed him, blindfolded him, bound his
wrists together, and led him down stairs and out-of-doors. It was
all done so quickly and noiselessly that the slumbers of men in the
adjoining rooms were not disturbed.
The victim was hurried across the rear campus and into the protecting
darkness of the college grove. Here torches were lighted, and in single
file the party marched through the woods, across the corner of an open
field, and then into the thicker forest beyond.
At the end of half a mile they came to a shallow cave in the face of
a ledge of rocks. A brawling brook ran by it, and overarching trees
helped shut it in. Here they halted, and made preparations for what was
to follow.
After a few moments the victim’s eyes and mouth were unbandaged. It was
a grotesque sight that he looked upon. The masks and costumes of the
hazers were both ludicrous and hideous. Their huge mock weapons were
swung menacingly.
They arranged themselves in a semicircle about the candidate. At their
backs were the mysterious shadows of the cave.
The Grand Inquisitor stepped forward, flourishing a mighty
broadsword--of wood. His voice was deep and hollow.
“Before we proceed to the graver and more intense portion of the
initiation,” he said, “the candidate is requested to reply to certain
questions, which, being satisfactorily answered, will entitle him to
pose for the first degree. The first question is: Do you admire our
personal appearance? And the answer is: ‘Yes.’ The candidate will
please say ‘Yes.’”
“Yes,” replied Van Loan, without hesitation.
“Is it your fond and earnest desire to be initiated into the grand and
illustrious order of Gamma Questers, without which honor you feel that
life is not worth living? The answer is ‘Yes.’ Say ‘Yes.’”
“Yes,” responded Van Loan, quietly.
“Do you desire any part of the initiation ceremonies to be omitted,
however painful, disagreeable, or surprising they may prove to be? The
answer is, ‘No, I do not.’ Say so.”
Van Loan said so.
“Do you acknowledge yourself to be wholly unfit and unworthy to enter
into fraternal relations with brethren so exalted as ourselves, and do
you humbly implore us to overlook your thousand faults and follies, and
to receive you into fellowship? The answer is, ‘I do.’”
“‘I do,’” said Van Loan.
“Finally, will you always strive to uphold the dignity and further the
aims of our most noble order, to endeavor, so much as in your feeble
intellect lies, to induce the president and members of the faculty of
Concord College to become members hereof, and forgetting your unworthy,
dishonorable, and utterly idiotic past, press on to the coveted goal
that awaits all true Gamma Questers? The answer is: ‘I will.’”
“‘I will,’” was the final response.
“Most Grand and Worthy Scribe, are the candidate’s answers duly
recorded?”
“They are,” came the reply in hollow tones from a black-robed figure at
the extremity of the cave. He sat under a torchlight, his black mask
hideously splashed with red, an immense volume spread open before him,
and in his hand a huge long-handled pen.
“Then advance and give the candidate sign A, of rite number one.”
The person in the black robe arose, laid down his pen, and advanced to
within five feet of the victim.
Van Loan stood quietly looking on, his face pale with anger and
excitement, and under his eyes dark rings indicative of suppressed
passion. Yet, burning as he was with rage, he was still calm enough to
note with deep interest the apparent inflexibility of the right arm and
shoulder of the person who approached him.
The Grand Scribe lifted his robe slightly, preparatory to some mock
ceremony of initiation; but whatever his intention was, he never
carried it out. In that instant, Van Loan, who had deftly slipped his
hand from the bandage that bound his wrists, reached out and tore the
mask completely from the face of the black-robed hazer.
It was done in a second; and there, under the glare of the torchlight,
stood Parmenter, fully, distinctly revealed.
“I thought as much,” was Van Loan’s quiet comment; “now go on with the
ceremony.”
Seeing that it was useless for him to contend against so many, he
had decided from the first to obey implicitly the will of the hazers
while in their power, mentally reserving to himself liberty to violate
at pleasure any promise or agreement he might make under such hard
conditions.