A LETTER HOME.
One of Joel's letters written to his mother at about this time contains
much that will prove of interest to the reader who has followed the
fortunes of that youth thus far. It supplied a certain amount of
information appreciated only by its author and its recipient: facts
regarding woolen stockings; items about the manner in which the boy's
washing was done; a short statement of his financial condition; a weak,
but very natural, expression of home-longing. But such I will omit, as
being too private in character for these pages.
"... I don't think you need worry. Outfield West is rather idle about
study, but he doesn't give Satan much of a show, for he's about the
busiest fellow I know in school. He's usually up a good hour before
breakfast, which we have at eight o'clock, and puts in a half hour
practicing golf before chapel. Then in the afternoon he's at it again
when the weather will let him, and he generally spends his evenings,
when not studying, in mending his clubs or painting balls. Then he's one
of the canvassers for the class crew; and belongs to the Senior Debating
Club, which draws its members from the two upper classes; and he's
president of the Golf Club. So you can see that he's anything but idle,
even if he doesn't bother much about lessons.
"He's naturally a very bright fellow; otherwise he couldn't get along
with his classes. I grow to like him better every day; he's such a
manly, kind-hearted fellow, and one of the most popular in school. He's
rather big, with fine, broad shoulders, and awfully good-looking. He has
light-brown hair, about the color of Cousin George's, and bright blue
eyes; and he always looks as though he had just got out of the
bath-tub--only stopped, of course, to put his clothes on. I guess we
must be pretty old-fashioned in our notions, we Maine country folks,
because so many of my pet ideas and beliefs have been changed since I
came here. You know with us it has always gone without dispute that rich
boys are mean and worthless, if not really immoral. But here they're not
that way. I guess we never had much chance to study rich people up our
way, mother. At the grammar school all the fellows looked down on
wealthy boys; but we never had any of them around. The richest chap was
Gilbert, whose father was a lumberman, and Gilbert used to wear shoes
that you wouldn't give to a tramp.
"I suppose West's father could buy Mr. Gilbert out twenty times and not
miss the money. Outfield--isn't it a queer name?--spends a lot of money,
but not foolishly; I mean he has no bad habits, like a few of the
fellows. I hope you will meet him some time. Perhaps I could have him
up to stay a few days with me next summer. He'd be glad to come.
"No, my roommate, Sproule, doesn't improve any on acquaintance. But I've
got so I don't mind him much. I don't think he's really as mean as he
makes you believe. He's having hard work with his studies nowadays, and
has less time to find fault with things.
"You ask how I spend my time. Dear little mother, you don't know what
life in a big boarding school like Hillton is. Why, I haven't an idle
moment from one day's end to the next. Here's a sample. This morning I
got up just in time for chapel--I'm getting to be a terrible chap for
sleeping late--and then had breakfast. By that time it was quarter to
nine. At nine I went to my mathematics. Then came Latin, then English.
At twelve I reported on the green and practiced signals with the second
squad until half past. Then came lunch. After lunch I scurried up to my
room and dug up on chemistry, which was at one-thirty. Then came Greek
at half past two. Then I had an hour of loafing--that is, I should have
had it, but I was afraid of my to-morrow's history, so put in part of
the time studying that. At a little before four I hurried over to the
gymnasium, got into football togs, and reached the campus 'just in time
to be in time.' We had a stiff hour's practice with the ball and learned
two new formations. When I got back to the 'gym' it was a quarter past
five. I had my bath, rubbed down, did two miles on the track, exercised
with the weights, and got to supper ten minutes late. West came over to
the room with me and stayed until I put him out, which was hard work
because he's heavier than I am, and I got my books out and studied until
half an hour ago. It is now just ten o'clock, and as soon as I finish
this I shall tumble into bed and sleep like a top.
"I can't answer your question about Mr. Remsen, because I do not know
him well enough to ask about his home or relatives. But his first name
is Stephen. Perhaps he is a relative of the Remsens you mention. Some
day I'll find out. Anyhow, he's the grandest kind of a fellow. I suppose
he's about thirty. He has plenty of money, West says, and is a lawyer by
profession. He has coached Hillton for three years, and the school has
won two out of three of its big games during those years. The big game,
as they call it, is the game on Thanksgiving Day with St. Eustace
Academy, of Marshall. This fall it is played here....
"Please tell father that I am getting on well with my studies, but not
to hope too much for the Goodwin Scholarship. There are so many, many
smart fellows here! Sometimes I think I haven't a ghost of a show.
But--well, I'm doing my best, and, after all, there are some other
scholarships that are worth getting, though I don't believe I shall be
satisfied with any other. West says I'm cheeky to even expect a show at
the Goodwin.... All the professors are very nice; even 'Turkey.' His
real name is Durkee, and he is professor of English. He is not popular
among the fellows, but is an awfully good instructor. The principal,
Professor Wheeler, is called 'Wheels,' but it sounds worse than it is.
Every one likes him. He is not at all old, and talks to the fellows
about football and golf; and West says he can play a fine game of the
latter when he tries.
"I have been elected to the Golf Club and have joined. It costs a dollar
and a half for this year, but West wanted me to join so much that I did.
There are a lot of nice fellows in it--the sort that it is well to know.
And I am going to try for the Senior Debating Club after the
holidays.... Tell father that he wouldn't be so down on football if he
could see the fellows that play it here at Hillton. Mr. Remsen is head
coach, as I have told you. Then there is an advisory committee of one
pupil, one graduate, and one professor. These are Wesley Blair, Mr.
Remsen, and Professor MacArthur. Then there is a manager, who looks
after the business affairs; and a trainer, who is Professor Beck; and,
of course, a captain. Wesley Blair is the captain. The second eleven is
captained by Tom Warren, who is a fine player, and who is substitute
quarter-back on the first or school eleven. In a couple of weeks both
the first and second go to training tables: the first at one of the
boarding houses in the village and the second in the school dining hall.
When that happens we go into training for sure, and have to be in bed
every night at ten sharp and get up every morning at seven. I'm pretty
sure now of a place on the second, and may possibly make the first
before the season's done....
"Of course, I want the overcoat. But you had better send it as it is,
and I will have the tailor here in the village cut it over. He is very
moderate in charges and does good work, so West tells me, and in this
way it will be sure to fit right. Thank father for me, please....
Good-night....
"Your loving son,
"JOEL."
The opportunity to inquire regarding Stephen Remsen's family connections
presented itself to Joel on the day preceding the golf tournament and
the football game with Westvale. On account of the latter there had been
only a half hour of light practice for the two squads, and Joel at half
past four had gone to his room to study. But when it came time to puzzle
out some problems in geometry Joel found that his paper was used up,
and, rather than borrow of his neighbors, he pulled on his cap and
started for the village store.
October had brought warm weather, and this afternoon, as he went along
the maple-bordered road that leads to the post office he found himself
dawdling over the dusty grasses and bushes, recognizing old friends and
making new ones, as right-minded folks will when the sun is warm and the
birds sing beside the way. He watched a tiny chipmunk scamper along the
top of the stone wall and disappear in the branches of a maple, looked
upward and saw a mass of fluffy white clouds going northward, and
thought wistfully of spring and the delights it promised here in the
Hudson Valley. The golden-rod had passed its prime, though here and
there a yellow torch yet lighted the shadowed tangles of shrub and vine
beneath the wall, but the asters still bloomed on, and it was while
bending over a clump of them that Joel heard the whir of wheels on the
smooth road and turned to see a bicyclist speeding toward him from the
direction of the academy.
When the rider drew near, Joel recognized Stephen Remsen, and he
withdrew toward the wall, that the Coach might have the benefit of the
level footpath and avoid the ruts. But instead of speeding by, Remsen
slowed down a few feet distant and jumped from his wheel.
"Hello, March!" was his greeting as he came up to that youth. "Are you
studying botany?" Joel explained that he had been only trying to
identify the aster, a spray of which he had broken off and still held
in his hand.
"Perhaps I can tell you what it is," answered Remsen as he took it.
"Yes, it's the Purple-Stemmed, _Aster puniceus_. Isn't it common where
you live?"
"I've never noticed it," answered Joel. "We have lots of the
_Novoe-Anglioe_ and _spectabilis_ in Maine, and some of the white
asters. It must be very lovely about here in spring."
"Yes, it is. Spring is beautiful here, as it is everywhere. The valley
of the Hudson is especially rich in flora, I believe. I used to be very
fond of the woods on Mount Adam when I was a boy here at Hillton, and
knew every tree in it." They were walking on toward the village, Remsen
rolling his bicycle beside him.
"It's a long while since then, I suppose, sir?" queried Joel.
"I graduated from Hillton ten years ago this coming June. I rowed stroke
in the boat that spring, and we won from Eustace by an eighth of a mile.
And we nearly burned old Masters down to the ground with our Roman
candles and sky rockets. You room there, don't you, March?"
"Yes, sir; Number 34."
"That was Billy Mathews's room that year. Some time if you look under
the carpet you'll find a depression in the middle of the floor. That's
where Billy made a bonfire one night and offered up in sacrifice all his
text-books. It took half an hour to put that fire out." Remsen was
smiling reminiscently.
"But what did he burn his books for, sir? Was it the end of the year?"
"No, but Billy had been expelled that day, and was celebrating the fact.
He was a nice old chap, was Billy Mathews. He's president of a Western
railroad now." Joel laughed.
"That bonfire must have made as much commotion as some of the explosions
in Number 15, Mr. Remsen."
"Hello! Are my efforts in pursuit of science still remembered here? Who
told you about that, March?"
"Mrs. Cowles. She said you were forever doing something terrible, but
that you were such a _nice_ boy." Remsen laughed heartily as he replied:
"Well, don't pattern your conduct on mine or Mathews's, March. We
weren't a very well-behaved lot, I fear. But I don't believe our pranks
did much harm. In those days football wasn't as popular as it is to-day,
at Hillton, and fellows couldn't work off their surplus animal spirits
thumping a pigskin as they can now. Football is a great benefactor in
that way, March. It has done away with hazing and street brawls and gate
stealing and lots of other deviltry. By the way, how are you getting on
with the game?"
"I think I'm getting the hang of it, sir. I'm having a hard time with
drop kicking, but I guess I'll learn after a while."
"I'm sure you will. I'm going to have Blair give you a bit of coaching
in it next week. He'll have more time then, after he has finished with
this golf business. Don't get discouraged. Peg away. It's worth the
work, March, and you have the making of a good back as soon as you learn
how to kick a goal and run a little faster. And whenever you're puzzled
about anything come to me and we'll work it out together. Will you?"
"Yes, sir, thank you."
"That's right. Well, here's where I turn off. Have you time to come and
pay me a visit?"
"Not to-day, I'm afraid, Mr. Remsen. I'm just going to the post office
for some paper, and--"
"Well, come and see me some time. I'm pretty nearly always at home in
the evenings and will be very glad to see you. And bring your friend
West with you. That's my headquarters down there, the yellow house; Mrs.
Hutchins's. If you cut across the field here it will save you quite a
distance. Good-by; and get to bed early to-night, March, if you can.
There's nothing like a good sleep before a game."
"Good-by," answered Joel. Then, "Mr. Remsen, one minute, please, sir,"
he called. "Are you any relation to the Remsens that live near
Clairmont, in Maine, sir?"
"Why, I shouldn't wonder," answered Remsen, with a smile. "I think I've
heard my father speak of relatives in Maine, but I don't recollect
where. Why do you ask?"
"My mother wrote me to find out. She's very much interested in people's
relatives, Mr. Remsen, and so I thought I'd ask and let her know. You
didn't mind my asking you, did you?"
"Certainly not. Tell your mother, March, that I hope those Remsens are
some of my folks, because I should like to be related to her friends.
And say, March, when you're writing to your mother about me you needn't
say anything about those explosions, need you?"
"I don't think it will be necessary, sir," laughed Joel.
"Very well; then just mention me as a dignified and reverend
attorney-at-law, and we'll keep the rest a secret between us."