A sense of embarrassment accompanied Dominie Graves to the breakfast
table the next morning after the triumphant victory of Augusta Hall. He
made no remark upon the disagreeable episode of the previous night, and
ate silently amid the chatter of Babe and the monosyllabic answers of
her mother. Teola to break the strain spoke of the sleigh-ride and dance
coming off that evening.
"I fear it will be too cold," objected Mrs. Graves, in her fretful,
weary voice.
"I can wrap up warmly," argued Teola. "All the girls in town are going
and Dan will take care of me. We are going in separate sleighs to
Slaterville. I'm going, mother, and that's all there is to it."
"It seems to me that you are growing rather friendly with that young
Jordan, Teola," her father said. "He's been here every night for a week,
hasn't he?"
Teola muttered sullenly that she wasn't the only girl in town who had
callers, and looked pleadingly to Frederick for aid. The young student
flashed her a smile.
"Teola will be perfectly safe to-night, father," he exclaimed.
"Are you going?"
"No," answered Frederick, "but sister would be no safer if I were. I
have implicit confidencs in Dan Jordan and the country roads are
perfect.... By the way, Dan would like to take a class of boys in the
Sunday School. I told him to see you about it."
The mollified minister finished his meal without further comment.
* * * * *
The sleigh-ride was a thing of the past. That it had brought disaster to
Teola Graves showed in the tired eyes as they rested on the sky, gray
with the coming morning. She had stolen silently into the house,
reaching her chamber without disturbing either father or mother. At the
window she halted. Here and there a star sparkled, dying dim in the
advancing sky. Teola's eyes rested upon the street below for several
minutes, then dragged her gaze upward and beyond--beyond to the long
road that led to the yard of the dead which stretched over the hillside,
rearing its monuments among the leafless trees, like sentinels over
sleeping soldiers. There was something alluring, something compelling to
the pale girl, watching the birth of her first real day of living. The
University frowned down upon the graveyard; in its turn the graveyard
frowned menacingly upon the town. A snow-bird peeped a "good-morning" to
its mate in the Rectory eaves. A bell pealed out twice, striking the air
with its sonorous sound reverberating into the hills. And still the girl
stood waiting for--she knew not what.
Yesterday girlhood offered Teola Graves happy hours of peaceful
meditation--to-day, the new day brought the woman its ceaseless silent
agony of regret and remorse, strong forces of which she had known
nothing.
If Dan were only glad that she loved him, if he loved her in return.
Suddenly tears welled into the dark eyes; Teola Graves hid her face
from the new world of painful joy--and forgot in sleep.
Teola's next hour with her lover was the most embarrassing one of her
life. Dan took her hands in silence, and the seriousness of his face
bespoke his heart pain.
"Sweetheart, is there anything in all the world that I can say to you to
make you love me more--precious, precious little darling!"
"Only say that you do love me, Dan," breathed Teola, "and--and--"
"Don't turn your eyes away from me, sweetheart--love you, Teola? I'll
study so hard, dearest, and when I finish college we'll get married, and
go away and have a home of our own. Teola, forgive me and have faith in
me! Will you, sweet?"
"Yes," murmured the trembling lips--and Teola buried her flushed face
upon the broad breast of Dan Jordan and was happy.
* * * * *
Frederick Graves had been made president of the freshman class, a short
time after entering the "Cranium" fraternity. He was considered by most
of his fellow students a serious, earnest worker and had been taken many
times into consultation with the upper classmen concerning plans for the
development of the society.
In past years at the end of every January, the freshmen had held a
banquet in the opera-house of the city. This event called forth
practical jokes of all descriptions upon the first-year men from the
sophomores and seniors, giving many anxious and worried moments to the
younger students over the outcome of the one important event of the
year. It had also been the custom to try to capture the president of the
freshman class and hold him in seclusion until after the banquet,
thereby making his opening speech impossible. The dread that they should
lose their leader became more and more apparent among the banquet
holders as the days advanced, and extensive plans had been made to
protect Frederick Graves from his class enemies. For one whole month
previous he had not been allowed to walk alone about the town, and it
had been ordered that he should sleep at the fraternity house instead of
at the Rectory, in order that the young president might be guarded
against any surprise concocted by the sophomores.
One evening at the Cranium Society several freshmen were seated in the
billiard-room.
"It's a great note," muttered Shorty Brown, "that we have to wait on
those big lubbers of sophomores and seniors. I'd as soon die as to run
down the hill after their letters."
"You might as well go, Shorts," put in Spuddy Preston; "you'll only get
yourself disliked if you don't, and you'll be made to go in the end. The
blessing of it all is that they did the same thing in their turn."
He took a slow measure of the distance between himself and the cuspidor,
and shot a piece of gum into it.
"It doesn't make it any pleasanter," put in Swipes Dillon. "Just think
of me, I haven't had a cent to spend on myself for weeks. Manchester's
capacity for smoke is enormous. I wish I had knocked his head clean off
his neck."
He looked gloomily out of the window as he muttered this, but instantly
brightened as he finished:
"But I can stand almost anything if they don't get hold of Graves. That
would spoil our fun altogether."
He unbent the small round body drawn up in a woful-looking ball, sitting
up to hear what the others had to say.
"Just let them take him!" growled Shorty Brown. "We will make it warm
for those sophs, but they're such sneaks that we can't put a moment's
trust in them. Why don't you say something, Captain?"
"Nothing to say, Boy," replied Jordan musingly, "only that we must do
all we can to shield Frederick. If they once get him we won't see him
until after the banquet. I fear, too, they might hurt him, for he would
be sure to put up a fight."
"So would I," boasted Spuddy. "You bet I would."
Swipes broke into a ringing laugh.
"You'd make a nice fighter, Spud," he chuckled; "you're not bigger than
a minute with fifty seconds in it. Gosh, I wish something would happen.
I'm tired sitting about doing nothing."
His words came to Dan Jordan through a dim maze of tangled thoughts.
During all his short, happy life anxiety had never been his companion
until now. It strangled his class ardor and made conscientious study
impossible. Teola Graves' tearful, pain-stricken face rose constantly
before him. His own eyes darkened at the thought. Oh, to go back to the
toffy pull--to live over again those last few weeks--how different it
all would be, and how repentant he was. He sighed and shook his great
shoulders and rose to his feet.
"I wonder where Graves is now," he exclaimed. "I met Armstrong and Howe
coming up the hill last night, talking with their heads close together.
I noticed that they stopped suddenly when I came upon them."
The blood had crept accusingly into his face as he spoke Frederick's
name. Never for one moment in the presence of Teola's brother had he
forgotten--how could he ever forget! But he did love Teola Graves madly
and wished with all his soul that he were through college. He had hoped
that in the excitement of the banquet his remorse would be quieted a
little, but his conscience lashed him so constantly with self-reproach
that it seemed imperative for him to give up his studies, marry Teola,
and take her away.
"Let's all go down town," cried Swipes in a loud tone with a side wink
at Spuddy, "and get boiling drunk. If something doesn't happen--"
"Lordy," groaned Spuddy, "Swipes is always wanting something to happen.
I bet it will before long. What you wish for you'll get, old horse!
Don't forget that."
Spuddy went on tapping the window, staring out into the gloom.
"We'd better go down town and look for Graves and see that he is all
right," said Dan. "That will be enough for you kids to do now. It's your
evening anyway to guard him."
The four freshmen walked down the hill together. Dan separated from the
three at the Ithaca Hotel with the injunction that they should keep
their eyes open for the young president, guarding him while the other
night watchers were having a play spell.
On the next corner Dan Jordan ran into Frederick with two of his own
classmates.
"You fellows can go now," exclaimed Dan to Frederick's companions;
"Brown, Preston and Dillon are just up there on the next corner, to
protect Graves while you fellows go to supper. How are things going now,
Frederick?"
A sinking sensation attacked his heart as he asked this question, and he
remembered afterwards that he had expected Frederick to impart ill news
to him. The fear had come from his over-burdened conscience.
"Everything is all right, but Teola wants to see you. Could you go down
for a little while?"
Dan nodded and turned with a happier heart toward the Rectory, leaving
Frederick looking for "Spuddy," "Shorts," and "Swipes."