CHAPTER I.

ANDOVER AHOY!

ANDOVER! All out for Andover!" sang out the conservative Boston & Maine brakeman. As he threw open the door of the heated car a welcome breath of air blew in the face of a young fellow who had been looking longingly out of the window ever since the train had left Lawrence; and now and then rather wistfully at a group of boys apparently oblivious of his presence. He had not heard their comments as they ran like this:

"Rather old looking for a Prep." "Perhaps he enters Theologue." "Bet you a soda he goes Middler."

"Bet you he's a new Senior."

"Done!"

"Done!"

After the rollicking boys had rushed out, this young gentleman grasped a battered carpet-bag, and by the aid of a stick limped down upon the platform. Eight or ten boys had come on this train and these were already piled in and on the old stage-coach which, bore on the outside the elaborate and doubtfully classic motto, "Pro Bono Puplicko," which was said to have been touched up by an extinct Middle class in a moment of hilarity.

As: this lame lad came up the platform to hunt for, his trunk, he was suddenly seized by a bright, smooth-faced man with an obvious badge upon his hat: "Here you are, sir; take you up and bring your trunk, all for a quarter."

"That's right, Pete, rope him in and hurry up about it; we can't sit here all day."

The voice that spoke was careless and somewhat contemptuous. The speaker was perched outside of the vehicle on the driver's seat and was lightly smoking a cigarette.

"Oh! hold up, Selfrich, give him time; can't you see he' ain't as fast as you are?" sung out somebody from the inside. A laugh arose, and one could hardly tell whether it were at the expense of the fellow on the box-seat, or of the boy in Pete's clutches.

"I am to live in Latin Commons, but I don't know which room yet."

This voice was deep and sympathetic. The eyes looked Pete quizzically in the face as much as to say, "Do you think that with all your cleverness you can prophesy which room to take me to?"

JOHN STRONG.

"Get in, and I'll take you to Uncle Jim's; will bring your trunk up later," Pete answered, not at all abashed.

"All right," replied his willing victim as he .approached the coach. Now the body of the coach was crammed full, and there was only one seat left on top, up two flights of iron steps, each just big enough for one foot. The boys looked at the hesitating fellow as he glanced appealingly into the inhospitable interior, and up the Alpine heights.

"I don't think I can climb up there; I'm lame, you know."

In truth, one of the boy's legs was thin and spindling. The trousers flapped in the wind around it as if it had been a small liberty pole. It was a sad sight. The lad's face was sturdy and manly, so were his chest and body, so was his whole right side; but paralysis had set in from his left hip down. He had been in this condition since he was a very little child. He had walked with a crutch all his life until now. But he thought that his future classmates would laugh at a boy with a crutch, so he had replaced it with a stick. His mother said he was foolish to do so, he would suffer so much. And suffer the poor boy did, as he balanced himself with unaccustomed effort on his hooked cane. The perspiration came out on his forehead. He shut his teeth tightly and only smiled and said:

"Perhaps some fellow will give me his seat inside, and sit on top? It is hard for me to climb." Not a soul budged.

"Oh! hurry up, Sonny. Do you hear? Hurry up!" It was the same Selfrich that spoke. He looked as if he could have taken the reins in hand and driven over the silent youth.

"Well, I'll try. Will you help me?" The lame boy turned to Pete, the driver, who said:

"You fellers ought to give him room in there, don't you see he can't climb?"

Why is it that boys are blind to pain and act like brutes? And yet when thought overtakes them they can be as tender as angels.

Just at this critical moment a face craned itself far out of the window, and ejaculated:

"Hey, you, what class?"

"I'm entering the Senior class," answered the perplexed boy.

"What's your name?" The speaker again poked his face out of the coach. The most prominent feature on it was a huge pair of gilt spectacles which might have belonged at some prehistoric time to an antediluvian theological professor. The next thing visible was the nose on which they were securely perched. This nose was long and lean, with staccato-like bumps along its ridge; these ended in a positive rise. It was so arranged by nature that if the spectacles slipped down they could by no means of their own slip entirely off. These eccentricitiès of appearance were crowned by a head which had just been treated to an eighth of an inch cut. A white felt hat completed the picture.

"Can't you leave off chaffing, Doc.?" another voice spoke from within. "Give him your seat and be done with it."

The fellow called "Doc." laughed merrily, jumped out and said:

"There, get in. If I'd known you were a reverend Senior I'd have done it before. I have a great respect for the Senior class, except for that fellow, Selfrich, who is mean enough to eat dirt."

"Thank you," said our lame friend as he carefully took the vacant place. "I hope we shall know each other better." Then the coach impatiently rolled up the hill, bearing within it one who had left a dear home, and was feeling, in spite of his composure, as if he had fallen into the hands of the Philistines.

He sat quietly looking out on the houses as they flitted past. What was his fate to be in that new world he had entered? How insignificant became the New Hampshire academy which he had left! How overwhelming seemed to him the faces of the strange boys as they flocked into the post-office, as they walked up the street! They dazed our wondering lad, and he clutched his stick in momentary terror to think that he had to compete against all these, make his way and force his place where no one cared for him or seemed to want him. But the town looked bright, attractive and healthy, and in the fall haze the white-painted houses seemed cool and comfortable. All at once he gave a start. A red flag waved conspicuously from a post in front of a very white house. The green blinds were drawn. Farther up the street, on the other side, he could see another blood-red banner. Small-pox in town! That dreadful disease in Andover! The papers had not mentioned it. He was glad his mother knew nothing about it. Perhaps the school would not open. He looked at the faces of the. boys, but they seemed oblivious of their danger. The coach came to a stop before a house bearing the fever signal attached to a post in front. The coachman took the flag and waved it in the air. The boys gave a cheer as one of their number stepped down and nonchalantly swaggered into the plague-stricken house. When Pete came back our friend plucked up courage to ask him:

"Is there much small-pox in town? There are a good many red flags out." A roar drowned the poor boy's last words. That was almost the last straw, that these new schoolmates of his should joke in the face of death. But relief came soon. One of the boys explained as soon as he could stop laughing, that these were coach signals. Red flags were put out when the "Townies" wanted the coach to stop. Our hero joined briskly in the laugh at his own expense. At this moment the coach came to a jolting halt

"Here you are at Uncle Jim's. All out for Uncle Jim's!"

Pete swung himself down from the box. Selfrich stared impatiently while the coachman helped the halting boy out and gave him his old valise. As John Strong put his cane under his arm to pay his fare, he was surprised to see Doc. beside him.

"What's your name?" asked the queer boy.

"John Strong."

"Well, John Strong --- an awfully funny name for this chappie," he uttered under his breath --"give. me your bag and I'll see you to Uncle Jim Tyler's; I'm his favorite." His eyes winked ferociously. His hat made desperate efforts to stick on. He was so awkward, yet so good-natured, so ridiculous and so jovial, that John Strong liked him.

"Good-by, Stumpy." It was Selfrich who added this parting shot as the stage swung off. "Good-by, Doc. Goggles."

"Selfrich can't leave a fellow alone," said Doc. as he grasped the bag and led the way.

"Say," said John's strange conductor, "you're not easily scared, are you? Uncle Jim's powerfui hard on new ones. He grinds 'em. I've been here these five years and am used to him. My father was his classmate. He don't scare me. You just speak right up and keep a stiff upper lip. Here we are," he added, as they came to the door.

It was a brick house, one of two built together. The front door was wide open, and Doc. walked confidently in, put the bag down in the hall, and after a long breath which seemed to give him courage, climbed the hard stairs and knocked at the door of a room whence gruff sounds came sounding to the awe-struck boys like the intermittent growls from a menagerie.

"Come in! come in! There, there, you can go now," said the huge voice to a small boy who seemed shivering under the tempestuous onset.

"Whom have we here? Ah, Shelby! Back again, sir? This is your last Middle year, do you hear, sir?" wiping his hot forehead. "Sir! how does your father"---

The Principal recollected himself just in time. It was not necessary for Doc. to say, "My father died this summer." Uncle Jim, conscious of his narrow escape, crimsoned with embarrassment and looked at the orphan as if either death or the boy had taken him in on purpose. "But," continued the lad, relieving the tension of the situation with unexpected tact, "I've brought a new Senior. Mr. Strong, Dr. Tyler; Dr. Tyler, Mr. Strong." The spectacles gave a hop. They seemed discouraged at the prospect of not sliding off, and then subsided. One hand clutched the white hat, while the other pushed John Strong and his wilted leg and stout stick forward into the redoubtable presence.

The Principal of Phillips Andover Academy, Dr. James Tyler, known familiarly to everybody in town and out as "Uncle Jim," stood in front of his desk. He was a middle-sized, middle-aged man, quite stout, and very imposing. He wore glasses, a smooth face, and profuse gray. hair. His whole appearance gave the first impression of leonine power. His set lips told the story of his sternness; but his deeply-sunken eyes showed good-nature, an appreciation of humor and quick nervous determination. John Strong stood before him. There was a moment of silence. The two looked at each other. The Doctor's gaze bored the youth like an auger. The boy returned the look, wondering whether he had found a friend, a father, or a foe. His mother had conducted all the correspondence. This was his first introduction to the celebrated Principal of Phillips Academy.

"Mr. Shelby, you may wait in the hall, sir, while I talk with Mr. Strong," said the eminent instructor. Shelby started as if a cannon-ball had struck him, and vanished after an incautious wink at the waiting boy.

When the two were left alone the dreadful voice spoke again.

"Now, sir, are you lame?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then sit down." This, the boy thought, was said more tenderly.

."How long ?"

"Ever since I could remember, sir."

"Does it hurt you to walk?"

"A little, sir; not much. I'll be stronger soon."

"How poor are you? You look poor!" This seemed brutal to the lad. As the Doctor said this, he scanned John's neat and well-worn clothes and his hat of ancient cut.

"I have just twenty-two dollars left. I started with twenty-five. Mother said that I would have a chance to earn some. Mother has no money left now; she's too poor."

"Humph!" ejaculated the merciless inspetor, wiping his glasses to gain a fresh start. "What did you come here for? Can you study ? "

"I do my best; I was second in, my class. in Conacoot. I graduated this year. But it didn't take me far enough to enter college."

"Humph!" came the same uncompromising reply. "Can you take care of a garden? Are you strong enough to work?"

"I think so. I'll, do anything to earn my way through. I must get to college. My father went; he worked."

The stern educator of a thousand youths looked the plucky boy again in the face. He noticed the frank blue eyes, the open, broad brow, the willing smile. He took the lad in at a glance. He rarely made a mistake in his estimates of character. He was proud of his wonderful perceptive faculty. On the other hand he never relaxed. This was the secret of his disciplinary power---never to unbend, no matter how warmly his heart might beat. Could a boy stand before him without wincing, he was sure of the Principal's secret favor at least.

"There! There! You won't be in mischief, I'll warrant. We'll see what can be done. Your room," he consulted his papers, "is 2, 2 Latin Commons. You are to board at the Milktoast Club There, sir, you will report to-morrow morning at prayers and take your place in the Senior class. Here, Shelby!" Shelby suddenly bobbed into the room like Punch in the show. He readjusted his binoculars and looked around to see how the wind lay.

"Shelby, take Mr. Strong to No. 2, Room 2, in your Commons; get the janitor and the key and show him to the Milktoast Club. And, hark ye, attend to your lessons this year, or I'll have to know the reason why, sir."

"Is it far?" asked the neophyte of his conductor, when they both breathed more freely on the sidewalk again.

"No, indeed; see those play houses all in a row? Six of 'em. Yours is the second; your room is on the ground floor, window facing this way; my room is in the next house. It's nice enough now---wait till winter comes." This was said in an ominous tone.

They soon stopped in front of what seemed to John the dreariest row of wooden houses in North America. "Wait here," said Shelby, "I'll send the janitor to you, and when I see Pete I'll tell him where to bring your trunk. Second hand furniture can be bought next house but one. I'll come for you at supper time."

John Strong was left alone.

 

CHAPTER II.

THE DORMITORIES.

THEY stood there, six of them in a row. They looked as if they had been struck off from the same stern die. They looked like weather-beaten, brown sentinels, stolid and forbidding, on guard to warn the unwary away. They appeared to John Strong as he edged off to take a good look at them, like dragons with eyes and mouths ready to devour the unwary student who didn't know enough to keep away from them. Dingy blankets hung out of the windows. Wood and coal, book-boxes and blown, brown paper formed the foreground of the scene. Grumblings and noises reverberated from within these six grim shells. He counted them again. Yes, there were six. And through the trees on the other side of the play-ground he counted five more like monsters. He wondered how many more there were. A prison in Siberia might be worse, he thought, but, with the intensity and inexperience of youth, rather doubted it.

Latin Commons, No. 2, Room 2! His mother's heart would have ached had she seen him looking at the barracks, which the Academy Trustees furnished to their boys with the further inducement of only three dollars a term room rent. Don't let us be too hard on the Phillips authorities. These six brown boxes are there to help educate poor boys. They have turned out many a manly fellow, and by their very hardship fitted him to make his way in the seething world. We only pity the "pious founders'" taste in the selection of an architect.

Every boy who has been away to school or college for the first time, knows that the settling interval is the dreariest. It taxes all the Spartan in a boy not to give way to discouragement when the lonely feeling overtakes him at such a critical time. Our hero was going through just such a stage. All the manhood he had was now required. He didn't know a soul in Andover except the burly Principal and the boy called "Doc. Goggles." Here he was, stranded and in all respects helpless, on the door-step of the saddest-looking wooden house he had ever seen. He looked into the window of his future home. He saw bare floors, two bare chairs, a bare table, two open doors and a stovepipe hole. That was all. As he was peering through the window and feeling more desperate than ever over the prospect of the homelesness and the sickly green wall paper, a hand touched him on the shoulder.

"Are you the new Senior?"

The boy turned and saw a fat, jovial man, done up in overalls and jingling a big bunch of keys in his hand.

"I'm Mr. Locks, your janitor. I guess you'd like to get into your room." Then, after a pause, as he proceeded to open the refractory door: "We generally give these floor-rooms to Preps. and the Seniors go up to the top, but I was told you'd want a bottom room. I guess you'll be better suited here; the steps are pretty rough for any one to climb."

Indeed they looked it, winding, steep, chipped, and worn with the countless feet of nearly eighty years.

A warm, overpowering, stuffy smell greeted John as he briskly followed the janitor and put his bag on the floor with a sigh of faint relief. The room looked even more forbidding when he was in it than it did from the outside. There were two windows, one on the side and one in front, and these lifted with difficulty and then staid up on sticks. The green wall paper had faded to a homesick color and was liberally daubed with red and black ink. The door was hacked and mangled. It gaped at the bottom as much as the windows did at the. top, The floor rose and fell as if an. earthquake had passed through the land. One could almost peer through the chinks into the murky darkness below. There were a couple of chairs that had evidently been reconstructed lately by the janitor himself, for he looked at them with peculiar pride. The table in the corner of the room was the most respectable bit of furniture, and that was bravely supported by two laths, that were securely nailed upon the stumps of its pathetic front legs. It reminded John Strong of a veteran of the war, so patched up and yet so able.

LATIN COMMONS--- NO. 2, ROOM 2.

"Here's your bedroom. You can put your trunk and things in the other one. This is the warmest in winter. .Did you bring any bedclothes? We don't furnish bedding."

"I've got some sheets and blankets in my trunk, if it only gets here in time," answered John, as he approached a chair with caution.

"Well, I guess I'll have to put you up a mattress and a pillow; you can pay for it when you feel like it."

"If you please I'll pay for it now. How much will it be?"

John Strong had made up his mind about one thing ---he would starve first, but he would not fall in debt. They were poor at home; how bitterly poor no one else knew, and they kept it to themselves. However, they never owed any man a penny. It was part of their religion to keep themselves free, though they ate mush and molasses to do it month after month.

It was not long before the new Senior had bargained for a second-hand mattress and pillow, an old student's lamp, a gallon of kerosene oil, a self-feeding stove, and a broom, for the modest sum of ten dollars, cash down. It was about five o'clock and he set to work putting things to rights. Pete brought his trunk very promptly, undoubtedly stimulated by a slight feeling of pity for the lame boy. The janitor, Mr. Locks, soon came puffing and glowing with his conveniences in hand, all but the stove. Flocks of boys peered into the windows to catch a glimpse of the lame Senior who was to room in Commons. They wondered if he would be surly and cross. Somehow, impatience of temper is associated with physical deformity in boys' minds. They argued whether he would be a good one to eat at the first table of the Milktoast Club.

The bed was made upon the hardest of slats, but John didn't mind an uneasy bed. The rooms were swept. The few pictures and prints his mother had slipped in his trunk were tacked upon the walls. The. pitcher was filled with water at the famous old pump near by which even the theologues patronized. The cellar was inspected, and Mr. Locks showed him where his pile of wood and coal was to go. The sloping colonial roof of 'the Milktoast Club was pointed out to him by an enterprising Junior Middler in the same building. A new Junior (known in schoolboy parlance as a "Prep.") in the room opposite had hesitatingly asked the new Senior's advice about a washerwoman; and now, seated gingerly on a chair by the open window, John was looking at the parched meadows through the opaque drizzle. His mind wandered in quick confusion. He thought of home and Cicero, of tuition bills and chapel bells, and wondered what the morrow, the tenth of September, the opening day of the fall term, would bring forth. The rain, to complete the desolate scene, now came down heavily, as it always does at the famous Phillips Exeter ball-games, Commencement Day, or the opening week of the fall term. Just then a vigorous knock at the door was heard.

Awaking from his revery, John Strong turned his head. It was just ten minutes of six, and sure enough, in bounced Doc. Shelby, his queer, simple face beaming with good nature.

"Halloo! All settled? Are you ready for hash? We'll have to start pretty soon ; you'll find you have got to be there when the doors are opened or you lose your chance."

Our new Senior was soon walking as fast as he could under his friend's umbrella. They only had about five hundred yards to go before they came to the site of the famous Milktoast Club, where hundreds have caught their first symptoms of the dyspepsia that became chronic in college boarding-houses, was hardened by post-graduate landladies, that was knocked out of them by a Western ranch, or soothed out of them by a sensible wife, or that lasted them till the memory of boyish days and hardships seemed but a dim outline of a half-forgotten youth.

"I'll take you around and introduce you to our landlady, Mrs. Grooge," continued Doc. in his effervescent way; "she has been at it twentyfive years and is now considered as good as any one of the faculty. If you get on the right side of her, you're sure of plenty of grub."

They pushed their way through groups of boys standing massed under umbrellas and encased in water proofs about the locked front door. Others wee roosting like black turkeybuzzards on the fence, waiting for the rush to begin. When the two emerged from the drip, drip overhead, through the back door into the warm kitchen, John Strong noticed a boiler full of potatoes standing on the table, and mountains of milk toast warming on the stove.

"Here you, Kitty!" a high voice was heard above the clatter from the dining-room within, "give the boys plenty of milk to-night; it's their first meal, and they've got to write home that they are not starved."

Doc. pushed through to the dining-room, where a tall, lean woman, with deep wrinkles in her forehead, with her hair severely smoothed down over her ears, was putting the finishing touches on the four tables.

"Hem! Is that you, Mr. Shelby? Back again! You march right out of here and wait outside till the doors are opened!" jerked out this peremptory and bristling landlady.

"Excuse me, I have brought you a new boarder. Mr. Strong, Mrs. Grooge; Mrs. Grooge, Mr. Strong. He's a new Senior. Perhaps he can stay in this time and you can show him his seat," answered Doc. apologetically.

"Oh! that's another thing. O, yes! I heard about you from Mr. Locks. Let me see. The Senior tables --- Mr. Lambkin sits there --hurry up, Kitty, with that milk toast; put three dishes full on the table, with four dishes of the boiled potatoes --- Landor sits here -put four milk toasts at the Seniors' table, they eats most --- Dalstan there I'll put you nearest the door, opposite Lambkin. You set right down and hang your hat in the hall --- You can pay me the ten dollars down to-morrow."

"Here it is, ma'am, I'll pay before I eat," quickly answered John.

"Well, you are a good beginner; keep it up and you'll come out all right. You'll find the receipt under your plate at breakfast. You'd better be prompt; 6.30 sharp, or you won't get much. They are like bears when they eat."

It was only a minute more before the tables were set and the door was opened. There was so much stone china crockery and so little food! Then the rush began.

"Hey, you fellows, milk toast to-night, hurrah!" yelled the foremost boys.

In they trooped, while John Strong sat and silently watched them.

During this rush and scrimmage, Kitty and Mrs. Grooge took good care to keep out of harm's way. One could easily tell a new-corner by the hesitation he showed at first. The older hands grabbed their plates and made a dead set for the toast dish and potatoes.

Others caught up the milk pitcher. It looked as if a battle would be fought, so lawless these young gentlemen were.

"Halloo, is that you, Doc. ?" some one shrieked; "catch that!" A potato went whizzing through the air losing its jacket in its flight.

The Seniors were hardly more decorous, though one had had the grace to help John, who waited in his seat, the only one at the table, who did so, for his turn to come. It is no exaggeration to say that butter flew through the air, and one melting patch was seen to trickle down a new Prep.'s shirt collar. Bread was a staple article of attack, as well as the pièce de resistance.

"You'll get used to it," said Lambkin, bending over to Strong. "Wait till flap-jack morning. This is nothing compared to the fun then."

At that moment, the majestic figure of Mrs. Grooge appeared in the doorway. There was a hush. The boys all looked that way.

"Good-ev'n, boys," she said: "hope you are all getting enough to eat this term. I do my best, though you did begin on milk toast to-night."

The boys looked impulsively at the Senior table as if the first response should come from there. He who was known as Father Lambkin arose with gravity.

"Fill your glasses, my children, and drink to Mrs. Grooge" ---

And Kitty," broke in a treble voice.

All right; Kitty too," went on the impurturbable leader. "Who are Mrs. Grooge and Kitty?" continued the spokesman, bowing with playful sarcasm at the last word to the Middler of the treble voice. "Now answer!"

Then came the wonderful reply that always stirs the heart of the lad who hears it for the first time. They all yelled in unison:

"First in Peace, first in war, first in the hearts of the Milktoast Club!" Stamp, stampity stamp, stampity stamp, stamp, stamp! rattled their feet on the floor with mighty clang and perfect precision of time.

The boys roared and drank.

FATHER LAMBKIN PROPOSES THE TOAST TO MRS. GROOGE---AND KITTY.

John Strong wondered if any woman's presence could calm this restless, undisciplined crew. He thought of his mother's simple and orderly table. Why should a boy not behave like a gentleman even if away from home? Then the backward stampede began. A final volley of potato peelings and bread crumbs set in, and John was drawn into the retrogressive movement. A hand caught him by the arm. The benevolent and interesting face of Lambkin approached him.

"It's pretty rough, I know," he said, when they were well outside; "a boy takes it hard when he first comes from a decent home like mine. This is my fourth year. We are used to it. I'll take you to chapel to-morrow if you like and start you in. We are not like the swell ones, here in Commons, but we hold our own."

They parted at John Strong's door.

"You must come in and see me soon," John slowly said.

"That I will. Good-night!"

And the new Senior went to his bare room, his few books, his mother's picture and his hard bed. H had just fallen asleep when he was aroused by muffled sounds right under his open bedroom window.

"Wonder how the fellow will like it?" said a voice that sounded like that of Selfrich.

Splash! came a volume of water on the bed. John sat up, dripping. He heard laughing and running, and then fully realized that he was a member of Phillips Academy,

 

CHAPTER III.

THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE.

WHAT can I do for you?"

"I heard that you wanted a boy to do some work."

"What do you want to work for?"

"For an education, sir," answered a frank voice promptly.

It was our new Senior who had started out as soon as he could to find work. He was one of the sturdy class who prefer to make their own way, and who think it is a poor way if they are pushed. He had naturally gone first to one of the many Professors who were in the habit of employing a boy. John Strong had a certain nobility of countenance which made him an aristocrat to look upon, no matter how poorly he might be dressed. Add to this the inevitable lines that intelligent suffering brings, and he looked, unfortunately enough for his purpose, as if it would not be quite the thing to offer him manual employment.

The reverend man he now called upon happened at that time to fill the Hebrew chair in the Theological Seminary, and he was, as it also happened, nearsighted and unpractical.

"I am sorry," he said; "I should like to help you, but we have just engaged our furnace boy. Let me see ---" He stood in the doorway; his lean, shaven face posed in thought. "Ah, I have it. Can you copy Hebrew texts? I am publishing a revised edition of Gesenius."

"No, sir," sorrowfufly answered John Strong. He was not up to Andover requirements; "I am afraid not."

"Then I do not see how I can help you. I am sorry. Come and see me again. Good afternoon."

John Strong watched the learned figure until the door shut. He was by no means discouraged. He made up his mind to try the next place.

He now walked boldly up to the front door of the adjoining house, where another theological Professor lived, who was noted, not only in his scholastic department as a successful teacher, but also because he had a fast horse and a good cow.

THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY

This was the Professor of Depravity. It is a Well-known fact that all of the houses on the hill are either occupied by Professors or are used as boarding-houses ; and there are not half-enough to go around. John Strong thought as he approached his second venture, that he could well offer to take care of the horse and cow. He was fond of animals, and of course could milk; so he rang the bell.

"Is the Professor in?"

"No," answered the maid, "but she is; will you walk in?"

Now, under no circumstances is it easy for a high-spirited young man to ask a woman for work, and John Strong wished himself miles away. But before he could excuse himself, the girl had ushered him into the bookish parlor, filled with portraits of eminent theologians from Melanchthon and Luther down to present date; and he had to sit and wonder with all his mind how on earth to open the subject in the best way. While he was considering the ticklish problem from its many standpoints, the Professor's wife entered.

"Oh! Dr. Strong, where are you?" she cried shrilly. She had an air, as if some eminent man were playing hide-and-go-seek, and might bob up from behind a lounge, for instance.

"I am afraid you are mistaken, madam," mildly suggested the young man. "I am Mr. Strong, a member of the Academy."

"Why, I thought it was President Strong of Buncome College, who is expected here. I am so disappointed. Mr. Strong, what can I do for you ? "

She laid a peculiar stress on Mister. There are those to whom the continual use of some title or other--- as Doctor, Professor, President ---is as necessary as water to a Sandwich Islander. Such a one was the animated, black-haired woman opposite the new Senior.

"I called to ask about work. I heard that you wanted a boy to do chores. If so will you take me? I want work." The case was stated in a brief, manful way.

"O, dear me! You are the fifteenth boy, I am sure, that has applied this last week since the school opened. We always take one from the Academy. The Professor says that is giving a tenth to the Lord."

Though he had stated the case plainly, it now took on a doubtful hue to the respectful lad.

"Well, perhaps I might suit, Madam," he cheerfully replied. "I can run a furnace and take care of the cattle. I can milk."

The young mistress of the house seemed quite impressed by this unusual catalogue of accomplishments. To do her credit, we may say that most of the applicants wanted as little work to do as possible, in order to earn their dollar and a half a week honorably. Those she had hitherto employed had seldom given an overdose of satisfaction. It must be admitted that she was on the point of engaging the student one week on trial at half-pay when she happened to notice the heavy stick and the limpness of his lame side.

"Can you "---she cautiously proceeded, "can you run?""

"No, ma'am; that is aImost the only thing about a farm that I can't do." John Strong began to look sad.

"Well," went on Mrs. Professor, with renewed ease, as if she had gotten on her accustomed track, "I am truly sorry, Mr. Strong. In that case you won't suit. We have a very high-strung and tender cow, which is given to running away. She lifts the bars with her horns and then runs down the street. I don't see how you can catch her if you can't run too. She's a very nervous cow."

John Strong feebly assented and rose. "I am sorry," he said, "and will not take up your time any more. Good afternoon."

"You might try the next house," suggested the lady kindly.

She was the new wife of a new Professor, not much used to Andover, yet; she had come with some beautiful theories about how to treat Academy boys; when she had time she meant to invite them all to supper. "That Professor wants a boy. I am sorry you can't run. Good afternoon."

The wind rose in a gust at this minute and the door happened to slam in the disappointed boy's face.

Momentary discouragement is nothing to be ashamed of, when it does not overwhelm the victim into final inactivity. For the most part, these mental ups and downs are as much due to the temperament as to circumstances, and they need a mild antidote to drive them away. John Strong thought as much, and now cut directly. across the green common, past the granite library, towards the brick buildings of the Theological Seminary. He had a cousin in the Seminary, a rich young fellow, who had astonished everybody by first turning theologue and secondly by entering such a quiet school as that at Andover. Roger Mansfield was an interesting character. His father was a wealthy stock broker in New York, and the son had developed unexpected religious ideas of his own at Harvard, and now was in his second theological year.

ON THE FAMOUS ELM-TREE AVENUE

As John walked down the famous Elm-tree Avenue he met a couple of girls who were coming briskly along and who almost brushed against him. The one nearest to him attracted his attention; he could hardly tell why. Perhaps it was her eyes which seemed to envelop him as she gave him a swift glance. They did not look at him. They rather absorbed him.

"What a fine head he has!" whispered this young lady to her companion, when John had fairly passed.

"Why, you stupid, Elva," answered her companion with a sniff; "didn't you see that he was lame?".

"What does that matter when one has so true a look ?" the one called Elva gravely answered. Then they talked of other things.

John would not have dismissed that pair of gray-blue eyes so soon had he heard the girl's noble answer. As it was, his healthy imagination had quickly outrun his feet, and was already at his cousin's room. A few minutes more, a climb of a flight of stairs, and he was about to knock at a battered door that bore upon its ancient face a fashionable bit of pasteboard, engraved by Tiffany, bearing the legend:

Mr. Roger Mansfield.

when the following theological discourse arrested his attention, and before he knew it, he was standing still, an unconscious eavesdropper.

"Say your prayers, sir ! Head down! Down! I say."

After a short interval, the word came, sharp and stern: "Amen." This was followed by a sound that might have been made by the clapping of two hands once together.

John had instinctively, for he was a devout lad, closed his eyes and bent his head.

Then came the surprisingly contradictory order that electrified him:

"Now dance, sir! Up! Up again! That's right. Now faster --- faster!" Then came a mad clattering around the room. There was no doubt about it that some rousing performance was going on in these sacred apartments.

Was this the way they studied theology?

"Hold!" Then followed another snap.

Now order after order came sharp and fast; these were capped by sounds that gave John the impression that they had been obeyed with tremendous vim.

"Repeat the catechism, sir."

"Now leap-frog, sir."

"Be a Congregationalist."

"Be a Presbyterian."

"Now deny the Nicene Creed." This order was followed by a flop.

"Now plead your case before the Supreme Court, sir."

"Now be a heretic and die!"

John thought it was about time to knock.

As he did so, the final command came in alarming tones: "Now turn the rascals out!"

The door was flung open and a large, dark form leaped upon him. It was a magnificent Newfoundland dog, nearly three feet high. It placed its paws upon the student's shoulders and breathed in his face. This was the worst reception John had yet encountered in Andover. The brute, looked as if he would say, "How dare you come in without my master's countersign! ",

"Down, Calvin, down!" rang out the voice of his master from the doorway. At this, the trained beast dropped on his four paws and came to his owner's feet as demurely as if he had been lapping milk.

Roger Mansfield, the gay theologue, and his cousin, John Strong, the plain Academy senior, were soon acquainted. More than that, they began to like each other immensely. Whether it was because opposites are easily attracted to each other, or whether each recognized in the other a like intrepid, manly quality which both possessed, but which cropped out in far different ways, who can say? John easily yielded to the fascination of knowing one who gladly understood him, while the older man felt through that subtle power which is sometimes described by the name of magnetism, that here was one who could see beyond the luxurious exterior and could discern the sincerity of a nature that had been too often misunderstood.

"And is this your first and last year here?" continued Mansfield; "I have another year to stay, and begin to chafe for active work."

"And I have been here only a week, and I chafe for work too."

Then John Strong told his cousin his whole story, and asked what he thought he had better do.

"Have you tried the 'Compo' shop?" asked Roger. "I wouldn't recommend it very highly. A couple of theologues work there. You sew shoes and make rubber bags and do stitching of some sort. You wouldn't like that," glancing at the high brow of the impecunious student. "However," he continued, thoughtfully patting the huge dog on the head, "one might do worse. I almost wish I had to do it."

"If I can't get any other work," answered John, "I'll have to try that. I can make shoes. Mother and I learned to do it home one winter. That was a dreadful year."

The lad looked so unconscious of having said anything remarkable that his host sat astonished. Mansfield had been so accustomed to hear his poorest classmates make light of, and excuse and gloss over and hide their poverty, that here was a new experience. This brave heart frankly acknowledged what most people consider disgraceful.

"I tell you what, I'll take you over and introduce you to Uncle Jim. He isn't so bad as he's painted. He'll fix you somehow," said Mansfield gaily.

"But I've been there, the first day I came. I don't think he will do much," answered John.

"Oh! he has forgotten all about you by this time. If he knows you're my cousin" (rather proudly) "he will do something, I warrant."

So they both went over; John in his shabby suit of brown clothes, and Mansfield in rather a heretical tennis suit and an uncatechismal red tie. John Calvin, like a true, Puritan dog, led the way in giant bounds. Mansfield walked boldly through the outer door of the Principal's bouse and knocked sturdily, a little irreverently, Strong thought, at the study door. Calvin pawed impatiently on the sill.

"Come in," said a mighty voice. The young men opened the door. Calvin bounded ahead, stopped for a moment to reconnoiter, and without the slightest embarrassment, pounced into the awful, presence. Uncle Jim was writing busily. He had not raised his eyes.

"You forget yourself, sir," growled the great man, still without looking up "Twenty marks sir! What class do you belong to, sir?"

Calvin wagged his tail pleasantly. Without further hesitation he walked deliberately around the table and put his fore paws on the cleanest sheet of manuscript he could find. It proved to be the initial draft of the yearly catalogue which Uncle Jim had just laboriously completed.

"What dd you mean, sir?" The Principal of Phillips Academy raised his distinguished head. The lion and the dog regarded each other, their faces not three feet apart.

"TWENTY MARKS, SIR! TO WHAT CLASS DO YOU BELONG, SIR?"

 

CHAPTER IV.

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.

THE two young men had watched the performance of John Calvin, the one with a species of hopeless resignation, the other with open amusement. It is a dangerous feat to put a dog either through college or a Theological Seminary, no matter how handsome, winsome or well-trained he may be. If he does not undo you in the presence of the lords of the institution at some critical moment, he will betray you in a thousand other ways, much to your humiliation. Roger Mansfield could have strangled his pet at that moment: but in times of supreme trial the soul waits the final verdict with apparent calmness. Quietly, hardly above a whisper, Roger said: "Down! charge, sir!" For the first time in Calvin's natural history; the dog deliberately disobeyed. He opened his large mouth, gave a mighty yawn, and with a superbly aressing motion pawed closer to Uncle Jim, devastating in his attempts a few more sheets of closely written paper.

The teriible man, made more ominous by an unexpected calm, turned himself around slowly and gave the young men a piercing glance. He took in the quiet amusement visible in John Strong's face, as well as the blush of embarrassment that mantled the usually nonchalant theologue's cheeks. With one look at the unabashed dog, he said with tremendous sarcasm:

"Pray, Mr. Mansfield, let your representative remain. He, at least, knows no better than to interrupt my time and to spoil the work of days."

"I am very sorry, sir," began the unfortunate introducer of his cousin's virtues.

"You need not be, at all, sir," interrupted the Principal, in his grandest tone. "The Academy has no class formed as yet, for dogs, sir. Our canine department is as yet unendowed. You have simply mistaken your grounds."

"But I came to introduce my cousin here and to ask you" ---

"That is also needless," interrupted Uncle Jim, again with a wave of his hand. "He is capable of, introducing himself. And if," he continued, with a bow to poor John Calvin, who by this time had come down to his proper level and was looking from one to another in the most bewildered way, "you have no other business with me, sir, I beg you to leave me to regret that your presence and that of your friend," pointing to the now thoroughly subdued dog, "have not been more exhilarating. ---Good afternoon, sir."

Oh, thou luckless friend of my youth! What disgrace hast thou not heaped upon my loving head in the name of canine fidelity! So thought Mansfield, after the manner of thousands of others, who with the best intention in the world have attached themselves to a dog and a profession at the same time. With his tail between his legs, John Calvin, for the first time in his life, followed his master out. It is thus that the social blunder of a dog can effect the recognized order of precedence.

John Strong would have fled too, had not the awful voice thundered:

"Stay, sir, I wish to have a talk with you."

Uncle Jim's manner softened perceptibly when the door was closed, and the pat! pat of the paws had died away in the vestibule.

"You needn't have brought him along to help you," began the rich, deep voice with another look at the seated boy.

"Oh! I didn't wish to come at all, only he thought you had forgotten that I needed work to pay my way."

"He did, did he?" demanded the great man. "So you haven't found work yet? How much money have you left?"

"Only a few cents, sir. The last went for books. I don't owe anything. I thought of applying at the Compo shops," answered John Strong with a little brave gulp. It isn't so easy after all to be poor at the start.

"Nobody wants you, sir?" This sounded of itself cruel, though it was said with a twinkle of the spectacle.

"It appears not," answered the boy. "What do you think I had better do, sir?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to stay here. If nobody will have you, I suppose I must, sir." This was said with great brusqueness. "You may consider yourself engaged to me at three dollars a week to do work of any kind, and you may come in after supper and begin copying these. papers." He pointed ruefully at the pawimprinted manuscript. "Your duties begin at once, and so does your pay. Here are ten dollars in advance."

The good man had really a fatherly look as he smiled upon the lad who thus saw independence before him.

John Strong had hardly strength to say "Thank you." He lôoked it, and Uncle Jim, who knew how to read boys' faces so well, understood what the signs meant. But right here, that infallible reader of the countenance made his first grand mistake.

"Living in the Commons, Strong, you have the best opportunity of coming in contact with the boys. Now, if anything goes wrong, I am sure you will report to me promptly the nature of the trouble."

John Strong had risen, and he stood opposite his Principal's desk, behind which the speaker was seated. John felt dazed. Was this part of his "work of any kind "--- to report the boys? To tell tales? He hesitated. Again he saw his income diminishing. His heart grew sick and faint. At last, with dry lips, he asked the terrible Principal whose eyes were looking steadfastly at his:

"Do you mean me to be your spy, sir?" He had to look straight into those eyes. They fascinated him. He could not, would not look away.

"That is an ugly name for a student's duty, sir," answered the Principal impatiently. "It is for the sake of discipline I trust you to do this, sir."

"Then," with a great sigh, said John, "I must decline your offer of employment." The poor boy laid the ten-dollar bill upon the table. "I cannot do what would be dishonorable for me, though others may think it right." Then, after a pause, he exclaimed : "I am so sorry; I can't help it though."

Expression after expression crossed the Principal's face with tornado-like rapidity. But the boy stood firm. The great man had his struggle, too. He was not used to being met with so manly a refusal from one of his boys. It unnerved him.

"You may go, sir," he said cuttingly to the steadfast lad.

John left the room. When he had reached the end of the hall he heard the summons : ---"Strong, come back. I wish one more word with you, sir."

The boy reluctantly returned. He had no wish to prolong the scene. When he was in the room, the Principal, in whom the fatherly nature had won the victory over the ingenious disciplinarian, said:

"Stay, my boy. Perhaps you are right. My tutors do that. They are paid for it. You shall do different work, and now take your money. If you deserve it we will see about a scholarship. Now leave me, sir. No words! and come after supper."

Uncle Jim waved him off. They had both had a new experience, and there was born in John's heart a love for this man, battling alone against unbridled, boyish nature that was instinctively antagonistic to him, and which he conquered in his own way with far fewer mistakes than the average teacher. This feeling John always retained long after Uncle Jim was peacefully buried in the old Chapel Cemetery on Andover Hill.

 

CHAPTER V.

AN AUTUMNAL HAZE.

JOHN STRONG had been at school now several weeks. He had been introduced to the majority of his fifty or sixty classmates who unanimously voted him a harmless fellow. Of course it was out of the question that he could make a record as an athlete. They soon recognized him as a "dig," and a great acquisition perhaps to the Philomathean Debating. Society. Beyond that they did not think of him at all.

Strong's greatest discomfort in school was that he had to sit next to Selfrich. The class up to this time were seated alphabetically, and John wished that his name did not begin with S. One evening, as he was revolving an impossible scheme to get his seat in class changed, he heard a timid knock at his door. After a little preliminary shuffling the young. "Prep." who roomed opposite glided in and with a stage whisper announced that he thought some fellows were sacking Doc. Shelby's room. He had heard faint gurgles and suppressed laughter as he passed by. He didn't know much about it, but thought that he would tell "Mr. Strong" who might like to see the fun.

John immediately hurried over. It was a cold autumn night. The wind blew viciously. Drops of stinging rain slapped the boy in the face. When he had come to Doc.'s door he knocked vigorously. The hall was draughty and cold. It was the sort of a night when a fellow enjoys a comfortable room and wants to stay in it. Sounds that came at first mysteriously from within, suddenly ceased at his pounding. Evidently a consultation was holding. He could hear the whisperings.

Bang, bang! went John's fist on the door.

Sh-sh-sh! came from the other side.

"Get out of the windows, boys! It's the teacher ; it's Uncle Jim."

"No, it isn't," said John, "it's I. Let me in."

"It's that bow-legged prig, Strong; 1 suppose we'll have to let him in. If you don't he'll rouse the Faculty," said a voice that could be easily recognized as that of Selfrich. The bolts were drawn with a clang, and John beheld the following spectacle:

In the pallid light produced by alcohol and salt (and there is none more ghastly this side of the River Styx) John saw his friend Doc. Shelby ornamenting the center table. The hazed boy sat asquat an over-running foot tub with his night-shirt on. His arms and legs were dangling helplessly over the side of the tub. Five masked and hooded figures were picturesquely stationed about him. The tall form of Selfrich was clearly the leader of the gang. The carpet was ripped up and lay tossed upon a heap of books. The pictures were turned upside down. The pair of Indian clubs that usually stood upon the mantel-piece were dangling from Doc.'s neck. The kerosene lamp was neatly put to bed with sheets carefully tucked around the chimney. The wash-bowl and the pitcher protruded from the interior of the stove which was reclining with the air of an invalid upon the lounge. Shelby's best clothes had been spread upon the floor and did service as an Axminster carpet. The only thing in the room that seemed to be in place was Doc. Shelby's spectacles. These had evidently been left for the joke of it. The sight was so ludicrous that John himself could not keep from laughing. But he was ashamed of it as soon as the first sound had escaped him, for Shelby looked at him with piteous astonishment. The windows were open. The room was cold. The outraged boy shivered in his tub. This was not noticeable by the usual chattering of the teeth, but by a convulsive bobbing of the spectacles. At this sight John flashed fire. If anything, he was loyal, and the first fellow that befriended him in Andover was suffering before his eyes.

IN THE PALLID LIGHT PRODUCED BY ALCOHOL AND SALT.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, Selfrich and the rest of you fellows, whoever you are! I don't mind a respectable bit of fooling, but to make a fellow catch his death of cold a night like this is outrageous!"

As John blurted this out he walked up and with a quick motion emptied Doc. out of his tub upon the table. The water splashed all over Selfrich and wet the rest of the conspirators. Doc. had now scrambled upon his feet and stood near his preserver, a dripping statue of white amid black and relentless ghosts.

"Look here, you pious, bandy-legged Strong, you !" broke in the leader after the first shock of surprise at John's audacity, "you get right out of here. We are going to put Goggles through, you bet."

"What has Doc. done to you? Come now, what reason have you for treating him this way?" John asked this question partly to gain time, as well as to give Doc. a fair chance to speak for himself. The question acted as a poser upon the hot-headed boys.

"He wears silly glasses," said one voice feebly.

"He looks like a prize-fighter," said another, as if it were a sufficient reason for instant annihilation.

"He's the biggest fool in school," said another with convincing emphasis.

Selfrich had evidently been trying to conjure up a final argument. When his followers had made their petty excuses, he broke forth:

"I don't like the fellow. Nobody likes him but you. That's reason enough."

"That's a mighty lie, and you know it," answered the intrepid lame boy. And now picking up a coat from the floor and putting it over the shivering lad, he said:

"Here, put it on. Now, go into your bedroom and dry yourself off. They won't trouble you any more to-night." The boy gave him a grateful glance and was about to go, when Selfrich broke out: "Won't we, though? Here, you fellows, catch him. Don't you let him go in there." At the same moment he made a lunge for Doc.'s arm, and managed to catch hold of his soaked night-shirt.

Rap! came a dull thud which was followed by a shriek of pain. John had dealt Selfrich's hand a stiff blow with his faithful stick. His blood was now thoroughly up. He stood with his back to the bedroom door which protected Doc. and said:

"If you fellows want to put any one through, here I am. I've got a lame leg, but pretty good arms. I'll paralyze a few of you in the process."

He swung his heavy stick ominously. No one came on. Besides, it would not do to attack one of their own class. Selfrich whispered a moment with the rest in a corner. Then he scowled malignantly at his classmate.

"You'll be sorry for this, Johnny. Let's go, fellows, now and leave the babies together." The dark procession tiptoed themselves out, who could tell to what further mischief? Boys know how one determined spirit will master a crowd. It was in the natural course of moral events that John should remain General in command of the field of action.

"It's all right now, old fellow. Brace up," said John to Doc. as the door into the hall softly closed behind the hazers. "I'll stay by until you are thoroughly in order."

The fact was, he feared a second attempt if he left Doc. alone, and resolved to spend the greater part of the night with his bewildered friend.

In truth, Shelby needed a good deal of cheering up. He was thoroughly dazed. He didn't know what the whole business meant. He couldn't for the life of him imagine what the boys had against him to treat him so. It crushed his spirit to find out suddenly that there was an element in the school that would go to such an extent to prove its hostility. His state was really pitiable.

"I'll go home to-morrow," he said to John. "Nobody wants me here. Everybody seems to hate me."

"Nonsense," said John, cheeringly; "Selfrich and his gang are the meanest fellows in Andover. They don't represent public opinion. Nobody respects them. You're all right."

In this sensible way he gradually put Doc. into a quieter state of mind. If boys would only stop and think before they haze their victim what the effect would be on hi mind as well as his body, there would be less meanness in schools. It is not strange that a sensitive nature suddenly abused by a force that represents a cowardly average of five or ten to one, should mistake the scum for the deep current of public opinion.

It was three o'clock in the morning when John left. He had put the room to rights, so that, save a few extra spots here and there, no one could have suspected the onslaught. He had watched the boy as a slight fever seemed to pass over him; and now Doc.'s slumber was easy and natural. Nature had thrown off the shock, and Doc. rested as peacefully as if he had been the cleverest and the most popular boy in school, instead of a plodding fellow who never did the right thing in spite of superfluous efforts, who never remembered what he tried to learn, and who felt the doom of incapacity settling slowly down upon him. Doc. slept, and John, after a final look, crept back through the rain to his own room to get a few hours' rest.

When he opened the door and struck a match, he started back thinking that he had gone into the wrong room. But yes, it was Number Two, and there was his card tacked upon the panel. If Doc. Shelby's room was changed, John's was transformed beyond the most astute power of recognition. The stove had disappeared. In the center of the room was a heap of wood and coal capped by books and pictures, thoroughly drenched in water. The little rag carpet was gone. The bedding was gone. The chairs were gone. His trunk and clothes were gone. The bedstead was piled in a conglomerate heap upon the wash-bowl and pitcher, which were cracked and broken. It was as complete a wreck as if the Conemaugh River had swept through from door to door. The windows were open, but panes of glass were smashed, and stones in the room told the manner of the destruction. It was not hard to trace the vandal hand. John was thoroughly discouraged and disgusted. It was bad enough to sack a Middier's room, but foi' Seniors to attack a classmate's room was an unparalleled outrage. John felt that it was more than he could bear. His first impulse was to go straight to Uncle Jim and tell him the whole story. Then he chuckled to himself at the audacity of the job, and made up his mind to brave it through.

He soon found his lamp in the coal closet and lit up the ruined scene. It is needless to say that John worked the rest of the night. The pictures were re-hung. The bed, table and chairs were mended and put in their places. The jagged panes of glass were carefully taken out. When the first gleams of daylight came, he made a systematic search for the rest of his belongings. His stove was near by in the hail, rusty with a good drenching, but otherwise uninjured. This he polished up and put in place. His bedding was rescued from the coal cellar below. Other articles were soon discovered waving from adjacent apple-trees. He worked with a proud vim. At five he trotted down town, roused up a glazier, got some panes of glass and putty, and by half-past six his windows looked better than ever before. His rag carpet was swept, turned and tacked securely over the puddle in the middle of the room.

By breakfast time his victory was complete. No visitor could have suspected the tragedy of the night before. John himself was as smiling, as non-committal as you please. At prayers that morning all the boys looked at him curiously, for Selfrich had well circulated the fact of the catastrophe in John Strong's room.

When some asked him how he was and whether his room were all right, John answered briskly that as far as he knew everything was straight. It is needless to say that his classmates were considerably puzzled as to the real state of affairs. After the first recitation, when John was looking out of his fresh windows he saw Selfrich walking by with some of his hangers-on, laughing uproariously. Then John darted out as quickly as he could, stopped them with a pleasant gesture and said:

"Halloo, Selfrich! come in, all of you, and see how nicely I am fixed. You have never given me a call. Come in for a moment."

An interested crowd had collected. The conspirators tried to beg off, but John insisted,, and they all went in, to a man. Everything was in apple-pie order. Selfrich looked in vain for evidence of his dastardly deed. His face fell more and more as he perceived that John had foiled him before so many fellows.

"By the way, Selfrich," said John loudly, so that all could hear, when they parted, "if you hear any fellows saying that my room was sacked last night, you can deny it, as you have seen it for yourself. Good-by!"

The crowd set up a regular yell. Boys admire pluck and good humor; above all they respect one when he gets out of a scrape without telling his grievance to the Faculty or whining about it to the boys. They admire a cheerful stoicism, and John captured his class that day by his manly forbearance. They easily saw the reason of his courtesy to Selfrich and applauded his good-natured victory over the unpopular bully. But when they heard later in the day how Strong had protected Doc. Shelby, and that Shelby could not leave his room in consequence of his ill-treatment at the hands of Selfrich, then enthusiasm for the lame boy took a more permanent form.

So when the fall term had passed away, John had a positive following in the class, not because he went to prayer-meeting, though he did; and not because he proved a fair debater or a steady and almost brilliant scholar, for the mere "dig" is never popular, but because he had proved himself a downright manly fellow.

But Selfrich, as you will see, did not give up the game so easily.

 

CHAPTER VI.

A PUSH AND A POSER.

WHAT is more dismal than a poor boy's homeless vacation? The Phillips Commons are dreary enough at best: but to be one of two or three lonely fellows trying to make those dark hulks cheerful during the cold Christmas holidays is an ordeal that requires brave endurance. No one can fathom the amount of silent suffering bottled up in the heart of a boy struggling for an education against poverty, physical misfortune, and a sensitive nature. John Strong could not afford to go home. Lambkin's family had the measles---six cases: so he stayed too. Thus it came about very naturally that, after the friends had eaten their late breakfast with solitary propriety at the Senior table of the Milktoast Club, where bread and potatoes had become food instead of ammunition, they should grow chummy in each other's rooms. The burly, irrepressible, good humor that Lambkin possessed was a natural foil to Strong's finer temperament.

Andover had brought great changes to our new Senior, but none surprised him so much as a new feeling of physical hopefulness. At, times this swept over him like a great wave of joy. The cripple, who had always looked upon his lameness as a permanent affliction, began to dream of sometime running like other boys. These hopes came after he had tried the experiment of walking to recitation without his heavy stick. In spite of the fresh spasms of pain and the exhaustion, he felt that the time might soon come when it could be done. One morning after the invariable breakfast of oatmeal and milk Lambkin said:

" Let's go to the Gym. and bowl."

Now John had shunned no spot more persistently than the old gymnasium. It was the place for athletes, and not for him. Why add a fresh aggravation to life by witnessing further exhibitions of other fellows' activity?

And so John answered with surprise and some indignation:

"To the Gym.? I to the Gym.? Why, you must be fooling."

"Not a bit of it. Why shouldn't you go?"

"But what can I do? It's no fun looking on."

"Of course you don't know what you can do without trying, old boy. Have you ever been there?

"No, and " ---

"Well, come on. We'll have the old barn all to ourselves. You can try to do something, and if you make a dead flunk, I won't give you away."

So the two boys ploughed their way through the choicest of Andover "corner drifts," up Salem Street, until they stood panting before the door of a forbidding brick building, commonly known to the boys as the "Gym." The place was guarded by desolate and leafless trees. Their limbs swayed and cracked under the load of ice as the boys approached.

Lambkin swung open the door with a vigor. ous push, and a damp, chilling, dusty breath which puffed out, did anything but encourage the new athletic aspirant. The bowling alleys opened before them, and chipped balls lay disconsolately along their gutters. On the left, the stairs ascended to the upper story where the leathern horse and the jumping board seemed frozen to the floor. The dust alone rose to greet these two with its usual hospitality. But Lambkin glowed with the feeling of a gymnastic sponsor. He put up the pins and John managed to roll the balls merrily. Indeed, had these young fellows not made pretty good time, the unwarmed December dungeon would have converted them into frozen nine-pins. Pretty soon Lambkin produced a base-ball and made John pitch. "This will act upon another set of muscles," he said.

Now John's hands and arms, as is often the case when another member is disabled, were abnormally strong. He had hardly found it out himself. John began awkwardly; he had never handled a ball before. He soon became interested. Bending forward or balancing himself on his well right side he sent the balls so swiftly that even Lambkin's capacious hands tingled as he stopped and held the stinging missile.

"What a pitcher you are!" said Lambkin, looking towards Strong in amazement after several minutes of vain wrestling with the ball.

"Where did you get it from ?"

John made no answer. The consciousness of physical power came to the invalid lad with a thrill that made him shiver. No well boy can understand this. John looked across the dreary building out of the high windows. It was beginning to snow. To the end of his life he will remember how that old gymnasium looked at that moment. The gaunt, cobwebbed windows revealed dead branches waving fantastically before the coming storm. John was silent and did not answer Lambkin's question. He turned his back. Lambkin came up, touched John upon the arm, turned him about, and saw tears in his eyes.

This memorable scene was the first of many such, and the dawning possibilities of physical achievement made this homeless vacation the cheeriest memory of the lame boy's life.

THE "GYM"

But now the boys, the theologues, and the Fem. Sems. had come back. Roger Mansfield's penetrating whistle had recalled John Calvin to his theological studies. This circumstance was a great relief to the Hill. For John Calvin had been left during the vacation with Mr. Locks, who had put him faithfully to bed in the cellar of the old chapel. There he had been bolted in at night, and every morning Mr. Locks was mightily surprised to find him mournfully sitting on the stoop of Bartlett Hall looking expectantly down the street for his master. How did he get out? The fact was, that when night and loneliness came on, the dog began to wail and howl to such an extent that sleep in the neighborhood proved impossible. Unsanctified terms were freely expressed by those whose theology was above suspicion. The shivering theologues, such as were left, had taken turns in slipping from their historic and windrocked beds to steal down in small clothes and let the dissenting member of the Seminary loose. Things had come to such a pass that Strong, responding to a deputation of desperate citizens, had taken the dog to his on room. His kindness was rewarded with the prompt desertion of John Calvin through four panes of glass when his master's whistle sounded from the stage-coach in front of the Cheever House.

Perhaps John Calvin felt that he had been guilty of a breach of hospitality, for the first morning that the cousins met, the dog's abrupt apology tossed John Strong into the furry-snow.

"How are you, John? Had a good vacation? He didn't mean it. It is a way he has. Charge, Calvin! Charge, I say, you brute! You look a different fellow. What's up?"

The gay theologue had caught John on his way from Uncle Jim's furnace to the recitation room. The two stopped and shook hands warmly while the dog conscientiously kicked the snow with his hind legs all over them.

"Pretty fair! I say it's lucky you came as soon as you did, otherwise you'd have found a dead dog or have been murdered yourself on your return," laughed John.

The boy looked under-dressed beside the great fur-lined ulster his Cousin Roger wore.

Mansfield noticed the glaring difference. His hands were in fur; John's were bare; one was hidden in a scant side pocket, while the other held tightly to his stick. The blue shone through at the knuckles, the purple at the tips of the fingers. Roger's face dropped into sadness, and a feeling of unworthiness came over him. In an embarrassed way he answered: "O, yes; Calvin is a dreadful rogue --- always getting me into trouble. Come and see me. Good-by."

John Strong, misunderstanding his cousin's brusqueness, did not suspect that the sight of his poverty and his pluck had touched a usually nonchalant heart with a sense of shame.

 

"O-oh! isn't it cold? My room is cold as an Esquimau's grave." Doc. Shelby was the speaker. A great cake of snow thrown by some fellow behind, had just landed on his coat collar. He shook it off with a rueful gesture towards the back of his neck down which a few pounds, more or less, of slush were dribbling.

"Selfrich again!" said John. "Don't look at him, Doc. I'll brush it out of your neck."

The path was narrow. It had been ploughed out, and the snow had been thrown up so that it reached almost to the shoulders of the boys. Three fellows came down arm in arm, and would have elbowed the two into the drift had not John straightened himself up and looked threateningly at them, stick in hand.

"You fellers together again," sneered Selfrich. "The owl and the bat! I hear, Johnny, you are going to sneak in on the nine, practicing in the Gym. on the sly! You'll pitch a fine bow-legged curve. He looks like it, doesn't he?"

The other two boys seemed this time a bit, ashamed of their leader and didn't answer. As they passed in single file, Selfrich fell to the rear, and when he was opposite Doc. Shelby, the Senior gave the Middler a tremendous shove into the bank of snow. Doc. plunged head-first in and sank out of sight, all but his legs. Selfrich and the two ran on with loud laughter while John, with stern, set mouth, picked the floundering Middler up.

"Oh!" Doc. gasped, "I thought he'd let me alone this: term. I'm so cold!" He trembled violently. His spectacles had been lost in the snow, as well as his hat. His face was livid. His prominent eyes stared helplessly. In a stupid way he kept repeating, "Why did he shove me? Why did he shove me?"

John saw that something must be done. Doc. was evidently the worse for the tumble, more so than the occasion demanded. Since he had been hazed last term, Doc. Shelby had never been the same lad. He had lost what the boys called his "spunkiness." He became subdued and suspicious. Only John Strong understood that Doc.'s paleness and new hesitancy grew from that hazing, the memory of which made Doc. Shelby often shriek with fright as he underwent the torture again in nightmare horrors. But now he was suffering. It would not do for him to go to class hatless or glassless; without his spectacles he was practically blind. The blast blew cuttingly across the open field and struck like flails upon face and hands. How could Doc. face it uncovered? John glanced at the seminary clock. In five minutes the examination would begin---the first and the most dreaded one of the term. Uncle Jim taught geometry, and he brooked no tardiness, much less an absence, during his examinations. John had "boned" like a Trojan for this special ordeal. He would have been ashamed to fail or even to stumble under Uncle Jim, and he was looked upon both by the Principal and the boys as the leader of the class in mathematics. During the moment of decision a troop of Fem. Sems. dressed in furs, with laughing, rosy faces, came up the walk. John noticed that Selfrich and his companions had bowed ostentatiously to the girls, some of whom coquettishly waved their muffs. John and Shelby stood aside to let them pass. John had hastily undone a tippet he had around his neck and was binding it over Doc.'s chattering head. The last girl in the line halted before the two boys.

"Come on, Elva; what are you stopping for?" said her companion pettishly.

The girl's face was familiar to John, but she seemed like a new girl now. He. had never seen her so near before. There were lines of sweetness in her face more marked than is generally the case in so young a girl, but something in the cut of her features faintly recalled to John one of his classmates.

"He looks hurt and cold," said a voice, fluttering, with sympathy. Her eyes rested on John as she spoke, with a look of unguarded approval.

"Yes, Miss," said John with great shyness. "A fellow just knocked him into the bank there. He's lost his hat and glasses and can't see. He isn't very tough. It's shaken him up pretty badly. He seems all chilled through."

"Here, put this cape on him." The girl with a quick. motion had flung off a sealskin cape and handed it to John. She added hurriedly, "You can give it to my brother for me. His name is Selfrich."

With another bright look at John and a pitying one at Doc., she ran after the other girls who greeted her with laughter and derisive sympathy.

THE GIRL, WITH A QUICK MOTION,
FLUNG OFF A SEALSKIN CAPE AND HANDED IT TO JOHN.

"What a sister to what a brother!" thought John, but he had no time to think anything more about it then. Shelby was now shivering madly. John flung the warm cape over his head and hurried him to 2, 2, Latin Commons, which boasted a fire that struggled to defy impetuous draughts and open cracks. Shelby was, certainly pretty sick. He had dressed that morning in a room without a fire. A Commons boy can understand what that means; no one else can so well appreciate the necessity of thawing a wash-bowl and a toothbrush which persist in freezing next to a red-hot fire in some of those gaping rooms. The subsequent cold douche and perhaps the outrage repeated by the same old hazing gang had given Doc. a mental as well as a physical shock, which, following right upon a previous chill, threatened to become serious. John had no time to spend with Doc. now. He hurriedly put him in a chair before the fire, turned on the draughts, shut the bedroom door, and left him with a cheery:

"Now, Doc., you stay here until I come back; I'll fix you all right then and see that you get excused." Then he hurried off to his examination, absent-mindedly taking up his geometry as he left the room.

It had long been a debatable question at Phillips Academy whether it imparts a more penetrating chill to face one of those old-fashioned January blasts as it comes howling and whistling up the valleys, ricochetting from building to corner and invariably playing the mischief with noses and ears, or to face one of Uncle Jim's mathematical examinations. John hurried upstairs into the Senior room, Number 9, as fast as his legs could carry him; he was fully ten minutes late. All eyes were raised in wonder as he came in amid the intense hush which that particular brain work demanded. Uncle Jim had been pacing the floor and darting iivid glances here and there to intercept a notorious few from their innate tendency to" crib." Selfrich was the most prominent among this catalogue of worthies. At the moment that John quietly opened the door Uncle Jim was standing with his back to it, contemplating a suspicious pair of cuffs over which Selfrich was pulling down his coat-sleeves carelessly, while he looked everywhere else. The question as to how many problems of Euclid can be transferred to a square inch of laundry is alas! not a new one in this or other fitting schools.

The door bunted against the august Principal, who replied with a threatening sound. This was the first time that John Strong had opened himself to the least of criticisms from his instructor and friend. The tide of favor toward the struggling lad had been rising steadily, in Uncle Jim's mind. There are times when impressions are so vague and volitions so intricate that even the most conscientious man cannot, for the life. of him, tell why in his mind the tide of good-will toward any one has reached its height and is about to recede. Perhaps this tardiness of John's became an unconscious turning point in the favor of his. terrible Principal which the good man would never have acknowledged if he had been brought to face it.

"What, sir? You, sir? Late? Ten marks, sir. I am surprised. Take your papers," pointing at the desk, "and sit there on the front seat."

The severe forefinger indicated a vacant space between Selfrich and another suspicious character. The Doctor frowned upon the unfortunate lad. Selfrich gave an open sneer. But John quietly took the front seat of disgrace and bent to his writing.

There were five questions. These were put upon the blackboard. The perfect mark on each was twenty. Three at least must be answered perfectly in order to pass. They were anything but easy, and many of the boys were staring stupidly from the window to the shield of Achilles posed upon the wall. This was their method of raising inspiration.

John pushed his book away from him when he found that against the rules he had taken it in. The edges of a card could be seen between the leaves. John worked rapidly and successfully. He did not touch the book, nor need to. Selfrich eyed that Euclid with longing. With a mock gesture of disgust he adroitly threw a paper over it. He then recollected himself, with a superb unconsciousness reached for his paper and managed to extract the card from the geometry at the same time. Who could notice the act when done by so accomplished a hand? When Selfrich examined his booty under cover of his own work, a smile of satisfaction crept over his evil face. Among the questions given the last one was the hardest. It was an original problem which had been explained to the class at the previous recitation. It was very difficult and intricate. Uncle Jim had asked each of the class to prepare his own demonstration of it. John, with his usual thoroughness, had worked late and had filially solved the theorem. Most of the boys had not thought that Uncle Jim would be "mean enough" to bring up the last lesson at this critical time. They had not troubled themselves about it. But here it was, to the astonishment and dismay of the whole class.

John glanced cheerily at the blackboard. The first four questions were quickly answered, and now he blessed his stars for his evening's work. Before the time was up he snapped his fingers and gave his paper to the Principal who regarded him more graciously.

When he finished his examination John was at liberty to go. He hurried from the room to his sick friend and forgot all about his book. He did not suspect the storm that was to burst upon him next morning.


Chapter Seven

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